#for a read more option in asks as much as this

[agirlinthegalaxy]

Hi! Fellow person with an English degree, along with working for an academic company that has a short college textbook about AI! One of the things that was discussed was hallucinations, which is incorrect information that AI presents as fact. Because the thing is, AI isn't capable of critical thought on its own. It takes in all of this information from the internet, but, as well all know, the Internet isn't inherently a trustworthy source of information and AI isn't capable of actually verifying this information.

One of the ways that we demonstrated this in our textbook is by inputting "Who won the 2022 presidential election?" This was using a previous ChatGPT model, but it actually would answer the question genuinely as if there had been a 2022 presidential election. Another way that I found personally is that I would begin discussing television shows and push it, and without fail, it always began making a lot of errors about obvious plot points and would be unable to keep it straight. Here's an input where I ask for an explanation of the finale of the Charmed (1998) series. (Spoilers for that ahead, but also the show ended nearly twenty years ago, so.)

While a lot of people probably don't know a lot about the show, here's the most relevant part: the entire Ultimate Power section is a complete fabrication because, while they exist, they're distinct characters with a completely different background. (And before anyone says anything, the point isn't about how recognizable the show is, it's about the AI literally makes up false information and presents it as truth when it's very easily disproved.)

Another way of illustrating AI's hallucinations is asking an either/or question, presuming that an event happens. Now, in full transparency, I have not read Dracula since 2021/2022, but I'm about eighty percent sure that this is an example of a hallucination. If not, my apologies, but I'm sure you can find a hallucination if you input it enough similar statements.

Beyond clearly just knowing what is accurate or not, AI also, like the previous OP said, doesn't know what is important. In many classes, when you're discussing some kind of novel, small details will of vital importance whether it about character, plot, or theme of the book. Demonstrated by one of my professors who asked us about the symbolism of the horse that Thomas Sutpen rode into town in the beginning of Absalom, Absalom only to very loudly proclaim that it was between his legs as a phallic symbol, which honestly was probably correct with the author William Faulkner being who he is. Side note, but he was a weird man, and I still don't like his works. If I was a student in that class today, here are the two different shortcuts I could have gotten.

(ChatGPT)

(SparkNotes)

Between the two, even disregarding that SparkNotes' summary is four paragraphs to ChatGPT's three (since the girl in the og Twitter post used three), SparkNotes just provides so much more information and detail. I'd argue that ChatGPT doesn't even summarize it efficiently anyways. So if you're just trying to cheat for class, ChatGPT still isn't a good option.

But I think the worst thing is that the people in the original Twitter convo aren't even reading for class. They're (presumably) reading for enjoyment, which makes it so much more bizarre to me. Because the thing is, and this is a rare one for me to say, you don't... have to read if you don't enjoy it? Once you've left school, very few places (unless you intentionally opt into it or have a very specific job) will make you read novels in your free time. Furthermore, I really can't fathom problems that ChatGPT solves that, say, an audiobook can't? Discussing these two specific instances individually:

If you're wanting to learn more about what Aristotle said in more readable English, baby, he's Aristotle. I can almost guarantee you that there is some kind of book out there, or even something online if you'd like to use the Internet, explaining his philosophy in easier to understand terms. Also with philosophy, I think that "main gist" can be a bit of a trick in of itself because it's designed to make you think critically about these ideas. Sometimes, the "main gist" is even the opposite of what they may seemingly be arguing because they're mocking it.

As for reading a book recommendation by a friend. ... girlie pop, you literally could just not read the book. I've gotten plenty of book recommendations that I've never read and my friends are not insulted at it. If it's a bid for connection, I'd argue that this is more insulting than simply not reading it because if you don't want to invest the time into it, that's fine but this weird shortcut way as if it's beneath your time is... oof. But especially if you want to discuss it, because AI will not include every beat and a lot of a novel is in the way it's written, the pacing or tension, etc. Things that an AI summary can't define out for you to have an actual meaningful conversation. That's something I do when I see a movie that looks halfway interesting but don't care enough to actually sit down and watch it. And even then, I'd never go back to that friend and act like I actually consumed that media; I'd probably just say that it sounds good because I still have not actually truthfully engaged with it!

This is a very long post, but I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about AI, especially in classes, literature, and media in general. Most of them are very negative, but I mean, please don't hand over your critical thinking of what you're consuming to artificial intelligence. Its intelligence is artificial; yours is not.

what is HAPPENING

[makeitmakesomesense]

The Competition

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Day 8: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 8th of January, which is 'daylight'.

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There is no point trying to be second best. 

You’ve lived by that motto your whole life. You know it’s served you well because your life has been going exactly like you hoped. You’ve been recruited into the latest Shield training class. 

This is just another opportunity for you to excel in. You don’t let yourself consider another option. You stand in the training room with the other agents, waiting for your first lesson to start. You can’t help sizing up the others. You watch their movements and try to assess their fitness, their likely agility. You listen to their conversations and try to assess their intelligence too. 

You are smarter. You are fitter. You are faster. You stretch your arms in anticipation. Someone will be the best recruit and it will be you. 

A final trainee enters. 

You try to figure her out immediately. Her eyes are roaming the room, not quite nervous but not confident either. She’s not that tall. Her red hair is tied back in perfect dutch braids. It makes her look like a child.

You dismiss her readily. Your focus returns to another recruit, whose muscles are flexing obviously with the smallest movement. You bite your lip trying to determine if their muscle density will affect their agility. 

Your eyes glance briefly back to the new girl. She is staring at the same recruit. Her fingers tap thoughtfully against her thigh. 

She is the only one other than you not engaging in small talk. Instead, her gaze scans the sea of people, just like you.

You take another more considered look at her. She’s fit, much more than you’d noticed at first. The kind of fitness that’s built for agility as much as strength. 

Her eyes turn to you. The sudden, sharp green stare makes you certain that she’s intelligent too. You can feel her reading you, as her eyes shamelessly roam over your body.

After a moment, the girl’s lips draw back over her teeth and she smiles. There’s a feral confidence to it. It puts you on edge. You smirk back and pretend not to be intimidated.

The trainer enters at last and the group of recruits become eager and pathetic in front of a clear leader. You hang back, listening quietly. You make sure to keep the other girl in your sights. 

The trainer asks you all to introduce yourselves. 

‘First names for now.’ She directs with a smile. ‘We’re not agents yet.’

The girl is called Natasha R. 

There are two Natashas in this group of recruits. You almost feel bad for Natasha M. You can already predict that she will be known as ‘the other Natasha’ after today.

The trainer begins with a speech about comradery, about finding your people. You watch Natasha’s expression shift to boredom. She taps impatiently against her thigh. You try not to smirk obviously. 

The trainer suggests that everyone partners up. You’ve all had basic sparring training before today. This is a chance to see how you compare to your peers. 

Your eyes meet Natasha’s before the trainer has finished speaking. She flashes the feral smile back at you. Adrenaline begins to flood your body as you move to the nearest training mat and try to ready yourself.

Natasha slams you against the mat before you’ve had time to think about reacting. The air is thrown from your chest. You try not to look as disoriented as you feel, as you roll back to your feet. 

‘Excellent work, Natasha’ The trainer shouts from the other side of the room. You watch Natasha M. look up hopefully, before her face caves with disappointment. You let yourself prickle with the indignity of being second best. 

You huff a breath and ready yourself for another sparring round. You are back on the floor before you’ve had a chance to blink.

.

Natasha slams you against the training mat for the thousandth time. 

You glare at her, chest heaving desperately. Your face is sticky with heat and sweat. Natasha grins smugly. Her dutch braids are still perfect. She doesn’t offer you a hand up.

You hate her. You actually loathe her. 

You are seething with bitter fury by the time you get to the cafeteria. You stand in the line for lunch food thinking about the first person to ever stand between you and being the best at something. You try to recall each brief moment before she knocked you to the ground. You try to assess her fighting style. What you could have done differently. 

You lift your plastic tray and walk to the communal table that is almost entirely populated by the other recruits from your class. You sit at one end and take an angry bite of your apple.

Natasha is sitting at the other end. She’s surrounded by the eager recruits. They’re asking her questions, unphased by her cool tone and indirect answers. It’s pathetic. You crunch your apple again. They always cling to a new leader. Natasha’s calm gaze meets yours. She smirks and you know she can tell that you’re jealous. You clench your jaw and glare angrily back. You hope she can hear the Fuck You echoing in your mind. 

The amusement in her eyes tells you that she can. 

.

You spend a month getting your ass kicked. 

That isn’t strictly true. 

You are excelling in some areas.

Noone is more loyal to the fitness regime. Noone is more committed to learning how to fight better. Noone is putting more time in at weapons practice. 

You are doing very well at trying hard.

Natasha is barely trying and she is easily better than you. She makes the class look like complete amateurs.

You do the only thing you know how to do; you try harder. 

What stings more than the rest, is the special treatment that Natasha seems to get. 

The first time you see her and Hawkeye interact, you don’t actually believe your own eyes. She’s a new recruit. Agent Barton is calling her ‘Tasha!’ and giving her a half hug as he walks past your table with his own tray of food. 

Natasha M. looks so despondent when she hears the nickname that you wonder if she’s going to drop out soon.

Natasha only rolls her eyes and makes a biting comment about his choice of lunchtime food. The other recruits tense up for a moment until Agent Barton’s barking laugh catches them all off guard again. 

You watch Natasha from your usual place at the far end of the table. It is the first time you have ever seen her uncertain. 

You decide she is probably dating Agent Barton. It must be a secret they’re trying to keep. He’s not a direct superior so there’s nothing officially wrong with it. It just doesn’t look good. Not for a new recruit. 

Natasha tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes glance back over to Agent Barton’s table on the other side of the room. 

You pretend you don’t feel jealous.

.

In the earliest hours of the morning, you go to the gym. 

You do this sometimes, it’s a good time to know you’ll be alone. To put in some earphones and forget everything except your heart pounding and your limbs aching. 

You are not alone. 

Natasha is already in the large room. She’s wearing a black sports bra and shorts. She is running like a gazelle on a treadmill, her back is to you.

You let the heavy door slam itself shut, just to watch her flinch. 

She switches the machine off as she turns around, her glare already fixed in place. 

Your chest seizes when you realise that she has obviously been crying. You stare at her stupidly. 

‘What do you want?’ Natasha spits through clenched teeth. Her cheeks are flushed red. You can’t tell if it’s the exertion or something else. 

You feel like you’ve caught an apex predator in a moment of weakness. You can tell she feels cornered, vulnerable. The urge to win tempers into something different. You don’t want to see Natasha’s weakness, you just want to be better than her best. 

‘I bet I can run faster than you.’ You gloat loudly and begin to walk towards her. 

Natasha’s expression shutters with sharp relief, then she gives you her most savage smile. She nods to the treadmill beside her.

You have never run faster or farther. You will not let yourself lose this race. You have been training too hard. By the time the first rays of daylight are streaming into the room, you are still neck and neck with Natasha. 

She is the first to quit. She switches off her machine without a word and turns to leave. She gives you the middle finger as you breathlessly huff a victorious laugh.

.

That day, on the training mats, you sense Natasha moving more obviously as you begin to spar. She wins every time, of course. But later, when you stand in the line for the cafeteria, you realise that you have begun to understand her fighting technique. 

They have run out of apples today in the cafeteria and you barely notice, too lost in your own thoughts.

You sit down at your usual end of the table. Your gaze snaps up when someone whistles. 

Natasha’s smirk is tiny. Everything about her seems playful. She takes an extra apple from her tray and throws it gracefully. You feel the eyes of the other recruits follow its arcing trajectory, right into your hands.

After weapons training that afternoon, Natasha catches your arm in the hallway. 

‘Do you spend every night running your ass off, just to keep up with me?’ She teases snarkily.

You roll your eyes, hating the way you have started to like her. 

‘No. Not every night.’ You answer deadpan.

‘Good, so you’ll be free tonight.’ Natasha says simply. She tells you the number of her room. Then, she gives you a pleased smile. With her perfect braids, she becomes the picture of innocence. 

‘Those braids make you look like a child.’ You snap at her, pulling your arm out of her hold. 

You hear her laugh behind you and smile to yourself. 

.

You arrive at her door that night. You knock twice before the door swings open. 

Natasha is not the girl you have known before. 

Her loose red hair holds the obvious kinks from her recent braids. She looks tired, the simple fatigue of surviving a busy day on very little sleep. She’s wearing an oversized tourist t-shirt that you presume is covering shorts. 

‘Wow.’ You tell her bitingly. ‘You look like shit.’

Natasha laughs loudly and lets you in. 

She offers you a beer and you take it as you sit on the edge of her bed. She sits beside you, clinks her bottle with yours and takes an absentminded swig. You marvel silently as you realise that she is still drinking alcohol regularly and outperforming all of you so easily. 

Her shoulder bumps yours uncaringly as she brings one leg up to her chest and casually hugs her knee. Your eyes skim the perfectly toned muscles without meaning to. Natasha’s gaze flicks to you and she smirks knowingly.

‘Keep it together.’ She chastises teasingly. You grin back. 

‘I will.’ You promise readily. ‘I’m here to find out all your secrets.’

Natasha’s mouth presses together and for a moment she looks deadly serious. Then she raises her eyebrow and grins back. 

‘What do you want to know?’

She tells you a lot of things. Raised in a competitive household, with no allowance for failure. She talks about sisters, plural. She’d always naturally excelled but she also never stopped pushing herself. Her words skim lightly over concepts like discipline and punishment. You understand the implication.

You don’t feel pity, only respect. She did everything to be the best. 

You tell her the words that you’ve lived by since childhood.

There is no point trying to be second best. 

Natasha’s sudden gaze burns with the recognition that you might really understand what she means.

‘Exactly.’ She breathes, and then she laughs again. She looks down and her fingers brush over your forever-calloused knuckles. 

‘Exactly.’ She whispers again. 

.

After that, the world is hung on a different axis. 

You are the final convert to the Natasha fan club. You think you might be the only member she cares about. The competitive edge is always there between you, but now it’s decidedly friendly. Every smile between you is playful. Every sharp comment is teasing. 

You go back to her room again a few nights later. 

She tells you a little about Clint, nothing more than a friend of a friend who’d recommended her to the Shield training programme. But mainly, she asks a lot about you. You find yourself admitting things you’ve never said aloud before.

When the night ends, she leans forward and kisses your cheek. She plays it like it’s a natural end to the night and you don’t let yourself react. Not until you’re back in your own room, touching your warm cheek and wondering if it could mean the things you have begun to hope for.

.

There is an inevitable rule about trying to keep a secret in an espionage organization. Either no-one knows or everyone does.

Natasha M is the one who tells you. She has that red flush on her cheeks that reveals how pleased she is with her secret. She whispers it excitedly to a group of you as you make your way to the training room.

‘Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. Mysterious and Lethal Assassin. Product of the Red Room. Missing, Presumed Dead.’

She pauses as she hammers home her point. 

‘It’s her.’

Your world implodes.

You stand in the training room with the rest of the recruits. Your skin is prickling with a feeling that you don’t recognise. A betrayal unlike anything you could have imagined. The others are nervous and chattering. You can feel them looking in anticipation at you. Natasha’s undeniable favourite. 

Some of them clearly thought you might have known her secret. They don’t anymore.

Natasha walks into the training room. She is flanked on her left by Agent Barton.

You realise that he is not an old friend. He is the agent that captured her. 

You feel a sudden rage like you have never felt before.

You pull away from the crowd, ready for a fight that you know you can’t win. 

You start spitting insults before you reach her. You call her a traitor and a liar. You only feel angrier when you watch her purposefully neutral gaze brush over you.  

You rush forward and are stopped by Agent Barton’s arm as it catches you by the waist and pulls you resolutely towards the door.

