#identifies as a brit

[crowdiminico]

!!! would love to hear about ur roach headcanons and backstory, I miss him

Hi anon! I miss our bug boy too - but it's what inspired me to make the 'Bloodlines' series!

So, my Roach headcanons, it's a bit long but hey ho:

He's British - born and raised in rural green of East of England.

Accent? He has what is known as a Modern RP British accent (Youtube example) with a hint of "farmer" sometimes thrown in because you can't escape it if you live in the East lmao.

He hold dual nationality (British and US) but uses the British flag.

He is a Royal Marine, specifically apart of the Special Forces Support Group. He joined when he was 17.

He is a K9 handler, chosen to be a part of a new trial of Royal Marine based K9s. This is how he met his dog, Nacho! The trial was scrapped leaving them as the only pair that made it through.

He's a skilled and focused fighter on duty, but off duty he's a friendly, empathic guy who likes to make jokes.

He knows British Sign Language - after his mother's death, he was diagnosed with Selective Mutism. Therapy and counselling helped deal with his grief and he started to speak again but sometimes he uses BSL because he's a little sh*t ;)

His appearance:

He has sandy blonde hair, cut fairly short but has a good ol' fluffy fringe parted on the right.

His eyes are a bluey-green.

Caucasian skin with freckles on his arms.

He's 180cm tall, he's well-built with defined muscle but naturally slim and small.

He has a scar on his right cheek and neck, along with many unseen scars on his chest.

His family:

His father is American, his mother was British.

His father is a high ranked officer in the US Army, he started out in the US Miliatry Police and worked his way up.

His father was stationed as security in the UK at a USAF base, its how he met Roach's mother.

His mother passed away from cancer when he was 9, this strained his relationship with his father.

Roach's uncle is Sandman! Sandman is the younger brother of Roach's father.

Roach considers Sandman his "dad", he stepped up when his biological father didn't and has always been there for Roach.

A big part of Roach's background was being apart of a secretive joint unit between Special Forces Royal Marines and US Marines. The unit only did a handful of missions before it was attacked during a mission to retrieve stolen intel from an enemy compound. The unit were travelling in a convoy when they were swarmed by insurgents - by the time help arrived, only 4 unit members were still alive and Roach was one of them (along with Nacho). This is where he received his scars.

He was sent back to the UK 2 days later to recover in hospital - on arrival he was met by Sandman, who had flown in as soon as he heard about the attack. Roach was offered a place in the SAS but he turned it down as they did not want Nacho to come with him. Instead, Roach and Nacho travel back to America with Sandman, where Roach recovers and spends his days keeping up training.

I've tried to simplify everything down - feel free to ask more questions for more in-depth stuff, Sandman headcanons etc :)

[wild-at-mind]

I’ve been thinking about the reason I feel so weird about people on tumblr who aren’t living in the UK making jokes about how great it would be if the UK split up and abandoned England (where I live) and made the great Celtic aliance and whatnot....like, I acknowledge I really have no good social justice approved reasons for feeling weird about this. I’m English in England and I do understand the long history of England oppressing and colonising all the other nations. This isn’t in question. I’m sure it would be better for all the other nations if they left England, and if there was a way it could be done very easily and quickly for everyone, then I’d say do it in a heartbeat. It feels really daft of me to be like thinking about actual logistics because of a fucking joke post which no one really needs, but I always do for some reason and it’s just so stressful to think about. The UK is fucking falling apart right now, it can’t manage anything. Our last Prime Minister lasted 49 days. No one has been elected as PM for like a decade, they all just take over from the last failure in this fucking endless conservative government. It feels never ending. I feel like it was also really easy for people outside the UK to judge Brexit as a terrible idea, but from the inside it was never that simple. It was a really bad idea for sure, and it caused this massive influx of xenophobia, but while it was going on it was all so complicated and there was so much shit on both sides. You would think it would be easy to say like ‘I don’t want to be on the side of xenophobia so I’m anti-Brexit’, but then you would get accused of being in an ivory tower and not affected by the employment issues concerned caused by EU workers or w/e. Someone would write a thinkpiece calling you classist or something, using the exact same emotive language people deploy all the time on here for their good causes. It’s not so easy to be like ‘ok this is good emotive language making me think the right thing, and this is bad emotive language making me think the wrong thing’. In reality, of course, it was never a case of just working class people wanting Brexit and just middle class people wanting remain, that was more fucking propaganda and it was sooooo much more complicated than that. I hope this is starting to get across the problem a bit. A few people were even arguing that Brexit was good because more workers of colour could come into the country if we stopped having so many white EU workers so Brexit could actually be anti-racist. (As if the current government would willingly do anything like that...lol.) What I’m trying to say is it split the country in so many ways, it was a really ugly time. I have heard similar things from people living in Scotland about the last push for Scottish Independance. Whether you were pro or anti, it got ugly and caused massive painful rifts. Now, i do think at some point Scotland will gain independance and I will cheer them on. But it won’t be an easy split, because they never are. The other thing I think gets glossed over is that we aren’t a very big country, of course there’s a lot of movement, many people in England have very recent roots in Scotland, Wales and/or NI. When you make it more distant roots, then it’s a vast percentage. And it’s worth noting that identifying as English specifically, if you live in England, has some connotations of racism and xenophobia against immigrants. (England for the English, that kind of fucked up thing.) People who do not want those connotations who live in England will tend to use the term British to self describe. I don’t know what it means to be ‘English’, specifically, without racism coming into the frame pretty quickly. I think that’s why these posts also read a bit as if annexing England will free the other nations from racism, whether or not that was the intention.