‘Don’t do this.’ He warns quietly as you shout things you never thought you’d say. ‘We’re her family.’

‘Oh please.’ You yell back, hurling your final words at Natasha, as you fight his grip. ‘She has a family. She’s a widow.’

.

You are excused from training. Agent Barton leaves you in disgust, sitting in an empty classroom where they occasionally teach the theory behind different fighting styles.

.

You go to the cafeteria at the usual time and take your usual tray over to your usual group. They welcome you with a support that you’ve never felt before. You realise suddenly that your enraged episode earlier has only impressed the other recruits.

You don’t need to guess who is missing from the table, you follow their pointed glares easily. Natasha sits alone at another table. Her face is perfectly neutral. She crunches on an apple. Your jaw tightens.

You take a seat with the usual group and try not to think about the way your gut is twisting. The other recruits tell you all the latest rumours. About what the Red Room does to create their monsters. The famous crimes against Shield operatives committed by the Black Widow. A haphazard list of her likely kills that is growing by the hour. 

You think about their stories. You think about the things Natasha told you that first night in her room. Competition, discipline, punishment. 

Agent Barton’s words about family get caught in your head. 

Natasha stands and leaves the cafeteria. She doesn’t falter at the muttered insults that she must be able to hear. Her face is schooled into a perfect facade of calm. At last, her eyes meet yours, and you see the smallest crack.

You push away the tray with your half-eaten meal. 

A person beside you snickers and you catch the end of a snide comment. You grip the edge of the plastic tray and feel a familiar anger inside you. You look around the table. Natasha M smiles eagerly back. She leans forward with another joke to share. 

You push away from the table and get to your feet. They are eager and they are pathetic. You don’t want to be their next  leader.  

.

You knock once on Natasha’s door. She doesn’t open it. 

You knock again. There is only silence.

You go to the gym.

She’s there, of course, running so fast that her legs are blurred. You wonder if they’ve checked her speed against the land mammal record.

You let the heavy door slam behind you, just so she’ll know you’re there.

Natasha turns off the treadmill and comes to a stop. She doesn’t turn around. You can tell that she knows it’s you. 

You walk over and watch the tension rolling out of her. She is gripping the bar on the treadmill. You look at her knuckles, calloused from a lifetime of effort. 

You are just like her. 

Her shoulders curve as she leans forward, crying silently. 

Your jaw tightens. 

You hate seeing Natasha’s weakness. You cannot tolerate a world where she is not the best. 

Carefully, you reach out and press your hand to her back. You can feel the bumps of her spine against your palm. Her chest heaves with silent sobs. 

Wordlessly, Natasha turns around. She buries herself against your front. You hug her tightly. You can feel her crying harder. Unthinkingly, your fingers trace her perfect braids.

You lead her back to her room when she is no longer crying. Your tight hold of her hand leaves no room for misunderstanding. 

She sits stiffly on her bed and you bring her over a glass of water. She takes it and sips quietly. You can see the hesitation in her side glances.

There is something unfixable now. Some part of the illusion that is gone forever. 

You reach over to Natasha and undo the ends of her braids. Slowly, you unwind them until you can run your fingers easily through her wavy hair. Your fingertips brush her skin and you hear her sigh. 

You move her hair to the side and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. 

You feel the shudder run through her at the touch of your lips. 

She takes your hand and slowly directs it to her breast. You squeeze it automatically and Natasha moans. The glass of water moves to a side table and Natasha’s hand comes to cover your own. She squeezes her own breast harder and then moans louder. 

You smirk as you realise you will have to work harder if you want to be as good as her.

You kiss along her neck, your teeth nipping at her soft skin. Natasha’s hips shift needily on top of the bed and your breath catches. 

Natasha hesitates then. You hear her take a deep breath. Her thumb brushes your calloused knuckles. She doesn’t look at you.

‘Even now?’ She breathes at last.

You close your eyes. Her back is pressing against you. You can smell the sweat on her skin. She is warmth and you are wrapped around her. 

‘There was never any competition.’ You tell her with your lips on her skin.

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Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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[from-izzy]

[17:07] | enhypen park sunghoon

Sunghoon grunts at the reminder of your true visit, yet still makes love to your collarbones to cherish every second with you. “Not yet…” he pleads that time will go slower. 

pairing » enhypen park sunghoon x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, (not so) secret relationship au, non-idol au

genre » fluffy fluff with slight suggestive themes (nothing like this), lovesick and cute sunghoon, boyfriend sunghoon, reader helping with sunghoon's sister's dinner dance prep!

word count; estimated reading time » 1293; ~5 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » getting caught during making out by sunghoon's sister, kissing on lower abdomen/body, sunghoon lifts reader, reader implied to be smaller than sunghoon

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 enhypen masterlist

my debut to enhablr...? i see clips of sunghoon and heeseung and they make me wanna get into enha 🥹 i'm sure the fandom knows that sunghoon has a sister but i didn't use her real name for this fic; it just makes me more comfortable in this way. hope you all enjoy!!

You don't usually knock on the Park’s residence house since Sunghoon would usually open it for you as per his invite, or help you sneak in through the side window. But today is a bit different since today is Serin’s dinner dance at her school, and she asked you for help with makeup and outfits. In a heartbeat, you agreed, especially since the event has been a special one for you since the day Sunghoon asked you to be his.

Sunghoon knows about you coming over to help his sister, but knowing that your visit today isn't for him puts a frown on his face. His relationship with you is still private, which is something that you both want at the current moment. But after a year of dating, he can't wait to formally introduce his once best friend to his family who is already very fond of you. 

“Thank you so much for coming!” The door opens to reveal the younger girl. “Come in!”

You chuckle at her excited nature. You know Serin has been a delightful one since a long time ago, and you're glad to be part of a wonderful event for her. A few steps into the house, you see Sunghoon by the couch, resting his chin on his arm as he pouts at you. 

“Hey,” you greet him casually, sneaking in a wink behind Serin.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes away playfully, turning around to the television as he sulks and sinks into the couch. 

“Oppa! Don't be rude!” Serin defends you. “But whatever, guess I'll have her to myself.”

If it was anyone other than his beloved sister saying those words, Sunghoon would cling to your side, sweep you off your feet and claim your lips with his. “Whatever,” Sunghoon dismisses her with a hand wave. 

Upstairs, Serin had all her makeup and dress options ready for your second opinion. It wasn't long until you chose the one you thought suited her the best, helping her change and adjusting it to fit nicely on her body. Just as so, it didn't take long until your numerous hair and makeup suggestions were chosen by her. 

“You're gonna be the prettiest girl in the room,” you blend the pink blush across her cheeks. 

“Of course, I am. You're the one giving me the makeup after all,” you chuckle at her words, adding the finishing touches and setting spray onto her face. “Don't tell Sunghoon this, but I'm going with a date.”

You gasp at the information. “Really?! That's so cute! Let me see a picture!”

Serin skips over to make sure the bedroom door is locked before sitting on the edge of her bed, patting the empty space beside her for you. The younger swipes through the many pictures in her gallery, recounting the main parts of that day spent together. 

You know what it feels like to be attracted to someone. To like someone, and ultimately, to be head over heels in love with someone. Looking through the pictures of her and her partner for the dance, you could tell that it wasn't puppy love or a short-lived crush. How'd you know? Her eyes sparkle with minimal lighting as they cuddle in the picture tells you everything her heart feels.

“Don't tell Sunghoon please,” a pout overtakes her face. “You know how protective he is, and I promise I will tell him soon.”

You squint your eyes in suspicion, humming in contemplation. The younger pleads once more, a pinky out hanging in the air, waiting for yours. In the end, you gave in, knowing well that you weren't going to not agree from the start. You understand where she's coming from since your brother is the same as well.

“Alright, go get the rest of your things ready!” You nudged your shoulder against hers and excused yourself from her room. 

As soon as the door clicks securely shut, your fingertips on the metal knob don't even get a chance to properly let go when they're replaced with warmth instead. A hand grasps the side of your waist, pulling you next door where the meaning behind another click of this door differs greatly. 

You yelp at the soft tug, a hand protecting the back of your head when your body hits the door. The room is barely lit, only the moon and the street lights shining through from the still-opened curtains beside you giving the luminance enough for you to face your blushing boyfriend. 

Sunghoon sighs deeply with how he manages to finally have alone time with you successfully without getting caught. His lips finally attach to yours, drowning out the giggling and pleasurable moaning slipping out from the both of you. Your eyelids flutter shut, brushing against his skin gently as he shudders at the way your nose nudges his as you kiss him feverishly. As the situation escalates, the hood around his head falls, giving your hand access to his beautiful locks.

The grip on the side of your body tightens only slightly as your boyfriend pulls you closer to his chest that your hands rest on. Sunghoon leaves your lips, travelling to your ears to huskily whisper, “Hi baby girl,” he kisses your ear after, kissing along your jawline and neck as you gasp at him.

“H-Hoon-” you hiss at the pressure he puts on a sensitive part of your neck, messing and tugging on his hair. “Your sister is going to be ready at any time now.”

Sunghoon grunts at the reminder of your true visit, yet still makes love to your collarbones to cherish every second with you. “Not yet…” he pleads that time will go slower. 

The hand behind your head joins the other side of your body, slithering down to the back of your thighs as Sunghoon kneels, continuing to trail his kisses to your clothed stomach. With a swift motion, he carries you by your thighs, standing up and walking towards his bed. He never spared a moment where his lips didn't touch your heated body. There was no time for your heart to calm its racing pace, the adrenaline of staying quiet hitting you both. 

Now seated on his bed with you straddling his built thighs, you take this moment to fully open your eyes, seeing the white light shine upon his red cheeks. His palm cups the apple of your cheeks, foreheads resting as you catch your breaths. 

“Can't get enough of you,” he mutters. “I just want and need you all the time…”

Sunghoon is cute when he's lovesick like this, your cheeks instantly heating more than before at his confession. You hum, “I love you, Hoon.”

“I love you much more.”

His orbs sparkle upon yours sincerely for a second until his open lips come closer to claim yours again. You're millimetres apart when the door opens unexpectedly behind you. Your body reacts first, jumping away from Sunghoon, pushing him flat onto the bed as you pull your clothes to straighten the creases of the makeout. 

Serin covers her eyes even if you both are detached, the split second burning into her memory. “I knew you guys were together, but I didn't know it was getting spicy here!”

Sunghoon’s body springs up from the mattress, “You knew yet you still came in?!”

“Wait, that's what you're worried about?!” you exclaim with wide eyes at your boyfriend. “You knew all this time?!” Questioning the grinning sister at the door.

“I know I just kind of exposed you, but don't expose me!” Serin shouts as she retreats to a safer part of the house.

“What does that mean?!” The clueless brother runs out to interrogate his sibling while you're left dumbfounded at what just happened in the last few seconds. 

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 enhypen masterlist

tags: @k-films @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet

@haneul-and-clouds @sunlightwoo @hursheys

[mscherub]

Hello! This was, and is originally posted on my Ao3, but I’m gonna bring it over here for other ppl to read, cause why not?

Courting with Floyd (Floyd Leech x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as perfect and or Y/N, I honestly forgot :/ LOL

(Possible?) Warnings:

swearing(I have a sailors mouth and it makes its way into my writing)

Mention of a tooth

Uneducated reader on merfolk courting rituals

Probs grammatical errors and or spelling, or both, knowing me—

Word count: approximately 2.4K

How long has it been since Floyd has been acting weird? Well, I mean he always was weird to begin with, but now? Yea, totally different! He seemed more calm around you which—shockingly—is not like him. Was he ok? Where’d the sinister maniacal eel boy go? Figuring Jade would know better about his own brother, you went to him first just to ask, but, as expected, Jade was no help, simply smirking at you and basically telling you “tough luck.” I mean, Floyd, Floyd, was starting to be nice to you. Always finding a reason to be with you, always finding a reason to annoy hang out with you. Granted he did that before, but not as much. You weren’t thattt interesting. You were basic looking at best in his opinion(rude…), you caused a lot of trouble(ok, that’s fun…), and you did make everything twice as exciting when around so…ehhhh, maybe you were more interesting than he gave you credit for. But now? He’s going all out just to be closer it seems, and it’s unnerving.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Shrimpyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…ne ne, heyyyyyyy. Lookie lookie! Loooook!!! Shrimpy?” Floyd pouted and poked your cheek.

You were in the library, minding your business studying. Grim was off with Ace and Deuce so you got a moment alone, even just for a few minutes, but of course it was ruined already…

“Huh? I’m trying to study here…” you reply. Honestly why did trouble always find you? And more importantly why did the cause of it get blamed on you and—

“Booooringgg…hey hey, shrimpy~” he flashes you that signature toothy grin, pulling you out of your inner monologue. “I have something more fun in mind, yea? Come with me~” he doesn’t give you any time to even respond and yanks you up from your seat. You begrudgingly follow along behind him, trying to pull your arm away from his grip, but to no luck. The fuck did this guy eat to be so damn strong?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After going about campus for who knows how long, precious study time replaced by scaring and robbing people on Azul’s special blacklist…Floyd drags you under a tree in the botanical gardens. He hums a tune softly as he kicks at rocks in the grass…he’s out of toys to play with now and I guess you’re the only option, right?

“Heyyyyyy, Shrimpy! Tell me a story from your world.” you’re pulled from your thoughts again and look over at him as he leans against the tree and slumps down to the ground. He looks up at you expectantly. You sigh and sit down next to him, backs against the trees.

“What do you wanna hear?” You hum as your eyes find their way to a group of butterflies fluttering around a small patch of flowers.

“Something cool. Hmmmm…oh! How ‘bout something about the oceans in your world? You have em, yea?” He sighs, gently bumping the back of his head against the tree

“Yea, my world has oceans, but I dunno. We have like maybe 5% explored? A lot of fish I guess…not much different from yours in a sense besides that merfolk don’t exist.” you murmur. What else was there really to say? You exactly weren’t a marine biologist before ending up here.

Floyd goes quiet and lets out a scoff of disbelief, his eyes widening

“Huh…your world sounds boring shrimpy…no other eel merfolk then?” He waits for your reply. Why did he care about that

“Uh…no. Not any merfolk at all…and I guess it is kinda boring. But hey, it’s home.” you retort. Floyd simply grins and moves his face closer to yours. You glare at him confused. You could be studying right now, you could be reading up on whatever topic Trein assigned, but no! You were bullshitting around with probably one of the top most deadliest students in the entire school, and that’s without the use of magic. But Floyd doesn’t do anything sinister, instead he pulls something from his blazer pocket and drops it in your lap…what the—a pearl?

“Uh—“

“Pretty, huh? Just like your eyes, or whatever. Anyways…I’m bored, and ‘Zul’s probably got some spiel for me when I get back…gotta beat him to the lounge.” Floyd hoists himself up and looks down at you, waving his hand. “Later, shrimpy-Chan~” he grins again. His eyes have a weird glint to them today.

He whistles as he walks off, leaving you alone to ponder, again…ok…what the fuck just happened?

Things didn’t exactly add up. Was he trying to trick you…did he just give you a gift, for free!? Uh, hello? Not Floyd like, not Octivanelle student like at all! Something was fishy, and no pun intended, but what the actual fuck? Ok, thinking logically, maybe you did something that benefited him and he payed you back for it? But what did you do? And also that’s not like Floyd, either? You’re completely and utterly stumped.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Floyd’s behavior only got weirder over the days, and he even uncharacteristically started to give more gifts to you…one being the tooth of who knows who’s. You’ve asked him about it and it’s the same reply each time:

“Just felt like it. Bye now!” —or something like that…gave you something pretty, which was always usually shiny, and then left, leaving you to look at the gift(if you even wanna consider a tooth that then sure) confused.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

One evening you’re sitting in Ramshackle dorm, doom scrolling on MagiCam, Grim curled up and passed out beside you on the couch…

Ding!