[nerdie-faerie]

Every time someone asks if I'm American, I have to spend 5 minutes in accent jail

[devilmayky]

HMMMMM just so you know if you RT or have Harry Potter shit on your blog that’s an insta-block from me, terflings.

[blueengland]

i'm literally right here

I have learned many things about British culture and language through tumblr, soon I shall blend in seamlessly with the brits like some sort of American chameleon, and gradually re-introduce old English vocabulary to the gene pool and restore the delicate ecosystem via reintroducing words such as "thou" and "wlonk."

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦 - part three lando norris x  fem! streamer! reader (fluff) series summary . . . After unexpectedly making a new friend during a stream, Lando finds himself addicted to playing video games with this girl who he can't get out of his head. His addiction gets worse when he somehow finds himself yearning for her company, eager to spend time with her in any shape or form, whether it's online or maybe possibly in person.

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

devilsdare03 posted a tiktok

> replies . . .

user the guy is hooked, good luck devi 👍

user this confirms the suspicions. devi, you are the hottest woman on earth if you got lando norris all smiley like that

user the way he was in the middle of a convo with max and totally forgot the world around him once he saw her and sat up ⤷ user someone tell him her favorite type of flowers fr

mclaren is that our lando?? 😲 ⤷ devi.03 yep, it is

user the smile omg my heart ⤷ user girl just the smile?!! look at the little wave! he’s so cute i cant!

user the way he looks at her tho awwww

user ok but like, lando better ask her out, she went out of her way to go see him ⤷ user better not mess this up, lando norris ⤷ user on god 

user honestly im so glad they finally met, i've been waiting for this moment since december

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

How to approach you, how to approach you, Lando pondered watching you standing at the little bar in the mclaren hospitality, waiting for your drink. "Suck it up." he mumbled, brushing his hand through his hair one last time before walking up to you. He was lucky enough that you wore the merch and the watch he got you, he would’ve thought you were an influencer if you hadn’t run your hand through your hair which showed the richard mille that identified you as you.

Lando awkwardly cleared his throat before asking the bartender for a drink. You looked up from your phone upon hearing the new but familiar voice. The brit in papaya tried to act cool, leaning on the counter and looking out of the glass wall onto the paddock. You smirked, leaning on your forearms as well. Taking a sip from your drink once it was set in front of you, you lightly nudged Lando.

He hummed, turning his head to face you. You shrugged your right sleeve up to reveal the watch. “I think I broke it.” Your words drew a frown from Lando, making him hold your wrist gently to inspect the watch. 

“You haven’t had it for two months.” He scolded trying to find where the fault would’ve been. You held in a smile, watching him put his ear down to listen to the ticks. 

“I’m telling you, man. Every third tick is slower.” Lando furrowed his eyebrows, staying there to see the apparent faulty watch. It was only when he realized you quoted the line from the movie cars did he nudge you with a huff. 

“You scared me. I thought you broke it.” He scolded, taking his monster drink and popping it open with a grumble. 

“I’d never even put a scratch on it.” you assured, nudging his shoulder with a laugh. “This is the first time I’ve worn it anyways, I wanted it to be a special occasion” You sighed happily, admiring the watch. Lando glanced at you while taking a sip from the drink.

“You think this is a special occasion?” he asked quietly, looking the other way as if he saw something when he was just trying to hide his smile. 

“Oh yeah, for sure.” you nodded, giggling. “I finally get to meet Max Verstappen.” the brunette turned to you with a deadpan while you tried to hold in your smile. You both knew you were joking. Lando would’ve thought you were playing a trick on him if you weren’t wearing his ln4 world merch and McLaren cap.

“So,” you pushed off the counter, “P4 for tomorrow's race, you think you can get a podium? A win maybe?” Lando tried to hold in a smile as he followed you, walking with you from the hospitality to the garage. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I'm not letting you stay in a hotel?"

"What? Where should I stay? The curb?" You held your hands up confused. 

"You can't even afford the meal plan!" Lando scolded as he pushed you from behind in the parking lot.

The awkwardness a person would get from meeting someone for the first time didn't last long between you and Lando. It lasted only 30 seconds before you nearly gave the brit a heart attack by telling him you broke the watch. You randomly read it somewhere, it doesn't always work but it sure did this time because Lando was the same silly and funny guy who always butts in asking for a partner or a teammate in a game when he doesn't need one.

"I can just eat out??" You tried to argue not seeing where he was going with the conversation.

"That's wasting even more money!" He scolded, turning you right and letting you hop down the sidewalk into the rows upon rows of cars. 

"What am I supposed to do then?!" you threw your hands up just as Lando stopped to search for the car keys, with you still frozen, hands up in the air.

"Are you summoning god or something?" Oscar mumbled as he walked by. 

"I wish, I think he's going to throw me on the side of a highway or something." you replied, sighing. 

"Dev's staying in my room so I'm sleeping at yours." Lando told Oscar as he pulled the car door open. The aussie paused in his tracks, turning back and looking at you.

"You're dev?" Oscar more like stated before walking away, mumbling something about his girlfriend Lily. When the other papaya driver was out of earshot, you took the opportunity to roughly punch Lando's shoulder. 

"Ow! What was that for?" 

"You're giving out who I am?! What if someone hears? My face would be all over and I'm not gonna be able to set foot in campus!" You scolded him.

"What am I supposed to call you?!" he whisper shouted back. 

"My name, duh." ". . ." "I've spent 5 hours with you, how do you not know my name?"

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"De- Y/N." Lando corrected himself. After a long night of secretly eating room service pizza in his room and getting up early for the race, you and Lando decided to spend the morning in the paddock. You stopped chewing on the grapes you somehow got your hands on and looked up at him. Lando looked right and left before pulling a box of biscuits from his shirt.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise as you took the box happily, opening it as the boy took the seat beside you. The best thing about this certain hospitality is that there were no current fangirls sneaking around or trying to take pictures. So you and Lando were safe, fighting over cookies with no one noticing or paying any mind.

"I'm the one who got them!"

 "I'm the guest!" you argued back, trying to reach forward and take it back. 

"Yeah, but I'm the driver and I have a big race today so I need it!" 

"You need healthy food! Not carbohydrates—" un-thankfully for you, Oscar came up from the side and took the cookie while both of you were distracted.

He chewed peacefully while you and Lando had a face of utter despair. "It's my home race." he justified, taking another bite. "Also," he pointed the tiny piece of the cookie left at you. "I heard some people are looking for you." Your eyes widened in confusion. 

"Am I getting deported?" Now both of the McLaren boys were looking at you in confusion.

devs03 and landonorris posted on their stories

credits to proofreading to the lovely @classiclitfreak <3

[hauntedbubbles]

Ghost: *hands Johnny a tea* Here, this’ll sort ya out. Soap: I swear you fuckin’ Brits think tea’ll fix anything. Rudy: *confused* You’re both British, no? Alejandro: *kicks Rudy under the table*  *Whispers* Now you’ve done it…  Soap: *sipping tea* I identify as Scottish. Ghost: You can identify as a fuckin’ tree, mate. But it don’t change nothin’ Scotland’s part of Britain…you’re British. Soap: Geographically, aye. But that’s no’ the point!  Ghost: You know, none of the Welsh or Irish boys make as much noise about it as you… Soap: This doesny concern them! Rudy: *to Gaz* Are they going to fight… Did I miss something? Gaz: *who’s been sitting quiet* Nah mate, this is foreplay for them…I’m just glad my room’s not next to theirs… 

Some Soap Headcanons/Thoughts from a Scottish person? 👇🏼

“Fuckin’ Brits!” 

I’ve seen a lot of folks mention how odd it was, and that the writers have somehow forgotten about Scotland being a part of Britain.

Some folks have suggested that maybe this was just an attempt of them writing Soap as a Nationalist only to be countered with comments that he would have said “Fuckin’ English.” Because Scotland is still a part of Great Britain.

Keep in mind that “British” is often used as a generalisation by many for those living in the UK, so anyone who is strongly against the Union may refuse to associate themselves with it and strongly emphasise by affirming their  “I’m Scottish.”