“The hell?”

A message from Azul pops up and you instinctively click on it.

Azul: “for the love of the seven, please say yes to Floyd already. It’s driving me and my business into turmoil…”

Huh…

Ok, what the hell did he mean by “say yes to Floyd?” What am I saying yes to?

You: “…uh…what?”

Azul: “…”

Azul: “come to the lounge.”

And that’s it. Azul ends the conversation. Weird.

You hoist yourself up and you pat grim on the head to wake him up.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you and Grim get to the lounge, it’s empty, besides for the disaster playing out…Floyd slumped directly on the floor in the middle of the lounge in his eel form, his tail flicking angrily and smacking against the floor, a pout plastered onto his face. Apparently Azul caught him trying to sneak out again to go to the sea for “presents,” and Azul got fed up. Floyd grumbles and glares over at the door, his eyes soften just a bit when he sees it’s you, but he’s in one of his moods.

“Shrimpy…come’ere…” he mutters. “Tell ‘Zul how dickish he’s being by not letting me go get you another trinket from the sea.”

“Floyd, you’ve been skipping out on working hours—“

Jade chimes in, “To be fair, when doesn’t he?”

Floyd keeps bickering with Azul, leaving you and Grim to just witness the scene unfold before you.

“Henchhuman, we could run right about…now!” Grim murmurs.

“No…” you sigh as you grab his tail before he books it. You could totally take advantage of this, maybe get Azul to make a fair deal with you if you solve whatever is wrong with Floyd…

Jade walks up next to you silently and smiles as he watches.

“You know…my brother has taken quite a liking to you I fear…he would be fairly upset if you were to keep ignoring his advances.” He hums. “Though it is enjoyable to watch him try so hard.”

“What? Jade, no offense but what the hell do you mean?” You side eye him, but Azul calls Jade over to drag Floyd to the pool until he can get him a potion to change him back…Azul is stressed and it’s evident as he takes off his glasses to rub his face. But soon his exasperated expression is replaced by a glare as he makes eye contact with you.

“Perfect, I truly thought you were smart, but in this type of situation, you’re so dense!” Azul huffs.

“Ok, ok, before accusing me of anything else, you mind telling me what’s going on?” You say as you cross your arms.

“You know exactly what’s going on…right?” He mutters.

Azul looks at you, his glare never changing until you can see something click for him. His eyes go a little wide and he looks at you surprised.

Shit…you didn’t know the courting rituals of merfolk, did you? I mean it would only make sense, you were a human, and you weren’t exactly from this world…

“Ah…Perfect. How to explain this—“

“How to explain what?” You sigh.

Azul takes a breath in and puts his glasses back on before continuing.

“I suppose there’s differences in each culture varying from land to sea, and in truth that is what makes them all unique in their own ways…uh—“ he pauses again, rubbing his temples.

“in merfolk culture, those who may be interested in another tend to give gifts as a means of courting. Do you understand that? Need I say more?”

You stare at him blankly, blink a few times, then take a breath in.

“Courting?”

“Courting.” Azul confirms.

“By that you mean Floyd is trying to…trying to get with me? Date me?” You murmur, your eyes widening.

“Precisely.” Azul sighs. “And while I have no problem with that in a sense, you ignoring his advances have caused him to be more—more in a sour mood, lately, more than he usually is, anyways. It’s truly putting a stunt into the business of the lounge due to him working less…it’s cumbersome.” Azul sighs again, longer this time.

You look at Azul, then to Grim who seems even more surprised than you. He looks over at you and looks about ready to cry.

“NOOOOO. HENCHHUMAN NO! NO, NO! YOU WILL NOT NOOOOOOO!” Grim whines, grabbing your arm and shaking you.

“Tell Floyd off, Azul! Ain’t no way my Henchhuman is gonna fall in the grips of that slimy eel!” Grim complains

Azul puts up his hand, shushing Grim.

“That’s not my decision, and you both practically know Floyd as well as I do…and to be fair I don’t exactly know why he’s courting since neither him nor Jade have ever tried in their life, not even back in the coral sea…but, Perfect,” Azul narrows his eyes at you, “don’t make a decision that will ruin my business…” and with that, he leaves you and Grim, slamming the door to the VIP lounge.

“Henchhuman you can’t be considerin’ this! There’s a lot of better guys out there…like Kalim, rich too!”

“Floyd and Jade are pretty rich, too, Grim—“

“And he lives above land, and he has Jamil who makes great food! I think if you’re going for someone go for him.” He interrupts.

“Grimmy, it ain’t just about the money for one…” you sigh.

“YOU’RE CONSIDERING THIS?!” He yells, he looks ready to faint.

Truth was, that as much as you acted like you didn’t like Floyd, you honestly kind of did. For what, though? Hard to tell. Maybe it was his laid back attitude, or maybe it was his looks, though he kinda looked like a gremlin, or maybe you just liked him for, well, him…

Grim is already walking(floating) away, but you let him this time…you’ll find him later, guarantee, probably caught up with some mess he always manages to make. Instead, you take a breath in and walk to where the pools are located.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You push through the double doors to the pool room and you find Floyd swimming in circles, bored mumbling obscenities to himself. You get closer, your footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.

“If it’s you ‘zul, I don’t wanna hear what you have ta say, ain’t gonna change anything, and—“ he looks up and sees you. He stops talking then stops swimming. Slowly, his pout forms into a smirk and he swims over to the edge of the pool.

“Shrimpy~ I knew you’d come…” he gives you a closed eye grin. He hoists himself up out of the pool and sits on the edge, the rest of his tail in the water.

You walk over to him and sit next to him, keeping at least a few feet between you in hopes you don’t get wet.

“Sorry I didn’t notice earlier…I guess?” you murmur. You look at him. His smile doesn’t fade, he moves his face closer to yours. “About the courting or whatever, I mean. Actually, it’s more your fault cause how were you gonna do that to me when I didn’t even know what it meant? Ah, whatever. Guess it’s just good I know now, right?” you tease. Floyd giggles and boops your nose.

“Thought you knew. You seemed smart, but maybe I gave ya too much credit for that, huh?” He teases back.

You nudge him gently with your shoulder, your uniform blazer sticking slightly to his viscous skin…

He smiles and holds out a closed fist to you. You look up at him and furrow your brows, looking at his gesture confused.

He turns his fist and opens it, revealing a pearl necklaces with shiny scales that obviously didn’t belong to him. Now that you understood the implications somewhat of the gifts, you hesitate to take it, but he plops it into the palm or your hand. You clip it around your neck and let out a soft hum as the light glints of the scales.

“It’s pretty,..uh, I guess just like you, thank you?” You murmur. Floyd grins even more and practically pounces on you.

“You’re too cute shrimpy…” he hums, rubbing his cheek against yours. “You get it now, yea? Good…now you gotta do it back…I only like expensive things so—“

“Floyd, let’s just skip that, ok?” You chuckle. “I like you, too…without the gifts you’ve given me, though, they are nice…”

“Hmmm…guess I can see past it just this once…” he sighs. He pulls back a little and grins at you. You look back at him and can’t help but smile.

“Do you know how we seal a courtship?” His smiling never faltering.

“Let me guess, a ki—“

Floyd crashes his lips against yours and shuts you up. A small sound of surprise leaves you. He pulls away and giggles, watching as your face turns bright red.

“Hmmm…now I’m bored, Shrimpy…oh, I know let’s go for swim!”

Oh no.

That’s it for now my lovelies! Also this was my first work on Ao3 and ofc transferring it over here may have messed it up a lot more, so if it’s bad that’s why 💀 (I also can write rlly well some days and others I can’t, weird thing…)

Ao3 link here since I have 3 other works posted on there that aren’t on my Tumblr page quite yet—> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_cherub

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, repost if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[yesornopolls]

This is not a yes/no poll but I don’t know who else to consult.

My parents and I are not close. I'm closer with my dad, but he doesn't know about any of my interests due to the way me and my sister were taught about 'privacy' growing up. I am not close with my mum at all and I only talk to her when I have to.

When me and my sister were growing up, we were not told any of our parents' interests/hobbies, and were always told not to look at what people were doing. I think this is what led us to both be so hidden(?) from our parents, and is why this problem exists in the first place.

My dad doesn’t really buy anything for me, nor does he try to learn about my interests (but he will listen when he does learn about them. He likes that I like stuff, he just doesn’t actively seek that information out). My mum is the one who will buy me things, but it’s gotten to the point where she is just buying me junk for the sake of trying to keep a relationship with me and then holding that fact over my head (I have told her to stop, she hasn’t).

I want to buy a few posters for my favourite show for my bedroom at my dads house (my parents are divorced). I currently do not have a credit/debit card as I lost it a few months ago, however I am going to go get a new one on the 18th of this month, but I would preferably like to place the order before school starts again (for reference, all these options are online orders).

I have a few options on how to acquire the posters, and I’m not sure how to go about it.

Ask my mum to buy them for me.

She will buy me things I don’t want related to this show for the next 10 years, even after I inevitably lose interest in it. She’ll also be extremely upset that I’m putting them up at my dad’s house, and not hers. However I don’t care about her opinion on my interests as much.

Ask my dad to buy them for me.

I do not want to do this one, purely because of the completely irrational fear I have that he’ll think the show is weird, or violent (again, completely irrational. He is the biggest nerd you’ll meet, he’s probably even watched the show before and enjoyed it. It’ll just be awkward and I’m an overthinker). His opinion means a lot to me, and although he’s supportive of me in every sense, I think he still views me as a little kid (I’m 18), hence why I’m worried to tell him about my interests. I do want him to know about my interests in the long term though, and I want to be able to tell him things about me and not be scared about it, but I’m not sure if diving headfirst into this is the right way to go about it (for my own sake).

Wait until the 18th and buy them myself.

This one would be fine, but I’m a little worried that my dad will be confused when they show up for me. He would also have to find out about the posters/my interests in a surprise! Kind of way, which is a little awkward and it might hurt his feelings that he wasn’t asked. This will also be after school starts again, which I would prefer to get them before then. However I think this is the option that’ll give me the least anxiety in the short-term, but probably more as I wait for them to arrive.

I have consulted my sister and she is no help whatsoever.

Thank you for reading this behemoth of an ask, and thank you for any advice you might have (and I understand if this is not submitted to the public as it's not a yes/no question).

[1toreyouapart]

Right Through Me

***FANFICTION THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE THAT. 18+ MDNI***

Rae arrives on her former best friend’s doorstep, asking only for a place to stay while she gets back on her feet after moving across the country to escape her ex. Nick gladly opens his door to her, quickly pulling her into the fold with his friends and band mates.

Noah is just trying to survive. He wants to make it. Needs it. He has no time for anything other than the band. He’s got a point to prove. Nick’s friend challenges that and upends his entire world. She drives him crazy with her laid back, carefree ways.

Everyone can see the collision coming from a mile away, and nobody can stop it. Much less the two of them. Who will make it out in the end?

CW/TW: domestic violence, miscarriage, alcohol use, swearing, smoking, tobacco/vape use, smut, more to come as story is written.

Frustration

Steam swirled around her in the shower, the heat from the water relaxing the stiff muscles in her shoulder. Finally, after what felt like eons, she was able to leave the sling off. Having everything in one position for so long had left the muscles there sore and stiff as she adjusted to being able to use her arm a little more freely again. Groaning she dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut as the water pelted down on her shoulder. All the guys had done their best making sure she wasn’t overusing her shoulder or arm, but she still snuck in time to do some of the things she used to do it. Her range of motion was definitely limited. Reaching over her head was a bit of a problem. Which made washing her hair difficult, still. But she had the scalp massaging shampoo brush, so at least she could keep her hair clean. It had been a life saver the last six weeks.

The water started to run cold, sending a chill throughout her. Pouting to herself she shut the water off, wringing a bit of excess water out of her hair. Her mind wandered, drifting to everything she needed to do in the next few weeks. Somehow Noah had cornered her into accepting his offer of having her hit the road with them to help with merch. Now she was getting set to travel with a bunch of stinky men. Part of her was excited to spend more time with Noah, though. Ever since Folio had interrupted them he hadn’t given them a chance to be alone together again. It was beyond irritating.

Pulling her shirt over her head she tucked her hair up in a towel, huffing out a sigh. So what if Noah had kissed her? It was barely even a kiss before Folio had shown up and ruined it. All freaking week after that it was a constant stream of “You shouldn’t get caught up with him.” Or “He’s not a relationship type of guy, Rae.” She didn’t want a goddamn relationship. After thaw last one she was good for a long while on those. Didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun once in a while.

Rae made her way to the living room, dropping down on the couch. She picked up her phone, scrolling through movie options on Hulu. Folio wouldn’t be home for a bit yet. He was with the band, going over things as they prepped to go on tour. The closer it got the more Noah was on edge, working tirelessly on everything. She had never seen someone so set on everything being perfect. Rae also suspected he may be a bit of a workaholic.

Nerves pricked at her spine and she got up, checking that the door was for sure locked. Logically she knew that if Sean was looking for her he hadn’t found her yet, otherwise he would have shown up by now. He had been out nearly a full two weeks at this point. That didn’t stop the nightmares. The constant looking over her shoulder. Or the constant fear.

Satisfied it was locked she dropped back down on the couch, finally deciding on some campy horror. Enough to get her heart rate going, but not so much that she would put herself into a state of full blown panic. Hitting play she settled back into the couch, pulling her blanket over herself.

Right as the first jump scare came on Folio walked in, a grumpy and tired Noah right behind him. Rae screamed, diving for the bat Folio kept in the living room. Terror lanced through her, white hot and insistent as she spun around, ready to beat someone’s head in.

“Whoa! Rae! It’s just us!” Folio held his hands up, eyes wide. Noah stood behind him, watching her, a single brow arched.

“Whatcha gonna do with that, Princess?”

Heart still pounding she lowered the bat, eyes flitting between a worried Folio and a less than pleased Noah. Though he couldn’t contain the slight smirk as he stared her down.

“Jesus Christ. I thought you were Sean.” Rae chuckled, dropping the bat on the floor.

“So that’s his name.” Noah nodded, appearing to make a mental note of it. “Well, you can calm down, Princess. It’s just us.”

“Why are you here?” She asked, dress still churning in her belly.

“Well, I tried to text you. See if you wanted to go grab a burger or something.”

Rae tipped her head to the side, looking between him and Folio. No way was he going to let her get away with being alone with Noah.

“Yes. He’s coming.”

Rae groaned, casting Folio a weary glance. He had gone from acting like an overprotective brother to acting like he was some overbearing father trying to keep her “innocence” intact. It was getting tiresome. And here she was spending a month on the road with him.

“Nick. I don’t need a chaperone to go get some fucking dinner.” She looked down, realizing she was in an old pair of sweats and a tank top. “I’m not even dressed, anyway.”

“Looks fine to me.” Noah offered with a small shrug. His tone was still clipped, though a little less so now.

“Let me go to the bathroom real quick and then we can leave.” Folio nodded his head towards her before disappearing down the hallway.

“If you’re worried he’s going to find you, you’re gonna need a lot better than a bag to defend yourself with, Princess.”

Rae’s eyes snapped to Noah’s, taking note of how his features had softened. A look she had come to know well the last couple of weeks. She had mistaken it as pity at first, but she had a feeling it was far from it. It was more a look of understanding. Of giving a shit about what happened to her.

“Well, it’s what I’ve got, Noah.” She shrugged, pulling the forgotten towel out of her hair. “Why are you so interested in his name, anyway? Don’t think I didn’t notice the mental note you took.”

“Doesn’t matter, Princess.”

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @mrscevans @supersquirrel1996 @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @ichoosetenderomens @dontwantthemoney

[nowimjustastranger]

Hello; I'm really interested in your Infinity Falls au.

I was wondering if we could know more about Dipper and Mabel; do they stay in Gravity Falls full time? What do they mostly do? What're their personalities like that makes them sort of 'darker' then the typical Dipper and Mabel?

No, they don't live in Gravity Falls. Their parents have joint custody of the Pines twins even after the divorce, so they switch off on which parent they stay with until summer, which they spend in Gravity Falls. If there's ever talk of them staying with one of the parents/going elsewhere for the summer, they immediately call their Grunkles. Stan will then talk to the other parent and get them on his side before calling the current problem parent, dude is a master manipulator. No matter what, he's getting his fucking kids for three months.

There was only one memorable occasion that Ford got involved, and that was after the Pines twins had been signed up for a fancy summer camp that cost a fair amount of money when the kids were nine years old. Stan had smashed up the house in his rage when both parents agreed that too much money had been spent to simply not have them go since refunds weren't an option. Fiddleford had fetched Ford from the sub-basement before getting to work calming Stan down, the man inconsolable.

Stan's distress had put Ford in a downright nasty mood, so he ended up having a short and succinct conversation with the parents, assuring them that he would reimburse them for what they spent on the summer camp with interest. And the prospect of extra money had them agreeing to send the kids to Gravity Falls for the summer. Ford did warn them that should this happen again, then they'd never see another penny from him. Basically, he starts bribing the parents with a sum of money to ensure that they send the kids to Gravity Falls every summer.

But, once the Pines twins turn 18, they'll be moving to Gravity Falls permanently and Ford will cut all ties with and funds to the kids' parents. And, for making Stan so distressed and anxious every June after that one incident, Ford would even go as far to make their lives more difficult by pulling some strings.

In terms of personality, I basically just took their pre-existing personalities and gave them an unhinged edge.

Take Mabel for example, she hides her extremely manipulative and destructive nature under a bubbly and disarming demeanor. She's still very chaotic and impulsive, which is tempered only by her loyalty and devotion to her family. When it comes to her friends and family, her occasional manipulation is obvious. She doesn't try to hide it and will proudly confess to manipulating them if confronted, but her manipulation is ultimately harmless when it comes to her loved ones. She usually only manipulates her loved ones for their own benefit, looking out for them in her own way.

Ford is pulling all nighters again when Stan takes Dipper camping (and also to scout for new creatures)? Mabel will break out the crocodile tears and play the nightmare card to get Ford to cuddle on the sofa with her and watch an animal documentary. It only takes maybe half an hour before Ford is sleeping, aggressively snuggling Mabel. Stan starts drinking more and getting out of the house less after Ford and Fiddleford go to yet another science convention for two weeks? Mabel will ask Stan to take her places, just spending time with him. She'll even get Dipper in on it if Stan is particularly bad.

Dipper, on the other hand, is both cunning and calculating. Dipper can read people and situations then use the information he gathers to his advantage, tilting the scales in his favor. He's very aloof and cold to those outside of his social circle, distrusting of others and their intentions. Dipper isn't afraid to get his hands dirty either, perfectly willing to fight if the circumstances call for it. Dipper isn't quite as controlled as Ford, his emotions still get the better of him, so someone is always around to make sure no one can witness his temporary vulnerability.

Dipper's affection and care is far more subtle than Mabel's since he focuses more on the little things. Ford and Fiddleford never run out of coffee during the day, Dipper keeping the coffee machine running and changing out the grounds for fresh ones when needed. If Stan forgets to do a chore or two around the house because the Mystery Shack is having a busy day, Dipper will do whatever needs doing for him. Dipper keeps his shared room with Mabel clean and tidy, ensuring that Mabel can find all her knitting and art supplies.

Dipper doesn't like not knowing things or not being in control (or at least informed) of situations, but Dipper wouldn't hesitate to blindly follow along with his sister or Grunkles whims due to the absolute loyalty and trust he has for his immediate family.

[polyamorousmood]

i've known i was polyamorous since i was in my early teens, and rarely struggled with romantic jealousy. with my current partner, however, i've started getting really jealous out of nowhere. every time they mention being attracted to someone else, my mind fills up with so much worry, doubt, and anxiety, that it makes me physically ill.

my only theories are that it could be some underlying insecurity of mine that had never been awakened before by my previous relationships. or maybe that, because this relationship is more non-standard than my previous ones, i don't have the common social rules and expectations to fall back on, which ends up getting replaced with uncertainty and fear? i really don't know though. i have to think about it more.

do you have any tips for managing jealousy like this?

So I've talked about jealousy a few times, and I won't repeat it here (I'll link to some good ones at the end), but since this is a recent development I do have a few steps to try first.

Evaluate other changes. Do you feel different about other things? Is there anything that could be making you more anxious generally? Med changes, sleep, other stressors, etc can all contribute. Make sure there's not some other root cause.

Differences in this relationship. Do you care about this person more than others? Or do you have a reason to doubt them you didn't with your previous partners? You mentioned perhaps its an underlying insecurity, what insecurity might that be/what could have triggered it? This is "less standard" than your previous ones, do you feel bothered by that otherwise, does it make you feel less stable?

And then you were right you need to think about it more. Without more details on why its a struggle for you, everything I would give is mostly my other advice for jealousy. This is the main ask I link to, but the whole jealousy tag might be useful for you to look through. If you don't read through that whole other thing, I at least want to make sure you have this workbook available to you

And like. As I'm sure you know, therapy is always an option. My opinions from my life experiences are not a holy grail. So on and so forth and what have you.

Good luck, friend!!

[goldsbitch]

Twelve grapes

chapter 2 - Red and Blue

Does he always talk so much?" Charles asks, wondering whether excessive talking is a requirement for Red Bull drivers. Max snaps right back. "Only when he's awake." Charles nods understandingly. "Must be hard for you," he mocks Daniel's tone.

or Charles spends the afternoon pinning over his ultimate rival.

warning: m/m kiss, 8k words

Fake it til you make it. But, Charles has been faking it for so long now, he can hardly remember what it feels like to believe in himself. He pushes through. There is no other option.

It only dawns on him after the dreadfully long medical exam, when he’s finally out of the car and watching the replays of Alonso launching himself over his Sauber. It hits him when he sees all the other people, worried and then relieved that he survived just fine. Another tell-tale sign is all the phone calls and messages he keeps getting, from just about anyone he's ever met.

But, there isn't fear inside of him - he does not allow that emotion entrance, ever. He is convinced that if he had, it would be over for him in the world of motorsport. And who is he without that?

Anger piles up inside him, which is not an unfamiliar feeling, but the intensity is on another level.

It feels like the paddock is trying to suffocate him. There are people, cameras everywhere and he would give anything to leave - like right now. He walks and walks and walks. Circles, triangles, whichever will confuse anyone watching the most.

The start of his first F1 season feels like a bittersweet dream. Him coming in, having three amazing races and then finding the person source of misfortune for the following ones. DNF's, crashes and who knows what else. There is always the debrief afterwards, where he has to sit and watch his mediocre teammate smirk with unmasked joy. Charles believes he is not a violent person, but if he really had to punch someone, it would be without a doubt Marcus Ericsson.

The more he spirals, the clearer the face of his teammate becomes, until Charles finally snaps, finds an alley between the technical trucks and proceeds to start kicking one of the tires with everything he has.

The-stupid-blonde-asshole. Untalented-waste-of-a-seat. He can't rob him of his chance at Ferrari. He is so close.

"Uhm, hm."

The excessively loud pseudo-cough snaps the young driver back to reality. Only then he realizes just how tense his whole body is and how his foot hurts from the numerous kicks he granted to the truck in front of him. He can't calm himself immediately. But, he stops and turns around, to evaluate the damage he would need to clear by not making sure enough to avoid any witnesses. He quickly concluded the worst thing to happen would be for a fan or a team principal to stand there. When he locks eyes with the person standing few meters into the alley, he makes a mental note never to assume he can imagine the worst.

Standing there, with all his grace and beauty is none other than Max Verstappen. He spares him one look and then goes on to examine the kicked tire. Charles is about to drown in embarassment when he hears him speak.

"Not bad for a French guy," he remarks with a smirk and stands back up. Why anyone would think teasing someone mid-rage is a good idea is beyond Charles. He avoids looking at him as he bites his lips in frustration and adds blond people of all hair shades to his list of enemies. Max's hair counts as blond, therefore that makes them two people he wants to kick, along with Marcus. As if he could read his thoughts, he runs his hand through the messy, post race strands, which sends Charles into the loudest sigh he probably ever mustered.

"You know, I have a special wooden desk back home for when I need to punch things," the Dutch says matter-o-factly.

"I don't have an anger problem like you," he snarls through gritted teeth, failing at proving his point.

"Right. I also have a cheeky bottle of whiskey in my driver's room, if you wanna take the edge off." Yes, alcohol after an anger spree practically screams healthy, Charles wants to reply - but doesn't.

His heartbeat is somewhat coming back to down to post-race normal, he rests his hands on his waist and stares at the tire once again. He gulps, turns his look back at Max, who is still standing there, waiting. Never before he thought that Max would be the one offering him help to find his peace of mind. He must be tired or sick. "Come on, Charles," Max states, but does not move. There is something incredibly grounding about his certainty. A wave of calm hits Charles like a tsunami. Out of nowhere, it's like time stops and the world around fades into a grey hue. Charles counts his deep breaths. Stoic Max stares at him, as if he knows something more than him. It's the tone he uses that grounds him the most. Charles would normally snap back into getting mad at that fact that three words and Verstappen manages to change his mood - but he is so tired. Sudden realization of that steers his answer. "Ok," he says simply and tries not to read into the smile that creeps onto Max's face. Charles can't get the song Pale Blue Eyes out of his head.

//

Charles is happy that unlike him, Max still has all of his five braincells working and chooses the least visible way into Red Bull motorhome. It is probably a miracle that he manages to sneak him in, though it was way later after the race than Charles assumed. His anger walk must have been minutes long. He suppresses any guilt about his team, who are probably searching for him. He likes Sauber people, but tries not to think of the as his team. Because they hopefully won't be for long. It's the thought about the ongoing Ferrari talks that get his riled up again. Maybe walking into the den of the devil - Red Bull - was the biggest mistake he made that day. A visible reminder of how Max already had everything Charles wished for. Top team that's capable of fighting podiums. A place that screams "Max' home". He is not a visitor, he is someone who the teams counts on in their plans for the future. Not only is Charles still angry, he feels smaller than ever, as he drags behind him. The perfect metaphor for his career so far. Anger is slowly getting replaced by despair. Typical Charles' spiral.

He sinks in deep into the couch in Max's room. A small glass with honey colored liquid is in his hands immediately after. This is the moment Charles remembers he hates whiskey.

"So, you're on a bit of a run of bad races, huh?" Max opens and sips his drink, without even a hint of having an intention of toasting. Then again, Charles has nothing to toast to. Yet. Despair gets overshadowed by the hope the Ferrari contract might be a way out of this "run of bad races".

"Yeah. The car just does not have it. Or maybe I don't have it and it's actually good that other people crash into me, at least the fans get a good show."

"There is a difference between self-criticism and self-hatred, you know?" Max says in an uncharacterically calm tone. Charles can't think of any other reply apart from an eye roll.

"However, you had an impressive start. I was actually worried," Max continues, making Charles's heartbeat freeze. "For a moment," he adds maliciously after few seconds of silence, bringing Charles back to life. Max was worried and now he pities him. Oh, how nicely paved the way to hell is.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me," he spits out, party regretting that he ever followed Max, partly happy he can be unreasonably mad at someone without much of a consequence. He's always playing the good PR boy. It's all calculated, he is not in his final destination yet. His goal is not simply to be in F1, his goal is to crush it. And he is sitting across from the one who is on his way to have it all. Max dared to smirk as he kept casually leaning against the motorhome wall.

"I would never degrade you by feeling sorry for you, mate," Max reacts, his tone hinting he shared Charles's disregard for drivers pitying each other.

"Good," Charles concludes and sips from the horribly bad drink.

"Was the crash bad? I saw some replays and I'm surprised you're sitting here. I'd expect you be to locked with the medics," Max changes his tone to a more casual one. Like they weren't talking about a several G crash involving multiple cars and a world champion flying over his head.

"I think this was my worst one yet," he admits. "The medics let me go after making sure they do every test on this planet on me."

"So, tell me. You pregnant?"

Charles laugh as the stupid joke. He blames his tired mind. It is noticable that Max is pleased with himself. Who would have though he'd be sitting here, in a Red Bull driver room, after a massive crash, cracking dumb jokes with Verstappen out of all people.

"How long is the car going to take to repaire?" the Dutch asks, waking Charles up a bit. Was that why he brought him here? To lure information out of him?

"I'm sure it's fine. I have other cats to whip," he remarks quickly, already planning on starting to being the one asking questions.

"Wha-you're whipping cats?" Max frowns, half confused, half concerned.

"Yeah, why would-"

"Whipping cats?!" It is Max now who would be called the "angry" one in the room.

Charles doesn't understand why he looks so baffled. "Yeah, j’ai d’autres chats à fouetter, it's the mechanics problem to do so."

There is pure confusion in the room, before it finally clicks. "Mate, I don't think that translates directly. I don't want to give out advice, but don't go around saying you're whipping cats for fun," Max mutters.

"Um, does it not?" Charles speaks while red runs into his face. It's all the languages in his head, one jumping over another. How is it that everyone else seems to not make these mistakes anymore.

Finally, Max lets out a small chuckle. "Happens to all of us," he contradicts what Charles didn't even have a chance to say.

To say the door opens silently and smoothly would be an understatement. Daniel Ricciardo slams in, like the owns the place. Charles does not understand many things, the Australian driver will probably be on the top of that list. He automatically stiffs up.

Daniel closes the door and pauses, taking in the scene with his "punch me" grin. "Well, well. What do we have here? Max Verstappen and… wait, don’t tell me." He snaps his fingers theatrically. "Charles Leclerc. Sauber’s crown jewel."

Charles’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

Max observes without a reaction. Daniel does not wait a response. "Didn’t expect to find you here, mate. Shouldn’t you be back at Sauber, poring over data and figuring out how to make that car go faster than a lawnmower?" he sings his vowels in a tone so unpleasant to Charles's ears. Yes, Charles thinks. I should be. But I am not. Sue me.

Max shoots Daniel a warning look, but Daniel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

He leans against the counter, his tone shifting, almost sympathetic. "It must be hard, though. Coming into F1, everyone expecting you to be the next big thing. Having all those hopes and dreams on your shoulders, only to realize... the car’s not good enough. That no matter how talented you are, sometimes you just can’t win."

Charles stiffens, his grip tightening on the glass. He feels his anger building up again and the urge to storm out growing inside. He closes his eyes with the hope that maybe once he opens them again, the Australian will be gone.

Daniel smiles, almost kindly. "But hey, chin up. Every legend has to start somewhere. Even if it’s at the back of the grid."

There’s a beat of silence. Charles swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. Max, sensing the shift in mood, stands abruptly.

"Daniel," he says sharply. "Enough."

Daniel puts his hands up in defense. "Chill out mate, I'm just surprised he is here and I wanna cheer him up. But, Charles," he turns away from Max, "you're always welcome here. As a visitor, you know. Just to be clear," he says and ends it with his iconic, punch-worthy smile. To add another layer to Charles's pile of discomfort, he goes and puts his arm around Max, like the overly touchy friend he must be. Max does not seem to be phased by it. Charles tries not to think about how often that must happen. It's hard to control the cocktail of emotions, so adding a hint of jealousy to it is making his glass overflow. The older driver pinches the younger one's cheeks and Charles can't help but roll his eyes and shift his focus on the nearly empty glass of whiskey. One more minute of this and he is out.

To his luck, since Daniel seems to have run out of jokes to throw around, he spins on his heel and starts walking away. "I'll leave you guys to it then. Charlie, if you want, we are going out later in the evening, text me if you wanna join," he says and walks out. Charles finds it amusing to think he'd have Daniel's number saved. Once the door closes behind him, he can finally breathe again.