Whatever Soap’s political views on the treaty of Union, signed all the way back on the 1st May 1707, matter not, because it’s purely banter. The Scots and English have history, and they’re playing with it (Especially when you consider Ghost's whole “Speak English.” stuff.)

As a Scottish person, who’s man was also born here, but his family are English, I often take the piss about his heritage…some of us are just like that, okay? 🤣

Soap’s accent.

I’ve seen it come up again and again in comments that Soap’s accent changes, and sometimes his Scottish accent seems forced…that his VA is clearly not a native, unlike Captain MacTavish’s…

Besides the fact that his VA is actually Scottish, Soap travels the world, he works closely with folks from all over, so it is no surprise to me that his accent is going to dip and change from time to time.

And the times where he’s “forcing it'' in"Alone ","Awa and Bile yer heid!” “It’s pishin’ it doon oot here.” c’mon now, he’s purposely trying to goad Ghost! 🤣 

I worked in tourism, my colleagues came from all over. I’ve grown up with American TV shows and video games. And you bet I hear an accent and have to mimic it! When folk ask me where I’m from, it’s like a default to emphasise my accent as much as possible… oh and angry and drunk… tends to rev up the accent a little more too 👀

Basically, the accent is Scottish… with extra seasoning 🤣

[n30nwrites]

hiya neon <3

How you been ? ໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১₊˚⊹♡

hope you're having a good day ~ ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Anyways, can you write something fluffy about poly!141 and male reader

Just...cuddle piles bro...hhfjsjsk

-- 🪸anon

Like Real People Do (Poly!141 x Male Reader)

Sorry this wasn't long, a lot has happened in my life lol.

I've been okay, everything is turning up.

I debated on doing more but if It did it would've turned to angst so.

You were always tired, work didn't have to be stressful and you would still be tired. You think it had to do with interacting people, just talking could make you tired.

The only thing that could make it better, were the people that greeted you at your home.

Gaz is cooking. The smell swallows you and your stomach turns, growling for the food. You can tell its Gaz simply because of the smell of seasoning, something you were still helping the other three boys on. Soap and Ghost either did Microwavable dinners or take out, and Price thought that the only seasoning he should use is salt and pepper.

He's such an old man.

Your knees ached, as did your ankles and back. It was usually hurting, but you never got it checked out, didn't consider it important too.

The solo mission lasted 3 months, you know they had each other for company and some part of you questioned if they really needed you. If they could last without you for 3 months, what's the rest of their life?

Then Soap opens the door and grabs you like his life depends on it, and all that doubt disappears. He holds you, his arms wrapped around tight and your bag of items drops to reciprocate the hug. He feels like home.

They are home.

You attempt to let go and take a step forward but he still holds on, and you kind of just awkwardly shuffle into the door.

Ghost calls out your name and announces you're home. Price comes through the door wearing your favorite pair of sweatpants (that looked so good on him) and a tanktop, Ghost is in similar wear, and you could take a guest that they just stayed home all day.

"Soap you gotta let him go at one point." Soap is buried in your chest, pushing himself further so his words come out mumbled. "What is Gaz cooking?"

"How do you know it's Gaz cooking?" Price asks.

"Cause I can smell how good it is, you left the window open." You tell him which causes Ghost to go over and shut it, locking it as well.

"He's making some rogan josh-"

"Oh god..." You moaned, most of the food you ate was dry crackers (that tasted like cardboard) and some bad lasagna. You had always loved food, that was one downfall to being the governments rat. "God I'm starving."

"Thankfully you're home just in time." Gaz comes in wearing the stupid apron you got him, it's pink and frilly, a stupid gift because that was just the tradition on Christmas. Soap had gotten you a shirt that said 'Don't Bully Me I'll Cum :(' on it, which unironically became your favorite. You got Simon a shirt that said 'I Identify as an American Patriot and this is my Pride Flag' which the Brit hated but everyone else had a great time.

"Tell me you have naan."

He did

----

You ate like you hadn't before, the dinner was delicious and it brought you all to the bedroom to rest like never before.

You laid against the pillows set up on the wall, Gaz was laying in between your legs and on your chest, Price was laying on your right side, his head resting on your shoulder as Ghost laid on the opposite with Soap on top of him, though with the way Soap was laying, he was on top of everyone. Soap was holding your hand as you rested your head on Ghost, the tv is playing a show called The Maid, it was interesting so far, you were going in and out of focus on it, more focus on your boyfriends next to you.

Eventually husbands, hopefully.