"Does he always talk so much?" Charles asks, wondering whether excessive talking is a requirement for Red Bull drivers.

Max snaps right back. "Only when he's awake."

Charles nods understandingly. "Must be hard for you," he mocks Daniel's tone.

Max nods back overly dramatically. "Yes. It is. Especially when the noise blocking headphones are just...not good enough."

Charles puts his head in his hand, exhaustion creeping in.

Max seems to not notice that and continues in their talk. "You really don't like him, do you?"

There is a smirk forming at Charles's lips. "And do you like him?"

Only he knows with what kind of undertone he is asking. The jealousy still present in the air. He hopes Max does not pick up on it. Or does he? It's a confusing day.

"Yeah. He's a good friend," he murmurs back, blue eyes now locked with the messy green ones. "Do you want a refill-"

Charles can't cope anymore. No more whiskey.

"Max, why are you being, so..." he interrupts him and immediately pauses, searching for the right word to define what ever he had been so doing. And since he can't find anything better suited, he inevitably ends up with: "...nice."

Out of all the things he would describe Verstappen, this was probably the last of them. Truth be told, the only reason he followed Max to his motorhome in the first place was the immortal curiosity Charles was born with. Anything that involves Max seems to draw him in. All of the arguments - which there hadn't been many these last few months - all the snarky comments and exchanges, frowned upon looks and lines shared through media...Charles knew, deep down his biggest weakness was just how much he wanted to be accepted by Max. The allure of Verstappen - Charles imagines that's how everyone feels about the Red Bull driver.

"I don't bother spending my time on thinking why I do, or say, things," he proclaims nonchalantly, providing Charles with something that feels like the key to the enigma of it all. Well, of course, that would explain hell of a lot things about this man. He stares at him, as he keeps his casual lean on the table and fiddles with his glass. There is something about that statement that Charles finds hard to believe. But he decides to keep that question for the future.

It's only now that Charles realizes he is not calm, in fact, he is the opposite of that emotion. Tense, on edge. Like before jumping off a cliff. He wasn't like that before Daniel interrupted them, only once he left them alone again. The contrast of just how much he hated Daniel's presence and if fact appreciated the lack of it starts to hit. Charles had been in different driver's room before. But, never in Max's and it was never kind of like this. Suddenly, he is hyper aware of his every move, how small this rooms feels, contrasting its actual size. The couch underneath him is too hard and the icy glass is starting to hurt his fingers. He gulps. Max has never looked so tall before.

"You're weirdly quiet. Getting calmer now?" Max asks and interrupts the thought spiral Charles fell into.

"Yeah, all calm now," he lies and almost burn holes into Max with his stare. He wants to stay in this moment forever. There is nothing pleasant waiting for him out there.

Charles winces after taking a last sip of whiskey. "You don’t even like it," Max notes, watching him. "No," Charles admits. "I hate it. It tastes like someone melted a campfire and put it in a glass." Max laughs, genuinely this time. "Then why did you take it?" "I don’t know. Peer pressure?" "Next time, just ask for a soda. You can still be mad with a Coke in hand."

Charles just nods, without needing to respond. Max takes a deep breath in and a pause, before he speaks again.

"When are you leaving Spa? Do you have time this evening?"

Charles's response would have been very different hadn't been for Daniel's invitation. "I'm not going out with you and Daniel," he says firmly.

Max rolls his lips. "So, you do have time."

There is a tingle somewhere deep inside him. An urge, curiosity and the inability to say no to Max. "I'm leaving at midnight," he replies and it sounds more like a question.

Max grants him one of the most obnoxious smiles this century has seen. "We'll just have to make sure you're back on time. Go to the hotel and pack your things in advance. Oh, and don't wear white sneakers."

//

Charles is totally normal about it. It's a perfectly acceptable reaction to pack in a time a pit stop crew would be impressed by. Cancelling a gaming session with one of the engineers he had scheduled for the evening was also a perfectly ok thing to do. The pacing around the room and nail biting until his finger tops bleed is maybe little over the top, but he is alone in the room. He's allowed to freak out.

He and Max are mere acquaintances. The definition of friends not really applying to them. It would be totally ok for him to hang out with his usual suspects, but this was new. Was Max luring him into a trap? Was he going to have him strip naked and then have his Dutch friends jump over from the bushes and laugh at him?

Charles is someone who freaks out ahead of things. He considers that to be an advantage for racing, panicking on flights rather than in the cockpit.

He unpacks and then repacks his suitcase, just so that he has something to do. Curses himself for only bringing one pair of dark blue sneakers (and white ones, of course).

He has been like this for the last hour. Waiting on Max to text him he can finally go downstairs - because he is not going to let him know that he is pacing nervously. He is not going to sit in the hotel lobby, like some loser that has nothing better to do than to wait at him.

Charles blames the headache on the crash.

The sky gets progressively darker when he start giving up on Max ever texting him. Charles is a stupid, stupid boy, for believing he was talking seriously about making plans with him.

This hotel room ceiling isn't the most interesting piece of art work, but Charles would be able to repaint it by memory by the amount of time he spends laying on the unmade bed and staring at it. There is a little crack in the left corner, slight elevation between the hallway and the bedroom and a knock on the door.

A knock on the door. His mind goes immediately to the handsome Dutch driver (not that the image of him ever left since they departed, really), but he quickly gets himself up and adjusts his expectations to reality. It's probably someone from Sauber checking on him. Or his manager with some updates, he also rarely texts before coming over.

Deep breath and he opens the door. His face is calm, but if someone took Charles's pulse, they'd probably send him straight back to the medical centre. Max is standing there, looking calm and composed as ever. Back in his casual non-team wear. If it were up to Charles, he'd finally take him shopping for some flattering clothes. This is not doing him justice at all. Thank God his face is protected from the effects of that ugly stripy t-shirt.

"Hey, man. You good to go?"

Most people would send a text—or, at worst, ask reception to make a call. The fact he must have asked for his room number (and the more alarming fact he managed to get it from them) and then came all the way up, is concerning.

Max's brows furrow. "Have you lost the ability to speak in the last two hours?"

Charles slaps himself mentally. "Funny. Hello to you too."

A totally concerned-free smile spreads on Max's cheek and he walks past him to his room. "Let's grab your bag and get going, we're on a schedule."

Before he has time to blink, he is standing in a hotel elevator and Max Verstappen is carrying his bag.

//

There is the usual crowd of people mingling around the hotel - crew members, reporters, some overly excited fans. Charles tries to hide as Max leads them through shortcuts, this place obviously being his playground. Charles manages to relax himself a bit when he realizes nobody probably managed to get a picture of them walking together. Another miracle of the day. 

The sports car, older model, but obviously worked on, growls to life as Max turns the key. The engine’s rumble reverberating through Charles’s chest. He sits stiffly in the passenger seat, his fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the seat.

There is an old school smell of a cheap gas station car scent that punches through his nose. Max seems to be extremely comfortable in the car, as if he’s had it for years. 

Without much of a conversation, they depart. The car smoothly jolts forward, tires screeching slightly as Max accelerates out of the hotel parking lot. Talk about subtle. Charles is sure the sounds of this vehicle must have had half of the heads turn. The streets of Spa blur past them, the small town lights quickly giving way to the empty countryside roads. They drive on roads between fields, sometimes pass a small lump of forest. Max is treating the road as an old partner, smooth sailing - but definitely on the edgy side of things. If Charles hadn’t known Max as a Formula 1 driver, he’s think he was some small town tuning guy. 

"You drive like this on the track too?" Charles mutters after minutes of silence, trying to sound casual.

Max grins, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "No, I’m much faster on the track,“ he says as he hits the top of the hill a little too fast and sends them nearly flying before they land back on the road. He laughs and it is in that moment when Charles realizes that THE Max Verstappen is just another car guy. 

The countryside passes them by and Charles has to admit there is some sort of magic to it. It’s different than the roads around Monaco, more rustic and northern. Less glam and more roughness. Had he grown up here, he’d probably spend his teenage years cruising through. 

„Did you used to drive here a lot when you were young?“ He asks, head lots in his own thoughts. 

Max does not reply immediately, but then he goes onto explaining that yes, he has driven through every road this place is surrounded by. As early as when he was fourteen. Charles rolls his eyes and makes few comments on the incompetence of the local police. 

//

„Is there a specific place we’re going to?“ Charles asks after what feels like thirty minutes of driving, glancing nervously at the dense trees closing in around them. He is not checking the time, his trust lies with Max on that.

"You’ll see," Max replies, his tone maddeningly cryptic and sends the car into another turn in a way that would have then crash had there been any car in the opposite lane. Charles is not bothered by Max's driving, he knows he is more than capable of judging the situation. Had the driver been anyone else, he'd be out of the car after the first turn. His faith lies in the fact Max probably does not want both of them dead.

"Great," Charles mutters. "This is how horror movies start, you know."

Max chuckles, flicking the headlights to high beam as they zip down a narrow country road. "Relax, Leclerc. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it on the track. More fun."

Charles throws him a glare. "Very comforting. Thanks."

Max doesn’t respond immediately, his focus sharp as he takes a turn far faster than Charles would.

"You’re tense," Max remarks, barely hiding the amusement in his voice.

"Oui, I wonder why," Charles shoots back with lips turned upwards. It's a different kind of adrenaline, to completely give in and follow his lead.

Max glances at him briefly, his smirk widening. "You don’t trust me?"

"I trust you to try and scare the shit out of me, yes," Charles remarks.

"Good. Keeps things exciting."

Charles tries not to wonders what exactly "things" means in this scenario. He notices that he left all of the worries and stress of today back at the hotel. It feels like they'd been on the road for days, in the good way. Time works in funny ways.

//

The road grows narrower, the trees taller and denser. They block nearly all of the remaining sunlight. Charles realizes he hasn’t seen another car, or even a house, for several minutes.

"Seriously, Max. Is there a destination we're going to?" His tone is sharper now, just a hint of panic in it.

"You ask too many questions," Max replies smoothly, his hands steady on the wheel.

"Forgive me for being curious when you’re driving me into the middle of nowhere," Charles says, his voice rising slightly, tone set on teasing mode. He hasn't noticed, but he is scrunched in the seat, leaning on the door and completely comfortable, despite the potential death threat of this all.

Max chuckles again, clearly enjoying himself. "Are you always this dramatiqué?" he mocks his accent.

Charles turns to him, exasperated. "Dramatic? You’ve practically kidnapped me. It is what it is, I have to face the situation. I am ready to cooperate. Should I start preparing a ransom note? "

Max tilts his head thoughtfully, his smile teasing. "Who would pay for you, Leclerc?"

"Funny," Charles deadpans, though his heart skips at the flirtatious edge to Max’s tone.

He leans over to examine the dashboard. "At least we have enough fuel to last us long."

Max looks in the same direction and bites his lip.

"What?" Charles asks, double checking if he hadn't read it wrong.

"Yeah, that thing has been stuck like this for years."

Charles lets out a loud breath. "Putain, Max."

//

Max finally parks the car as they reach something resembling a gate and a fence (he, of course, does not park like a normal person, but drifts the car in - Charles is not even surprised at this point).

"We're here," he announces and kills the engine.

Charles examines the creepy surroundings and sighs.

"What's up with you now?" the cheery Dutchman asks him.

"I'm trying to pick which God to pray to."

He hits his arm playfully. "Come on, enough with the drama, you're gonna like this," he says convincingly and gets out of the car. Charles has no intention of not following him, his blood flowing in the opposite direction than usual. Or at least that's how it feels.

He walks few steps behind him and takes in the scenery. The damp grass, leaves and small stick crunch below their feet. A distinctive humid forest smell is something he hadn't felt in forever and it's surprisingly refreshing to take a deep breath. He tucks his hands into the sleeves of his jacket, trying to fight the chilly air. Max appears to be unaffected by any of it and walks with intention. He passes the small cottage, which looks like it needed a renovation twenty years ago. Charles was expecting that to be the their final destination, so when Max walks by it, he nearly trips on wet leafs, trying to follow his direction. He hopes it went unnoticed.

It all starts to make a bit more sense when they pass the first two cars, parked in a place where normal people would plant a tree. He starts to realize this must be some sort lair of the Verstappen family or their close friends. The further deep they go into the forest / garden, the more car parts, tires and general junk they pass. Charles has many questions, but the anticipation of what is that Max actually wants to show him stops words in his throat.

Right on cue, Max starts speaking on his own, gradually slowing his steps. "My dad and I would come here in between races and we'd fix old cars together. It's a good place to test parts and repair karts. But it's become so messy over the years," he comments as he has to kick a random door frame blocking their way. "One day I'll come over for few weeks and clean it all up. He's never going to do that on his own."

The intimacy of this information is something Charles wasn't ready. He keeps his silence, sensing Max does not need a reaction anyway.

"But, there is a plus side to this being currently a shit hole," he stops and turns around to face Charles, who mimics his move. Even in this dim low light, Max's eyes shine like something out of this planet. "We can fuck some shit up," he grins like a little kid he was just few years and hands Charles an obscurely massive hammer that he picked up somewhere along the way.

Charles gives him a questioning look, before slowly accepting this strange object. Max's grin does not leave his face.

Charles stares at the hammer in his hands, its weight unfamiliar but oddly grounding. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Max gestures ahead, and Charles’s eyes follow to where an old, rusted Volvo car sits under a drooping tree. The windshield is cracked, the paint flaking off like dead skin.

"Whatever you want," Max says casually, leaning against a nearby pile of tires. "But I’d start with the windshield."

Charles’s jaw drops slightly. "You want me to, what? Smash it?"

Max nods, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. "It’s therapeutic. Trust me."

"Max, this is ridiculous."

They stare at each other and Charles feels guilty all of a sudden, for dismissing his idea so bluntly. He sighs as he faces second instance of peer pressure from the other driver within the span of few hours. He wonders which choice exactly he made this morning that steered his day in such a different direction. Had someone told him he'd be smashing cars with Verstappen in the evening, he'd laugh in their face.

"Just try it. One hit. I won’t tell anyone."

Charles hesitates, his grip tightening around the hammer’s handle. The thought of swinging it, of letting loose, feels... disturbing. But then again, everything about this day has been weird. Maybe that’s the point. Max babbles along, as he always does once he starts, something about getting all the emotions out.

Charles ignores the rest of his speech and tries to imagine this is just like any other sport, be it tennis, golf or anything that involved swinging. He takes a deep breath, picks up the inexplicably heavy hammer and swings it against the windshield. The material is surprisingly sturdy and the hammer bounces back, driving the force into Charles's body, as if to mock him. This pisses him off, he can't have Max laughing at him and calling him a "pussy". He tightens his lips, adjusts his stance and swings once again.

Finally, a crack appears at the point of impact, the quiet sound of breaking multiplied by the silence of the forrest. This is followed by a muffled cheer behind him. Charles is still surprised at how much force he needs to use to actually make any damage on the old plastic laced glass and it rilles him up. He is not going to walk away from here being beaten by a windshield older than him. He swings again.

And again, again and again. Each impact comes with bigger force until the glass start to crumble apart. He does not feel cold anymore, the old fire he barely tamed this afternoon fully back up.

Marcus. Alonso. Stupid lawyers making things too complicated. The reporters. Sauber. Ferarri. Ferrari. Ferrari.

The pieces are not only crumbling, but now they're falling in every directions - and Charles feels alive. Ferrari. He moves a bit to smash every little part that still survived in the corner. Ferrari. The structure of the windshield is completely falling apart. Ferrari. He smashes the big pieces that are pathetically lying on the ground, mushing them down into nothing. He lefts out a heavy breath. Ferrari.

I will be a Ferrari driver next season.

Only when he lets go, no more damage left to be done on his victim, he realizes he said those words out loud. He is met with a curious stare of Max Verstappen. Charles slipped up when he wasn't suppose to. It's been brewing in him for weeks now. Only his managers know. He figures not even Sauber knows.

"Nothing is final yet. It could still fall to shit," he clarifies, staring at Max with anticipation.

Max shifts his weight from one leg to another and blinks few times. "Nice. I hope it works out for you."

Charles is careful now, coming down his high, facing the consequences. "Please, don't tell anyone," he almost pleas, worried that this info getting out might somehow sabotage the whole mission.

The mood changes. Surely, he must feel it too. This is no longer "two bros smashing shit together". Oh God, please, does he notice the way the air stopped moving? Is his mouth also dry? His skin fired up with unholy electricity? Max as unreadable as ever. It's making Charles's brain spin. He would give everything, almost anything, for a quick glimpse into the brain of the enigmatic guy standing in front of him.

He isn't a teenager anymore, but Charles knows the boy is not fully a grown up yet. His features are a mixture of the hard lines and angles of and adult athlete, but all of that is still combined with youthful - Charles would dare to say naive - softness. It must be something in the damp air. Maybe he is suffering from fresh air reverse-toxic shock. His lungs so used to the painful unnatural environment of a racetrack, that it only takes few minutes in the forest to make him feel dizzy. He has to draw his gaze away for a moment. Deep down he knows he's going to appear as a creep, eyeing his rival, with an open mouth. If he could, he'd choke on the words Max's says and drown in his eyes for hours. But, that is not normal. Max is just few centrimeters taller than him, but it feels like he is towering over him. Charles's main concern should be that he had just revealed a precious information to the competition. He has to actively remind himself what the objective is - and that it does not have anything to do with just how long Max's eye lashes are.

"You know I wouldn't tell anyone," Max says, momentarily kicking Charles out of his haze.

He stands still, frozen and barely reacts to the smile Max sends his way. Once again, it's like Max is drinking a third brew of the same tea Charles is having - the smirking boy unaffected by the bitterness.

He takes two steps closer to Charles. "My turn now," he whispers and reaches for the hammer Charles forgot he was holding. Max passes him by and the Monegasque stays still for a moment, trying to memorize the feeling of Max's fingers lightly brushing his own.

//

The trip back is like a negative photo, contrasting the brightly colored banter they shared when they were driving in the opposite way. The car is quiet, so quiet in fact Charles's in praying for Max's stereo to work. It does and now their drive is accompanied by some bad radio station, speaking in a language he does not understand. Like a third passanger in the car, laughing Charles directly into his face. You don't even understand the radio. How can you believe you'll ever understand what you feel right now.

Darkness has fallen some time ago and it's the first time Charles actually whips out his phone, to check the time and his messages, but mainly to distract himself and avoid looking at Max. Because suddenly, the Dutch boy is too close. He doesn't know why, but it's like Max has found a way how to make it physically impossible to be in his presence - yet this car, with Max in the driver's seat, is also the only place on the planet where Charles wants to be. There is comfort and excitement. Comforting excitement. Charles must be going crazy, he thinks and ignores all messages on his phone and reverts back to watching the dark countryside.

"Text your team that you'll arrive directly to the airport," he hears a pragmatic order from the driver's seat. Charles dares to look at him, but his eyes are glued on the road. He obeys without a comment. The realizations only hits him at that moment. Max has probably ditched way more people than he himself did, in order to go on this ride into nothingness. There are probably people waiting at him at several bars, his motorhome and few volunteers lined up to follow him to his hotel room. And yet, there he is, sitting next to him, driving on nameless roads.

"Did you have good time with me?" he asks, like the anxious boy he is. It's not a brave question, it's full of unspoken uncertainty and a worry, that Max had hoped for him to be a more entertaining company. Is that why he doesn't speak as much as he did on the way here?

Charles knows the way to doom is to push Max Verstappen. That boy won't do a single thing he does not believe in, unless the contract under he is makes it impossible. He hopes he is not pushing right now.

"You know this is the first time you've looked at me since we left the cabin?" the Dutch proclaims, ignoring his original question. And he is right, Charles is hyperaware of that.

Charles lets out a short laugh, the kind that’s more exhale than sound. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Max’s lips roll into a grin as his eyes flick back to the road. "I’ve heard that before. But I think you like it."

"Don’t flatter yourself." Charles rolls his eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. 

"Too late," Max fires back smoothly, his grin widening. "Besides, you’re the one who agreed to smash my old car. What does that say about you?"

Charles straightens up, almost offended. "I did not-"

He is quickly interrupted by the Dutch. "You did not what - you didn't smash my car? Is that what you're saying?" He is clearly amused with himself and to prove that he playfully smashes the steering wheel.

Charles is silent, inhaling so much air to calm himself down he might actually explode. Impossible, this man was sent from hell to torment him.

"And didn’t that feel good?" Max continues smoothly, his voice dripping with chilli honey. Sweet, but punching.

Charles doesn’t answer, which only makes Max’s eyes widen.

"Aha! You did like it," Max says triumphantly.

Charles huffs, crossing his arms. "I never said that."

"You didn’t have to." Max’s tone is smug, his confidence infuriatingly unshakable. "Admit it. You enjoyed smashing something for once instead of, I don’t know, smiling politely and saying merci."

Charles snorts. "You think I’m polite?"

"Painfully," Max replies, his tone still teasing but just sharp enough to make Charles sit up straighter. "Like you’re afraid to let people know what you’re really thinking."

"And what are you thinking, Mr. Painfully Blunt?" he says more like a joke and does not expect and answer.

To prove Charles wrong, once again, Max turns slowly to face him. He makes sure each word he says has enough time to ripe. "That it's obvious I had a good time with you, Leclerc."

It's the same as trying to ignore a deafening sound. Even if you block your ears, it still pierces through. It creeps up into your chest in waves invisible to the naked human eye. A loud beat that makes your chest alive and your throat stuck - because whatever you might say, it won't be heard over the noise anyway. It does not need addressing, but it's impossible to disregard.

If I slip up, even for a moment, it might ruin everything we’ve both worked so hard to pretend doesn’t matter.

To completely counter anything he is trying to suppress, Max casually puts him hand on Charles's thigh - on Charles's thigh. The part of the human body between the knee and the hip. It's a true test to stay normal about it.

"Don't get lost in your head again, Charles," he says ever-so-casually and removes his hand to put it back on the steering wheel.

If they were to crash and die right now, Charles probably wouldn't mind. He's about to have a heart attack anyway.

//

It was getting more than clear they were reaching the final destination, even if only by the decreasing amount of trees growing next to the road. City lights and signs pointing to the airport giving away that this trip is about to end.

If Charles started this afternoon angry, he is ending it confused - about himself, about what kind of person Max Verstappen actually is and how is he suppose to go about his life after this. It's not a new information to him that he likes guys. But it is the first time he has to face having a tiny, minor, minuscule crush on another driver.

As they near the airport so much he can see the small plane he is about to board with the closest of his team, Charles speaks again.

"Maybe drop me of one street away...Just so that people don't have questions."

It's a pragmatic suggestion and he hopes Max does not read anything into it.

"Fair," is the response he gets and is somewhat satisfied with.

This time, Charles braces himself for another "drift park", but is met with a casual and very precise parking on Max's part.

They sit in silence for a moment. Charles wants to do something, but he can't put a name on it.

"Well, it's been fun. Thanks," he says almost coldly and pulls the thirty years old door handle.

Nothing.

Next to him, there is a chuckling noise. Charles tries again, but the only effect this has in the increase of volume on Max's laugh.

Fine, two can play this game, he figures and turns to him with a raised brow.

Charles meets his gaze for a long moment, the weight of the playful challenge hanging between them. "You know," he says finally, his voice low, "I could just climb out through the window."

Max snorts, leaning back and pressing the unlock button with a flourish. "Be my guest. The the dramatic diva you are.“

"You use that word a lot, you know?"

Max keeps his act on. "I think it's time to leave now," he teases and does absolutely nothing in order to open the car.

Charles leans back, also not intending on moving. There is warmth in his chest and it's spreading all over his body. The smile he has on his face is one he can't prevent.

"Is it now," he questions, and tries to open the door once again, this time without even looking at the handle. None of them expecting any other result.

After few shared looks, Max clicks some random button on his side of the car to unlock the doors. The soft click feels like a challenge. 

Charles lingers, his hand resting on the handle but not pulling it. "You know, for someone who claims not to care, you sure put a lot of effort into keeping me around."

Max raises an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly lopsided. "You noticed?"

"I’m not blind," Charles replies, leaning back into the seat, a flicker of playfulness in his expression.

Max looks at him for a moment, something sparkly in his gaze before he nods toward the door. "You better go before I change my mind."

He tries opening the door once again and this time it really does.

Charles moves back and exists the car, pit in his stomach growing. He has to wait few seconds for Max to get and open the trunk with his keys. Illuminated only with the back lights, red mixing with yellow, he moves automatically, never letting Charles go off his sight. He hands him his bag and receives a little "Such a gentleman," comment from Charles. And then they keep standing there, as if Medusa herself turned them into a stone.

Charles feels possessed. Like he’s not in control of his movements anymore. He lost that ability somewhere in the woods. 

He is pretty sure he’s shaking from the panic that drives him.  His body is floating two meters above the ground. 

Max’s eyes burn into him, as if it was all a dare. 

The boy is standing too close for his own good. 

Charles is pretty sure there is acid running through his veins.  He knows, he is absolutely certain, he will regret whatever he is about to do. 

There will be no going back. 

Should I touch him, it will the perfect way to ruin this newly found friendship.

Max does not move or walk away. 

Fuck it, he thinks and slams his lips again Max’s.  Knock the wind out of me, Max Verstappen. 

It is quick as a lighting, but bright as such. He reaches over to the back of Max’s head and holds him still, but giving him enough freedom to pull away. I’m begging you, please don’t. 

It’s cathartic to know what his plump lips feel like against his own. He holds his lower lip between his own and moves, once or twice. He knows his time is running out. For a moment, he allows himself to drown in this real life fantasy. Max’s lips are soft and addictive. It’s like running a marathon is the time you would do a sprint. 

He fights the urge to continue and moves back. Knowing this one moment, lasting only few seconds will be locked in his fantasies forever. 

He pulls away and tries to avoid looking at Max’s face, knowing well enough that whatever he finds there, won’t be pleasant. 

„I’m sorry,“ he murmurs and almost runs away to the airport. 

Festival of shame is about to begin, but the insides of his body still burn with excitement and desire. He kissed Max Verstappen and he didn’t pull away immediately. 

Their first and only kiss. 

It was a mistake, one that Charles will have to apologize many times. 

But he’ll be happy to die for. Feeling this alive should be illegal.

He does not look back. His bravery ran out the moment he put their lips together. 

Oh, God.  I’m stupid, I’m stupid, stupid, stupid.

[stopbuggingm3]

An interpretation of Slenderman I love is the idea of him as a stalker, a predator, and a manipulator rather than a powerful or aggressive force. His tendrils and demon face/non-face? Cool as hell. No arguments there. But to me the way he's able to get into people heads and break them from the inside out the way he does is much more terrifying.

He's used force as a means of control before, such as with Kate, Masky, and Hoody, but he also leans heavily into manipulation tactics like he does with Alex, Toby, Cat Hunter, and Bones.

Slender, in my interpretation, manipulates and controls his proxies by taking away their identities and making them dependent on him. This can be seen in each of the proxies. Toby, Kate, Masky, Hoody, Cat Hunter, and Bones (just walk with me here) all had parts of their identities stolen by Slender in one way or another.

In my mind, Masky and Hoody were brought back by Slender/The Operator after the events of Marble Hornets to act as his proxies. Slender saw something in them, whether it be their strength, skill, cunningness, etc, and decided they were too useful to let go to waste. But, as their track records show, this isn't something they'd ever accept willingly, and so had parts of their identities taken when they were brought back to ensure their loyalty to Slender wouldn't slip (why wasn't Alex brought back? idk ask Skully i haven't read the MH comics yet. For now lets blame it on his temper making him too likely to step out of line.)

Kate I'm admittedly undecided on as of right now. Her psyche is definitely damaged, having part's forcefully torn away as a result of Slenders torment, but whether or not her animalistic behaviour is a learnt behaviour in order to cope with what's been done to her or a direct result of Slenders torment is unknown. She won't say, and she won't leave either. That's not an option for her anymore, she knows that much at least.

Cat hunter is a mix of both, in a way. His push to become a proxy was forceful, with Slender physically making him kill his father, but its the blows to his self worth and constant reminder of his actions that cause him to remain as one. Guilt has taken away his self worth, and all he can do is try fill the hole best he can with what he has

Toby had his memories from before his time with Slender removed, taking away any sense of identity he might've had before becoming a proxy and making him dependent on Slenders protection for survival. Where else would he go? He doesn't have anyone else, he's a wanted criminal. And besides, life with Slender is good. He clings to that false sense of freedom without even knowing why he holds it so dear. Why would he ever want to leave?

Bones has had her identity tampered with by Slender since she was young to the point she can't discern what parts of herself are truly herself and what parts were planted there by Slender. She grew up with his voice in her head, convincing her that his words are her own thoughts and that she can't be free unless she is with him. "That violence? That's normal. They don't understand you here, you don't have anyone. You're trapped and alone but I can set you free. Don't you want that?" She doesn't know who or even what she is without him and his "guidance". He's all she knows. He's all she has.

The proxies will never be free. They're going to die out there in those woods at the hands of a monster. And the worst part? Most of them don't even know they're trapped.

[michaelmilligan]

The Jonmartin manifesto no one asked for but needed to get out

So, I've not been in the tma fandom for long yet, having only listened to it for the first time a few months ago. But from browsing the Jonmartin (and teaholding and jmart) tag regularly, it seems to me like most jonmartin shippers fall into one of these two categories:

They would find each other in every universe; or

It's a miracle they even got together in this universe

(Obviously, that's an oversimplification, and people who express one view in one post can easily hold a different view at another time - these are fictional characters we're talking about after all, and headcanons don't need to be consistent and can even contradict each other. This is just the general vibe I got so far.)

Anyway, I wanted to add my own two cents on the topic, because while I understand where both of these views are coming from, I think neither of them is ultimately correct.

(Putting the rest under a read more - be warned that this is NOT a spoiler-free post, so if you haven't finished listening to TMA yet and you want a spoiler-free experience, you probably shouldn't read this.)

So, before we get to my own opinion, let's first look at where the two options I mentioned above come from, shall we?

"They would find each other in every universe"

Obviously, this view is highly romantic - star-crossed lovers, finding each other again and again. It is both a good foundational basis for AUs, and a ray of hope in the face of the tragedy that is the tma finale.

Of course, concerning the finale, this is a rather different take than concerning AUs (since it would mean the very same characters finding each other again in a different world, not fundamentally different characters, shaped by said other world, also finding each other). And maybe when people express this view, they mean more the finale fix-its than AUs, though I suspect that plenty of people mean both.

It's a nice, comforting thought. And don't we all need some comfort after the finale? Yes, we certainly do. (Except for the people who read only hurt without comfort and angst, I guess. You do you, and I'm glad you're having fun, but personally I do desperately need some comfort, lmao.)

Is this view supported by canon though?

Cynical minds would say no, and personally I'm more inclined to agree with them, though as I've said, for me the truth lies outside of those two rigid stances (somewhere in between, I suppose).

I don't see much in canon which points to Jon and Martin falling in love under any circumstances/in any universe, especially considering their... let's say difficult relationships at the start of the show. But of course we must also take into account the specific circumstances in canon (more on that below) and interpretations vary, and I do very much enjoy AUs, so I'm certainly not trying to throw shade if you're on this side of the 'divide'.