You took a glance to the side where the bedtable sat. You each got a drawer for your stuff, and in yours were five rings that took 5 paychecks to get. You were just waiting.

There would be a right time.

Soap's loud snores fill the air, and you laugh a little at how sudden it is, as does Ghost. The bed was crowded but none of you cared, it was perfect.

They were perfect.

"I love you guys." You mumble, and Price leans over to you, causing you to turn your head and kisses you. It's soft, not leading to anything and it's not holding expectations, it's warm and soft and everything to you. And when he stops, you just smile, because this was it.

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 6

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: mentions of physical abuse. probably cursing, but idk. insecurity and vulnerability. I'm sure there are typos.

Words: 2825

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake’s eyebrows pinch in confusion at the shifting expression on your face, then he follows your line of sight over his shoulder. Though he’s still yards away from you, you hear the soft ‘damn it’ that leaves his mouth. He’s out of his seat in the next half-second, Rooster quickly joining him. 

“How is she here?” Jake asks as you ease behind him. 

“I have no idea,” Bradley says.

Sifting his hand through his hair, Jake curses again as if the woman making her way toward the group is a ticking bomb they’re running out of time to dismantle. “Can you and Millie take her back to the apartment?”

“Your girl?”

“Yes. I don’t know what Brit will say, but I don’t want it directed at her. When Brit realizes she’s my roommate—”

Rooster nods. “Enough said.”

“Thank you.” Jake whips around and his head jerks back in surprise—his mouth parts. A new shade appears to travel up his neck to his cheeks, but the pinkish hue could easily be mistaken for the fiery glow of the bonfire reflecting off his skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Who is she?”

Nat and Bob pull up on either side of you and you notice how all sets of eyes are glued to the woman who is still too far away to identify properly. Though, despite her distance and that you’d asked Jake for confirmation, she’s no mystery to you. She’s undoubtedly the woman from the gift shop. What you don’t understand is the intensity of everyone's reactions. 

Nat crosses her arms and with a frown, says, “Jake, how does she know you’re here?”

It’s a question that goes unanswered, but you suspect it’s not one that has an answer. They’re all shocked; no one pilot more or less confused than another. 

Ignoring both your question and Nat’s, Jake places his hands on your forearms to regain your attention. “Rooster and Millie are going to take you back to our place, alright?”

“Jake, why—”

“I just need to deal with this,” he interrupts, a barely detectable plea hidden within his tone. “I’ll get rid of her and then I’ll be home.”

Your breath catches at his wording. Get rid of her. You suddenly don’t care about the irritation swirling around the group or the stress on Jake’s face. Time slows. You’re shot back to a life you’ve been trying to forget. A life that had you so often discarded you'd learned to rid people of yourself before they could do it for you. 

“Does she deserve to be gotten rid of, Jake?” you ask, just above a whisper, for him and only him.

He flinches as if you slapped him, but he doesn't release you, and a bulge briefly forms in his throat before, bit by bit, the hurt infects the features of his face. He looks down to where his fingers are wrapped around your arms and squeezes, so light and gentle that were you not sensitive in the moment--hyperaware of every movement and sound--you wouldn't have felt it.

His hands slide down to your fingers, the pads of his fingertips resting under yours, his thumb grazing along the nail of your index finger. When his eyes flick up to yours, he says, “I’ll explain later."

The woman is close enough now that you can see the harsh scrutiny in her gaze as she looks you up and down. It morphs into a glare when she notices Jake’s hands on you, and she picks up in speed.

“If we’re going, it needs to be now,” Rooster says. “Baby,” he calls out for Millie, “We gotta go.”

She leaps up and rushes over to take his hand. The smile she directs at you is forced. “I was gettin’ tired anyway.”

—

Rooster and Millie drop you off with matching tense faces that look misplaced on both of them; appearing so odd you can’t help but stare hard at the crease in Rooster’s brow reflecting back at you in the rearview mirror. Despite only getting to know these people tonight, you suspect the mood filling this car is uncommon, especially when these two are within a foot and a half of one another while their hands are clasped and resting on the center armrest. 

“Jake will be back soon,” Rooster says as you exit the vehicle.

Then Millie adds a syrupy sweet, “I loved meetin’ you. If you ever wanna get together, let me know. I could use another friend in this town.”

Momentarily, you forget Jake in favor of the redhead smiling at you through the rolled-down passenger window. You could use another friend, too. Someone who isn’t so perfectly formed from the outside world's perspective. Someone who might be able to understand you. 

“I’d like that,” you reply. 

Rooster waits until you’re through the door of the building before peeling out of the lot and back down the street. 

When you make it into the apartment, you’re not entirely sure what to do. Everything you could do to distract yourself, whether it be cleaning or reading or watching TV, you won’t be able to put any heart into. They’d be useless distractions. You opt instead to take a seat on the couch and wait. But then the waiting grows boring, so you start to think. 

Get rid of her. Get rid of her. Get rid of her. 

There’s a layer of bitterness coating the roof of your mouth that you can’t swallow.

You just started settling into the idea that Jake could be different—good. His heart isn’t something he appeared to hide from you and the more time you spend around him, the more honest you’ve sensed him to be. Your resistance has yet to deter or turn him sour. Regardless of how you act, he still smiles at you every morning. He still makes you coffee and picks you up from work and wants you to spend time with his friends. He tries to integrate you into his life, but now you’re not sure for what purpose if this is how he views women. Disposable. 

You can feel it begin to crush you from all sides as you imagine the day Jake will look at you differently. The way he looked at her. 

Jake is worn down when he enters the apartment and finds you on the living room couch, your spine locked pin-straight. His eyes have lost their light, there is potentially a new fine wrinkle across his forehead, and his lips are pulled so tight they almost disappear. He’s so altered from the happy man of an hour ago. In fairness, you are as well. 

When he sees you, Jake smiles softly, weakly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You alright?” he asks.

You hadn’t considered a plan for addressing the event Jake didn’t allow you to witness, so it is your unprocessed emotions from the last hour that have you ignoring his question in favor of fueling what next comes out of your mouth. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Jake’s brow pinches as he crosses his arms. There’s no anger behind it; almost disappointment that you’ve reached such a conclusion. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw the mug in the trash. She got it at the gift shop where I work. A shirt, too, that matches.” 

The strain of his shoulders releases and his head falls back a bit, like that knowledge was the very last thing he needed you to have. “Fuck,” he groans, straightening his neck. “Of all the goddamn shops in this town…” His head shakes, then his eyes lock onto yours. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Not that either. She’s just…She lived here. Before you.”

Your hands tighten into fists that lightly press into the couch cushions. “Did you kick her out?”

“Not exactly,” he says. “She was month-to-month, and the month was up.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, or the shirt.”    

Your words are spewing so fast, every held in question breaking out, and you don’t dare stop yourself. You need to know if you’re correct. You need the explanation he promised you to confirm your suspicions. You need it. 

“You were sleeping with her, right?” You ask, though you’re already positive that’s what birthed the issues between him and that woman. “You slept with her and now she has feelings for you so you won’t let her stay here anymore…Right?”

The hurtful look that you’d caused at the beach reforms on his face, and it’s a deep stab into your chest, a mix of frustration and regret. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Sounds simple to me,” you snap. “Is this what you do? You sleep with women until it’s no longer convenient for you?”

“No! God, no. It’s not like this is my thing. She lived here and we got involved for three months. That was it,” he explains in a rush. “It wasn’t ever going to be anything more than sex, not to me, and when she realized that, she lost her shit, Ok? Broke things. Threw things. Hit me. I couldn’t let her stay here forever. I’m not some heartless dick, it just got out of hand.”

When he’s done, his chest is rising and falling like a man just off a five-mile run. He swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face in the silence that follows. 

It’s not a silence you know how to break. It’s a silence that demands you feel the full force of that stab wound in your chest, now shoved deep enough into your body to slice you right down the middle. Frustration is gone, easily overpowered by regret.

In a matter of ten seconds, Jake flipped over everything you had prematurely decided about the story between him and the woman. When you saw how she looked at you tonight and heard what Jake said, you thought you identified with her, that you’ve felt what she feels, that only you could see a swirling well of pain under her layer of anger. But as Jake stands before you, exhausted and desperate for you to understand, you realize you never considered that it’s with him you identify. Maybe it’s why pushing him away is much harder than anyone from your past. Maybe it’s why you want to believe he is good and genuine and kind. And maybe it’s why you’re realizing with each passing day that if you leave this town, you might not get away without also leaving a bit of yourself behind. Over the past months, you have—by subconscious mind or soul—connected with Jake Seresin through the pain you didn’t even know he’d faced. 

Jake steps around one of the chairs opposite the couch and his body falls into it like a ragdoll. 

“Does–” you begin, testing your voice. It’s meeker than you would like. “Does your team know what she did? Is that why they were so bothered when she showed up tonight? Everyone went into hyper-defense mode.”