Mostly, I think there CAN be other circumstances in which those two get together, outside the canon ones. (I'm writing a canon-divergent jonmartin fic myself, lol.) Let's get into that while we look at the other view, shall we.

"It's a miracle they even got together in this one"

Ah, the Martin-approved stance. One could say 'well, they literally said it in canon' and be done with it. However, that would require us to believe that the opinions of the characters are always true and correct, which. Lmao. We only have to listen to season 2 of tma to know that this is very much not the case.

And even if S5 Martin is not S2 Jon at the height of his paranoia, he's still very much a man shaped by his own life and experiences. I'm sure he would call himself a realist, but he honestly seems more like a pessimist to me. Which is understandable, given his life, and his association with the Lonely, which has often been (in my opinion accurately) compared to depression.

The thing is, Jon did treat Martin horribly in S1, and then he admittedly treated everyone horribly in S2. It was only in the course of S3 that their relationship got more, let's say, equal, with Jon no longer thinking Martin would be 'contributing nothing but delays'. (And then of course we have S4, which I LOVE even though it hurts me deeply. Then again, that's the whole show. And, obviously, S5 my beloved.)

So. Jon seemed to hate Martin in S1, while Martin was arguably already in love with the man. (Arguably. We do know that he acted catty to Basira in S2, so it's reasonable to assume that he started liking him at some point in S1, or even before the show started.) Then a lot of traumatic things happened, and they got together.

This means it must be the traumatic things that made them compatible, right? Just like Martin says in S5?

Well, one could see it that way. Jon certainly changed over the seasons, coming off his high horse and such. (In S5, he arguably gets back on it quite a bit, but then he IS the Eye's specialest little princess in a world that's literally ruled by it. And also he is slowly losing his grip on his own humanity. But I digress.)

And I do think that the trauma channeled a lot of those changes - the first time we see Jon being actually emotionally open (something he still struggles with over all seasons, because people don't just change fundamentally that quickly) is during Prentiss' attack on the Institute. They're in a situation where they might reasonably die (they even expect it, because they don't know that Elias is just rubbing his greedy little paws as he waits for things to get worse before he saves them with the gas).

I do think that moment could have been a big turning point for Jon and Martin, if it hadn't been immediately followed with the discovery of Gertrude's body, and Jon's subsequent descent into paranoia. Jon opened up, and also saw that Martin was rather competent during the attack, which could have led to them becoming closer, respectively having at least something like a normal work relationship.

But then Jon got paranoid and interpreted everything he saw negatively, including Martin's competence, which was twisted in his mind to 'What if he's just been pretending to be incompetent and is actually an evil agent out to kill the archivist'.

(Big sigh.)

Anyway, before I lose myself in the red string as well: Yes, Jon seems to 'mellow' over the seasons, especially with regard to Martin, at the same time that he's going through terribly traumatic events.

But does that mean that it's actually the trauma that's changing him and his relationships? Partly, certainly, but I would argue that trauma doesn't make you nicer or kinder. It might make you realise some things, but that doesn't mean that you can't realise those things in other ways.

And does it means that they couldn't have come together if they had met under different circumstances? Also not necessarily! I would even argue that the specific circumstances they met under were detrimental to Jon's first impression of Martin. And yes, this goes beyond the dog story.

So let's try and dissect their relationship from the start.

A theory of... something like nuance, or whatever

The starting situation

(Yes, I did have to use a Supernatural gif, thank you for asking. No, I will not apologise. <3)

Alright. So let's start with what we actually know about Jon and Martin's first meeting. Obviously, there's the dog story, though as far as I know that's not 'canon' because it wasn't actually in the podcast. I still like it, and think it adds another reason to Jon's behaviour, though I don't necessarily think it's necessary, because Jon already had lots of other reasons to tell himself that Martin wasn't worth his time.

1.1. Jon has issues. More at 11.

First of all, we learn throughout the podcast that Jon doesn't actually have any qualifications to lead an archive. He's probably 29 when the show starts (in 2016, going by the fandom wiki stating that he was born in 1987, which is reasonable given everything we learn about his age).

So, he's 29 and suddenly appointed, after four years of working in one department, to become the head of a completely different department. He does not have a degree that would give him credentials for leading an archive, nor are we told that he has ever even worked in an archive. For all we know, and that he knows, he is woefully underqualified. (This is also, I think, highlighted in S2 when Jon threatens to resign, only to then be baffled by Elias saying that he would be difficult to replace. Elias means something completely different than his skill set as an archivist with a lower case 'a', presumably, but then Jon doesn't know that.)

This means that Jon is in a highly stressful position, because he's trying to do a job he doesn't actually know how to do, while also trying not to let on that he doesn't know how to do it!

It doesn't help that Jon is also terribly scared of what all might be lurking in the shadows (or even in the light), as he himself admits during the Prentiss attack. He is extremely high-strung from day one, basically a wet chihuahua shaking in a slight breeze, while trying to seem like a strong bulldog.

We also know that Jon asked for two people to be his assistants: Tim and Sasha. They both worked in research, and Sasha also briefly worked in artefact storage, making them both qualified to help Jon with following up on statements. But I think more than their qualifications, Jon probably requested them because he knew and got along with them.

Imagine: Your boss tells you that he's promoting you into a position you're not qualified for and which you have no real clue how to do. Wouldn't you rather have people around you who you're already friendly with, and who are likely to cut you some slack if you're not perfect on day one? I know I would!

1.2. Elias is a little shit and I want to kill him with hammers (affectionately)

And then Elias transfers Martin.

I'm going off the dog story again, because again, I like it, and I think it does fit neatly into canon. If this story is to be believed, Elias neither asked nor did he tell Jon that he was giving him another assistant. He apparently simply told Martin 'you work at the archives now, congratulations' and then went back to his office to smile smugly to himself.

This is a VERY bad start for a working relationship, because not only does Martin come in unannounced, this also comes off as Elias not respecting Jon, or potentially even sending someone to report back to Elias (because Martin is the only one who doesn't have an established rapport with Jon).

Jon never verbalises this suspicion, so maybe this is too much interpretation on my part, but in any case it's cause for a lot of resentment on Jon's part, and since he can't exactly let it out on Elias (who is rarely there, anyway), he simply lets it out on Martin.

He finds reasons to do so, of course, insulting his work and all that. It's probably easy, especially in the beginning, because not unlike Jon, Martin doesn't have any qualifications to work in an archive! He worked at the library before, and we know that his degree is made up (which we can only assume Elias knows, considering he can know almost anything).

(I actually find the question on why Elias transferred Martin in the first place extremely interesting, and might get into that in another post. But this one is already too long, lmao.)

1.3. Martin is too nice, aka Jon has even more issues

This is mostly my personal headcanon, though I do feel it fits Jon's character - which is that he doesn't know how to deal with nice people.

Not kind people. Not friendly people. But nice people.

People who do things seemingly out of the mere goodness of their heart. Like bringing their mean boss tea when he never asked them to do that. Like being friendly even in the face of insults. Someone who constantly takes himself back in favour of other people and their opinions.

People like Martin is appearing to be. Appearing, because Martin isn't actually like that. He does have his opinions, and he could probably grumble up a storm in S1 about Jon, but Jon is his BOSS, and so he plays.

Martin also IS genuinely a nice person most of the time (when he's not on a revenge rampage, making his boyfriend murder people). He doesn't have to do nice things for Jon like bring him tea in S2. But he does. Because that's Martin's way of trying to reach out, to show other people that he means no harm (and that he can be useful).

(I also think that Jon's snappish behaviour, where Martin never quite knows what will set the man off, might remind him off his mum, but again I digress. :))

But I think Jon doesn't know how to deal with that, because even when he's not in the height of paranoia, he still suspects that people who are THAT nice (especially when they have no reason to be nice because he's being an arsehole to them) have a secret agenda. This is playing into what I said under 2 (the part that might be too much interpretation on my side lol), because if Jon suspects that Martin is reporting back to Elias, or is at least someone who would not be friendly if he found out that Jon doesn't know what he's doing, then he can't allow himself to relax around him, and he certainly can't allow himself to be lulled into false security (as Jon would think) around him.

Tl;dr on this point: I think Jon is wary of Martin's niceness because he thinks he might be fishing for gossip/anything he can use against Jon. And even if he isn't, Jon thinks he would be likely to use anything he learns against Jon, because they weren't friends to begin with, and Jon's behaviour has made them anything but that.

(We have to remember that this is the guy who says in S2 that he knows what it's like to 'lack the respect of one's peers', aka the kid who got bullied by at least one older kid, and likely had no or very few friends - plus he believes in the supernatural, which doesn't exactly lend itself well to getting academic respect.)

1.4. They were fucked from the start, your honour

Basically what the meme says, but yeah. The they were put in practically guaranteed that Jon would be wary of Martin, and that Martin would be trying extra hard to make friends with him, which in turn would make Jon even more wary/hostile.

And Elias made it worse, either knowingly or by negligence (not telling Jon about transferring Martin).

If we add the whole dog story to it... they were fucked. I do actually wonder if, assuming we take the dog story as canon, Elias actually somehow managed to set that up. Or whether he was at least cackling (sorry, smiling ever so silently, but smugly) in his office as it happened, or whenever he ended up knowing that it happened.

2. Yes, we've had one starting point, but what about second starting point?

As we have established above, the starting situation for Jon and Martin was... not ideal. So, would they have gotten together easily given a different starting point, like in a cute coffee shop AU?

Eh.

It's true that the specific situation they were in made it a lot harder for them to actually communicate and see each other as they are than it had to be. That doesn't mean that a different situation would have made it easy, though.

Their personalities still make it hard, though, as even without the added stress of a new job, Jon is still a little chihuahua shaking in the corner, who tries to make up for it by barking at everyone, and Martin is still the guy trying to approach him with treats and getting his hand bitten.

There are certainly specific situation that could make it easier, especially if Jon isn't scared as hell, and has maybe already learned that not everyone who does something nice for him wants to just pull on his strings. (Yes, I do think that the thing that makes Martin, according to Annabelle, suited for the Web, is the thing that put Jon on edge at the beginning. I don't know if this was intended at all, but it makes me cackle.)

The beauty of fanfic is that we can do whatever the hell we want. But I think the most fun thing an AU author can do is think 'What would have to happen, in this specific scenario, for these two to get over themselves and get together?'

Excursion: Martin, my beloved depressed blorbo who I am certainly not projecting on, haha

Because it IS both of them who need to get over themselves. Of course Jon's issues are the most obvious, and I've certainly expanded on them enough. But Martin also has a problem, and it's that he's constantly hiding his true feelings and opinions, especially anger and fear.

That makes sense, perhaps, in a workplace, though considering he's dealing with a walking, talking worm hive and a stalker boss... Let's just say it probably would have helped Tim, too, if Martin hadn't been so desperate to make everyone be friends again.

Because Martin is always TRYING to make everything better for everyone, but he's actually not helping anyone. Being nice to Jon and bringing him tea doesn't help battle his paranoia. And trying to tell Tim not to be so angry at Jon, and can't they all be friends, doesn't actually help Tim with his anger.

All Martin is essentially doing is making himself small and saying 'let's get along, pretty please' every now and then. I don't know if it would have helped if he had expressed his own fears and anger, and maybe Jon would have misconstrued that as well, too deep in his paranoia already. But at least Tim might have realised that he was not alone in all this. (His biggest problem, as he says in S2, is that he feels that no one has his back, which I think at least partly results from no one expressing the same anger, aka no one validating his feelings.)

Anyway! (Jon voice) Excursion ends.

3. (To the melody of 'What shall we do with the drunken sailor') What shall we do with these total idiots?

So, how ARE these two going to get together, if they're so woefully unequipped to deal with each other?

Well, first we need to give Martin a good helping of self-confidence. Then we need to kind of give Jon the same, since his problem ALSO is that he's unsure of himself, he just tries to make other people small to cover it up, instead of making himself small. (And isn't that a funny thing to do for someone who we know was bullied. To become a bully himself. Oh, the snake, biting its own tail...)

The easy answer is, of course: You can come up with your own version, get creative. <3

The more complex answer is: A lot of stuff, probably. Jon and Martin will certainly need time to get to know each other, and of course it depends on what situation you put them in to start. But there will be misunderstandings, and there will be hurt feelings, and I am going to soak it up all like a particularly slowburn-greedy sponge.

I feel like there are probably five million ways to get them together, and some might be cute and fluffy (if they go to therapy first, I guess, lol) and many will be full of tears. <3 (Jon voice) And I want to see them all on my desk by Friday! So get to it!

In all seriousness though, yeah, I think there's not one right way for them to get together (though canon did it well imo). But it's also a little more complex than we might give it credit to (very much including me).

4. So what now?

I don't know. I'm not your dad. Write a fic. Draw a picture. Put down your own thoughts on the matter. Or take a shower and clean up your room, young Padawan!

(Though actually, if you've read this post from start to finish in one session, what you should probably do is get up and stretch and get some water.)

And above all! And this is imperative.

Have a good day. <3

[eusuntgratie]

as a certified mom(tm), what's the most common thing people get wrong when they write children?

ooooh i love this question! (adding certified mom to the resume STAT btw)

i think the MOST common thing people get wrong is the realistic development/representation of a child at a certain age. i see lots of fic where a three year old is speaking in full sentences, where an eight year old baby-talks all the time, where a six year old has literally no concept of what is happening in their life. i saw a good tumblr post that was a great resource for writing kids by age that i'll see if i can find. but with how many moms are on tumblr, i think just asking them... how would a five year old talk? or how would a ten year old handle this type of situation? would be a great start.

there are other things that are always jarring for me as a parent that someone who doesn't spend a lot of time with kids might not notice or care about.

the first is that your (young) kids are ALWAYS around. you are literally always responsible for where your kid is and what they are doing. if they aren't with you, you've made a plan for where they are, how they'll get there, when you'll pick them up, etc. there are exceptions of course (people living on huge pieces of land or in neighborhoods where they know everyone are more likely to have their kids running around and might not know exactly where they are, some people have multigenerational households and have a lot of help). but even in those cases, the parent still knows and is responsible for that kid. there's nothing wrong with writing a kidfic that isn't realistic just bc its cute or you like the trope. but as a parent its jarring as hell to have a character introduced as a parent (especially a single parent!) and then the kid is never around. i promise you that man is not fuckin' or going on dates as much as you want him to be 🤣 or if he is, it took a LOT of work or he has a LOT of support.

related to this, every parent i know is exhausted. if their love interest isn't attracted to their eye bags or letting them sleep instead of waking them up for sex, get outta my face. the sexiest thing a partner could do for a parent? LET THEM SLEEP.

related, we do fuck with kids in the house. (cough cough chris going on sleepovers 3x/week in fic 🤣). its okay. you can make keeping quiet sexy. you can lock the door so you'll hear it if they need something without traumatizing them. you can use a baby monitor to keep an eye or ear out. we don't wait until our kids leave to have sex, or some of us would hardly ever have sex.

a few random notes and i'll wrap up. kids aren't (and shouldn't be put in the position to be) solving their parents problems for them. most kids won't immediately trust a new adult, especially if that person is dating their parent and their other parent is still in their life, even if they really like that person. a parent would not leave their child with their brand new love interest unless they had literally no other option. i have some issues, but there are very few people i trust to be alone with my kid. someone i don't know well would never make it onto that list.

lastly, parents fuck up. we aren't perfect. i try really really hard to break generational shit, to do better, to be a good mom. i've read lots of books, done tons of therapy, found great resources, done parenting groups, i consult with other parent friends and friends who work in mental health about challenging situations. and i fuck up all the time. kids, even great kids, are little assholes sometimes. nobody's perfect, and that's okay. nobody's kid is a perfect little angel 24/7 and nobody is a perfect parent.

my askbox is always open and i always love to talk about writing! thanks for this it was a fun question to answer <3

[space-mermaid-writing]

A stormy night

Part 6 of the wild west IronStrange au. There will be more chapter after this.