He sits up, more at ease now that you’ve let go of your accusations. “They know she gave me trouble. They don’t know she would smack me or break my shit whenever I refused to treat her like my girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“If I told them while it was going on, they would’ve been pissed that I was letting her stay for a couple more weeks. They would’ve shown up at my door with a net to toss over her and drag her out,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasp and one thumb runs back and forth over the other. “And I don’t tell them now because, even though it's over, the lecture would last days.”

“With everything she was doing, didn’t you want her out as soon as possible?”

“Of course I did, but she didn’t have anywhere to go yet,” he says. “Eventually, I found her a place and paid for six months in advance. She’s got about three more months before she has to take over the lease.”

As he speaks, a dash of hypocrisy weasels its way into your system. A defensiveness that you’ve never used to protect yourself instantly latches on to Jake. 

You want him to tell his friends about what he’s been through, though you refuse to toss him the measliest crumbs from your own story. You want to explain to him that he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself in his effort to remove that woman from his life, while also ignoring the fact that self-sacrifice is the only option you’ve ever chosen. You want him to tell you everything he’s ever felt so he can remove the boulder from his back, as long as he doesn’t request the same of you. But you know Jake doesn’t work that way. With a given inch, he goes for a mile, and you can’t risk that. 

“Does she bother you often?” you ask. 

“There are days when she shows up out of nowhere, not unlike tonight, either pissed off all over again about everything that went down,” he nudges his head in the direction of the trash can, “or sickeningly sweet and asking to come back with gifts in hand.”

From that alone, you know Jake Seresin is stronger than you. He stands firm in one place despite the chaos that sporadically comes and goes from his life. He stakes his claim, choosing to remove the problem rather than consider that he is the problem and must be the one removed. But you can see, no matter how strong, it takes its toll on him.  

What comes over you next, you’re not quick enough to stop. You stand and find a new seat on the glass coffee table across from him, not fighting the closeness that gives your knees no choice but to be tucked between his. When your touch lands atop his clasped hands, they immediately untangle and, much like your legs, your hand becomes encased. Were you with anyone else, you’d feel trapped, one step away from prisoner. But here, now, with Jake, your body isn’t pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Though his head is lowered, he nods and you catch a hint of his half-hearted smile. Then he flips his hand so your palm is face-down on his, and with his other hand traces the edges of your fingers, from thumb to pinky and back. You try to ignore the zips and tingles that shoot up your arm from his soft motions. You fail. 

“Jake, why do you even bother with a roommate? I know you can afford this place on your own.”

“I don’t like to be alone,” he says, still lazily running his touch up and down the curves of your fingers.

“How come?”

That finger ceases its gentle tracing and he looks up. He’s suddenly much closer. Less inches remain between your nose and his, your eyes and his, your lips and his. “How about this…” His breath holds a heat that brushes your cheeks. “I tell you something; you tell me something.”

When you instinctively lean back a few inches, you swear he moves forward, like a magnet chasing after its partner. Your hand starts to slip and his palm shifts so his fingers can curl up through the spaces between yours.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Something about you.”

His eyes hold yours, that increasingly intoxicating shade of mossy green unwavering. His touch seems to extend past the warmth of his grasp, now flowing through you from head to toe. 

“What do you want?” you let out an awkward chuckle to distract yourself, and hopefully Jake as well, from the heat flushing your cheeks. “My favorite color?”

“Your favorite color is green,” he says. “I want to know something more than that, if you’re willing to share it.”

You search for any meaning behind what he says other than the one you know he’s after. He doesn’t just want something more, he wants something that means more. Something deeper that will put a crack in your shell. Something that will bring you closer to him.

To your surprise, it’s not a thought you immediately banish. Giving him more would, in theory, aid the budding connection you're not sure you want to break. But what you have to give might very well break that connection anyway. It could bring him a clarity you’d rather he not have as to why you are the way you are. If your story is too much for him to accept without altering how he sees you, you will pack up and leave solely for the escape, to avoid witnessing the rapid change of his treatment of you. And whatever he has to share in exchange couldn’t possibly have you viewing him as negatively as he might view you. 

“It’s a fair trade, don’t you think?” he says, “So, what do you say?”