Ko-fi | Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Word count: 1.6k | Previous | Next (soon)

The rain fell heavily on the roof, creating a steady rhythm that filled the house. The wind howled outside, slipping through the gaps in the old walls, making Stephen feel even more isolated. He had taken the precaution of bringing his horses into the stable for the night. Protecting them from the storm was a priority. Now, he focused on the fireplace, attempting to coax warmth into the chilly room. The clouds hung low in the sky and not only weighed on his mind, but also on the chimney.

No matter how much kindling he added to the flames, he struggled to keep the smoke from seeping back into the room.

The alternative was to leave the room cold. Not a great option either, so he was doing his best to make the fire work. He worked under the glow of a single oil lamp, its flickering light offering some comfort.

Suddenly, a loud banging at the front door echoed through the house, pulling him from his concentration. The sound was jarring, especially amid the relentless storm. He shifted his attention, knowing that anyone brave enough to venture out in such weather must have a pressing reason.

With quick urgency, he made his way to the front door. The wind pushed against it as he opened it wide, forcing him to brace himself to prevent it from smashing into the wall.

“Tony?!”

The omega hurried inside, soaked and shivering, without waiting for any kind of invitation. Stephen quickly shut the door, securing it against the storm by sliding the bolt back into place.

“What are you doing here?” Stephen glanced back at the closed door, his mind racing. “I’ll get your horse settled in the stables.”

Tony's hand came to rest on his arm, holding him back. “No horse,” the omega muttered. He was clearly freezing.

A wave of realization washed over Stephen, and his eyes widened in shock. “You walked all the way here?! Have you lost your mind?”

Tony stood there, visibly drenched. His leather coat was soaked through, and mud clung to his boots. Wet strands of hair framed his face, droplets clinging to his forehead and trickling down his cheeks.

His voice trembled as he asked, “Haven’t you missed me?”

They hadn’t seen each other in a fortnight. Not since Stephen met the mayor at Rogers’ Ranch.

“I did,” the doctor admitted, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone. He reached out, brushing his fingers over Tony’s cheek. The skin felt icy and damp beneath his touch. “You’re shaking. We need to get you warmed up before you catch death.”

He gently pushed Tony’s hair back, planting a quick, reassuring kiss on his temple. Urging Tony toward the fireplace, he instructed, “Get out of those wet clothes. I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

He went briefly into the next room, grabbing a stack of clothes. When he returned, he found Tony nearly down to his underwear. Stephen noticed – of course he did – and perhaps he was standing a little too close to him, as he helped him get into the warm clothes and then also wrapped a woolen blanket around him.

Afterwards, he poured both of them a brandy. The rich liquid would help Tony warm up from the inside, while Stephen simply felt like he needed a drink. They settled on an old rug in front of the fireplace, the warmth radiating toward them. Their legs brushed against one another, an unspoken comfort in the shared space, as Stephen handed the glass to Tony.

Tony's cheeks were flushed, either from the cold outside or the warmth of the fireplace. He kept his gaze lowered, quiet and contemplative. His eyes appeared red and swollen, as if he had been crying earlier.

There was something off about him, as if he carried an unseen weight.

Accepting the drink, Tony barely sipped it. Yet, as the warmth enveloped him, he visibly relaxed, finding solace in Stephen’s presence and scent.

Stephen waited for Tony to tell him why he came here. During this kind of storm, the omega had to have a good reason.

He was sure that this was not just one of their usual rendezvous.

His glass was almost empty, when he finally broke the silence. “My father found a mate for me. I’m getting married next week.”

The weight of those words hit Stephen like a physical blow. He felt his heart sink. Tony watched the change in the alpha’s demeanor, the way his shoulders slumped and the look of resignation that spread across his face – and he also noticed the lack of surprise.

“You knew,” Tony realized, flinching back as if he had been slapped.

“Your father mentioned he started looking. I had just hoped we had more time.”

Once Tony was mated, their secret meetings would become impossible. Stephen did not want to think about what would happen if they were caught. The thought of facing the consequences made him shudder. He would rather endure a lifetime of heartache, watching Tony with another alpha, than risk their – Tony’s – safety.

Tony seemed to catch on to Stephen’s internal struggle. “We still have a chance,” he urged, taking Stephen's hand in his own, desperation seeping into his voice. “We can leave tonight. Somewhere nobody knows us.” His voice was almost pleading.

Torn between his feelings and reality, Stephen’s eyes filled with sorrow. “And then what?” he asked, a sense of defeat creeping into his voice. “Tony, I can’t give you the life you deserve, the one you’re used to.”

He pulled his hand away.

“I don’t need anything. Just you,” Tony insisted. “I could work on a ranch with you. I’d be happy.”

A mirthless laugh escaped Stephen’s lips. “You would hate that. You’ve never worked a day in your life.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, searching Stephen’s face. “Is that really how you see me? A spoiled omega who can’t do anything?” Anger flared inside him as he stood up abruptly. “Did you even mean any of it? Or was I just a trophy to you? The mayor’s son that every alpha desires.”

Stephen rose as well, his frustration boiling. “You know that’s not what I meant. If I had ever been a suitable candidate, I would have asked your father for your hand immediately.”

Tony tsked. “Why does everyone think my father controls my life? I can make my own choices.”

“Can you?” Stephen challenged. “He is the one who decides who you will be mated to."

“I just gave you an alternative! I want to be with you! But apparently, I’m not worth the trouble,” Tony shot back. Then, his tone softened in defeat as he wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Looks like I’m never enough…” His voice trailed off.

Stephen stepped closer, instinctively drawn to ease the pain of the omega's anger. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to comfort.

Another knock on the door had them both look up. The storm was still raging outside. What were the chances of two people coming here in this weather?

How long would it take for someone to realize that Tony Stark had run away?

Stephen looked at the omega. “Hide in there.” He pointed to the door of his study.

To his relief, Tony complied without protest. Once Tony disappeared behind the door, Stephen opened the front door with caution. There was an alpha, one of Stark’s men. Stephen has seen him before.

“What happened?” he asked. Because no one in their right mind would leave their house in this storm.

“Is Tony Stark here?”

Raising an eyebrow, Stephen feigned ignorance. “Why? Is he missing?” Too late he realized from the corner of his eyes: Tony’s clothes were still scattered around the fire place, drying from the storm. He closed the door halfway, to block the alpha's view. But it was already too late. The man had spotted the clothes and pushed past Stephen.

“Tony?”

Stephen's mind raced, desperately seeking a reasonable explanation. But before he could formulate a plan, Tony stepped out of the study, appearing calm. “Rhodey?” he replied, surprise on his face rather than alarm. “How did you know I was here?”

“I had a hunch.”

Rhodey eyed Tony’s state, dressed in the doctor’s clothes and the blanket. Whatever conclusion he came to, he decided there was more important matters pressing. “Your father noticed your absence and sent a lot of men out to look for you.”

Well, so much to running away unnoticed.

“Get changed, before someone else finds you here,” Rhodey instructed the omega.

For a brief moment Tony looked like he wanted to argue. But after a swift glance at Stephen, he collected his clothes and headed next door.

Rhodey looked surprised that the omega followed his word without any objections. He turned to the doctor, looking at him judgingly. “For Tony’s sake, I will keep your name out of this. But if I ever catch you looking at him wrongly after next week, I won’t let that slide so easily.”

Stephen responded with a single nod. That was more than fair. He was actually glad the alpha didn’t question him further about his and Tony’s relationship.

Just then, Tony re-entered the room. His clothes were still damp and clung to his body in an uncomfortable way, but he maintained his composure, wearing a mask of determination. “Let’s go, Rhodey,” he suggested, his voice steady and unwavering.

Rhodey didn’t question his willingness to cooperate. He simply waited by the front door, ready to leave with him.

Stephen stepped into the omega's path.

“Tony,” he spoke softly, his tone barely above a whisper, so only Tony could hear him. “You have to admit, coming here in the middle of the night, asking me to pack my things and run away with you… it’s insane.”

Tony's face remained blank, his emotions tightly controlled. “Yeah, that was stupid of me. I can see that now.” He turned away and without another glance back, Tony and Rhodey left.

Stephen's heart ached. He hated to see Tony go. But it was for the best.

[tumbleaboutit]

This calls for a read more.

I'm currently part of a LARP, though admittedly it's more "tabletop with costumes" due to space limitations.

…oh gosh, it was fifteen fuckin' years ago now. I had just graduated and was hanging with some friends I'd met through online gaming, and they asked if I was interested in trying out tabletop. I'd been eyeballing a book that said "werewolf" on it because I thought werewolves were cool, and the rest is history.

Mash-up: We're using "Ghost Council" and "Gale Stalkers" because those are more appropriate names, but we still have the Get of Fenris and Crinos-born Garou because throwing those out with the bathwater was short-sighted. Also we made "redeemed" versions of the Mockery Breeds; they are absolutely playable and I've got write-ups for anyone who wants them. Oh, and were-elephants. We made a whole damn splat book for were-elephants as a birthday present for someone who really likes elephants. They are also completely playable.

I don't really have a favorite. So far, I've played a Child of Gaia, a Silent Strider, a Bone Gnawer, a Shadow Lord, and am currently playing a Silver Fang. I've enjoyed all of them for different reasons, and I'm looking forward to getting to the others.

I don't have a least favorite, but someone saying that the Get of Fenris is their favorite tribe usually makes me wary of them until they elaborate as to why. You gotta find the Get players who want to fight the bad Get players.

I tend to create characters collaboratively with another person, so I don't currently have any concepts in the pipe. But I do want to get around to playing all of the auspices (only Galliard left!) and all of the Tribes.

"Divide" is currently at the top of my list due to my Shadow Lord having used it as the (absolutely brutal) capstone of her Revenge Quest. If you're gonna fuck with a Shadow Lord, maybe don't pick the Lost Cub who weighed all her options and became a Shadow Lord on purpose.

Rite of Contrition, because it's always fun to see what item a character brings as an apology present, what that item says about them, and how the character they're apologizing to reacts.

Much like I don't have a favorite Tribe, I don't have a favorite Patron spirit either.

Bloody Bandages, due to the absolutely hilarious "leech dance" chiminage that my friend came up with: basically hopping around, legs together and arms flat at your sides, and then leaning toward people and making a slurping noise. You must perform it with a large group of people nearby so that you have many opportunities to slurp.

Most of the Frenzies I've had or seen have gone fairly well due to the presence of other Garou dog-piling the Frenzying one before they can do too much damage. But a Fostern Philodox player character did get killed by a Ahroun Cub in a Frenzy one time because they were alone together.

I'm pretty much just in it for the games!

Shadow Lord endears herself to Gale Stalker against his will and his better judgment. He is grumpy about it even after he dies.

Six official characters across games, plus various temps and NPCs as needed. Special shout-outs to NPCs "grumpy-ass gila monster Mokolé who beat up biker and stole his jacket", and the two Get of Fenris high school jocks who formed a pack under Goat as a Norse myth in-joke.

My first character was Emily Chews-on-Silver, a Child of Gaia Philodox, who grew up in the circus and shared her First Change with the lion Bastet that she performed with after they were attacked by Black Spirals. She was extremely shy and retiring outside of the ring, and the pack they were in kept getting swept up in these Grand Adventures that meant that the spirits kept promoting her in rank without her actually understanding much about what being a Philodox meant.

All of my characters eventually end up being growth characters in one way or another. But I get a lot of joy out of Stacia, my Mean Girl Shadow Lord Ragabash, because I have successfully made other people like her as much as I do.

Stacia I've played long enough to officially get her to her early twenties, so she's technically the oldest. Genie is the youngest, both because she's my newest character and also because she's lupus-born and hasn't even hit double-digits yet. They'd get along okay as long as they don't have to work too closely together; and they'd bond over their mutual addiction to Starbucks (caffeine and sugar for Stacia, Pup Cups for Genie).

Emily taught me that playing the "Shy" flaw when you already have IRL social anxiety isn't that much fun. I'm sure we share unofficial flaws/traits, but it's hard to put my finger on them from the inside.

Alice-in-the-Mirrors, whose Slip Sideways flaw was so bad that it would yeet her into the Deep Umbra, was meant to be an easy character that I could play whenever I managed to make the four-hour trip to game from graduate school. Ha. Hahahahaha. She turned into a personal growth character pretty fast.

Oh…no thank you. I don't want to be in the World of Darkness, and I have a very different skillset than any of my characters. If I absolutely had to, probably Alice.

Stacia, definitely. She'd be able to maintain my life instead of absolutely blowing it up.

Doc (short for "Document") didn't get much play and the game she was in didn't last very long. She's being recycled for parts and lives on in Genie (generally even-tempered Lupus born and raised in a wolf sanctuary).

I like to build characters collaboratively with a friend or two, WtA is great for that because you need a solid reason to not have a pack at least in the works.

Wyrm; the idea of "everything stays the same forever" is a fuckin' nightmare.

Luna; you don't get into werewolves without having a lot of feelings about the moon.

Older Brother; I'm an information professional IRL!

Shadow Lords, if only for the True Breed requirements of the Silver Fangs.

Wisdom keeps you alive long enough to get the other two.

Changing Breeds; I'm completely happy to keep playing werewolves and let other people have fun with the Fera. (Though I do have a concept for a redeemed Cockroach shifter…)

Hispo. I wanna be a wolf the size of a pony!

I'm skipping the bonus questions because I know a lot of people it would be fun to play with. As long as I have a good group, I know I'm going to have a good time.

WTA ASKS: ABOUT THE PLAYER EDITION

Inspired by (and drawing heavily from, with permission) @diableriedoll's vtm player asks!!! Werewolf divider by @strangergraphics :)

We all know everyone's characters, but what do we know about the player behind the Garou? Let's find out!

1.Are you a WtA player, storyteller, both or neither? If neither, how do you get your WtA fix? 2. How and when did you get into WtA? 3. Which edition do you play/ prefer? 4. What's your favorite tribe? Why? 5. What's your least favorite tribe? Why? 6. Which tribe/auspice haven't you played/ developed but would love to try? 7. What is your favorite Gift? Why? 8. What is your favorite Rite? Why? 9. What's your favorite patron spirit? Why? 10. What's your favorite Talisman or Talen? Why? 11. Describe your worst Brutal Result and/ or Frenzy that you've played/ seen/ suffered 12. What's your favorite piece of WtA Media? eg. Games, books- pick your fancy! 13. What's been your favorite interaction throughout your WtA experiences? Can be in game, playing video games.. anything.

You and Your Characters

14. How many characters do you have? 15. Who was your first Character? 16. Do you have a comfort character? What makes them special to you? 17. Who is the (in character) oldest and the (in character) youngest? Would they like each other? 18. Do any of your characters have a trait or flaw of your own? If so, what is it? 19. Do you have a character that was created from a dumb/ silly idea but now you can't imagine not having them? 20. You suddenly switch places with one of your characters, which one would you prefer to be? 21. One of your characters takes your place, which one would you prefer to control of your life? 22. Which character is least spoken about? Speak about them now! 23. Is there something specific that influences you for your character creations?

This or That

24. Weaver or Wyrm? 25. Luna or Helios? 26. Older Brother or Younger Brother? Middle Brother? 27. Silver Fang or Shadow Lords?  28. Glory, Honor, or Wisdom?  29. Changing Breeds or Mockery Breeds?  30. Hispo or Glabro?

BONUS QUESTIONS! You have been given a chance to play your perfect Chronicle, let's build it!  31. Who is your Storyteller? 32. Where and when is it set? 33. What is your Auspice? 34. What tribe do you join? 35. Your pack is yourself plus four other players. Who are they? (Can be anyone!). Anyone else you'd want to add to your sept?

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[felassan]

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