---

A/N: Sorry if your favorite color isn’t green. I just picked one.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @townmoondaltwistle

[ghostedeabha]

Can you do William and Afab!Reader snugglefucking?

snugglefucking 🥺🫶

i hope this is to your tastes sweet nonnie <3

MINORS DNI !!

william afton x afab!reader

word count: 450

warnings: soft smut, snugglefuck, very very light dubcon/somnophilia (reader is like half asleep and consent is not direclty given but is implied/refrenced consent has been arranged beforehand), 18+, probably ooc william afton bc it's soft (they're both sleepy)

a/n: i'm a virgin and that's probably gonna be very obvious from how i write smut, my only experience with sex is the fact that i've been reading fanfics since i was 10 so literally 10, almost 11 years💀 that said, please bear with me >.< as always, reader is afab and referred to with some "fem" petnames, but identifying gender is not specified.

a/n 2.0: also i wrote this at my grandparents' house while tipsy💅

a/n 3.0: soooooo all the stuff i wrote while drunk at my grandparents' house got deleted because tumblr is a lil BITCH and ngl i forgot most of what i wrote so i hope this version is okay. i may come back and rewrite this again and make it a little longer just because i feel awful about taking so long to get this out

--------

your eyes were still blurry with sleep in the early morning as you felt your husband slipping your underwear down your legs as he laid behind you, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as he slid the obstructing fabric off your body.

you glanced over to check the time, 04:46. you supposed william had woken for work and was feeling rather needy, taking advantage of your previously established arrangement. one both of you took advantage of often.

"mornin' darling, didn't mean to wake you." a lie.

"morning will.. 's okay."

"just relax for me, sweet."

and with his voice so sweet and husky, hoarse with the grogginess of having just woken minutes before you, how could you not relax? his touch moving slowly up your thigh, teasing you just so, before he places a calloused finger to your clit, rubbing slow and teasing circles.

a soft hum of pleasure escapes your lips at his sensual touch, spurring the brit on more. his finger slipping down to slip inside you, curling the digit against the spongy spot deep inside you.

"that's it sweetheart, takin' it so well..." william muttered into your ear lowly as he pressed kisses and nibbles to your neck, slipping a second finger into your throbbing cunt.

william relished in the sounds of your sleepy moans, hips bucking into his hands slightly as he drove his fingers into you at a languid pace. the lewd sounds of your slick against his palm filling both your ears.

feeling his long fingers slip out of you, you let out a broken whine at the loss, only to be met with the feeling of his tip pressing to your core.

"shh, don't complain angel. quit your whining, i'll give you what you want."

"will, please..." you gasped out, begging him so sweetly for something he wasn't even denying you.

william lifts one of your legs gently, moving it back just so to place it back on his thigh as he pushed himself up into you from behind, making sure to go slow as he pushed in, wanting both to be careful with you as well as torture you with his sluggish pace.

soft, broken moans leave both your lips as he slowly pushes in, taking his sweet time bottoming out. once he does he starts a slow, torturous drag, in and out, in and... out.

"fuck, doll. feels good, nice and tight for me, yeah?" william grunts into your ear, his right hand coming down and sliding across your front, making it's way down your stomach to meet your clit once more.

you could never tire of waking up like this, and perhaps you'd have to return the favour tomorrow.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

happy "breaching the top 10 f1 rpf pairings on ao3" day to landoscar nation 🎂 because it's all about.... two people that are so much the same yet so different. australia vs the uk. oscar's cool collected calm versus lando's ricocheting personality. twitch streams and side hustles and multiple endeavors vs singlemindedness of racing. purity of craft vs embracing everything life throws at you and trusting that it'll all work out. the rivalry that isn't (well it is, but not really). pushing each other to be better. making heart eyes in a taylor swift video, reaching out to your teammate in silverstone after surviving a media maelstrom and him being pleased and stepping closer because he's been given permission to. making fun of your resident weeb for reading the words "kit kat" but just in a japanese accent.

it's being so ridiculously competitive that you'll hide in a burning bin in the name of fun for a game with made up points and then squinting at your teammate ringed with the bright light of the sun and laughing at how stupid this all is. it's making fun of your teammate's music taste that you can hear through the thin walls of the drivers' rooms. trusting the journey. mimicking each other's body language. knowing it's for the marketing but winking at the camera together anyway, like we're all invited to be in on the joke. two parallel lives woven in two different garages with almost identical specs. being so comfortable you have this weird rapport that is kind of a cipher and unknowable to anyone outside of the immediate network or team, but it's so assured and quiet that for the first time the person who's been the person who was once the younger teammate steps up, acts older now, and becomes comfortable with the silence.

it's knowing your best friend was on their renault team and not saying anything about it in public but the motorsport world is so small and specific and the experience so surreal that surely some laylines are just strangely predestined. it's about growing up together. it's watching the brit upstart in a generation of two other brit upstarts chase his dream and give up everything to win and get velcroed to the seat because he's kind of small, just like you, but you dream bigger than anyone dares to dream and you identify with the other's self belief that says you, too, could stand on that top step one day. it's you following the little blue-suited guy racer on social media and liking sooo many of his posts over the years, and not even bothering to hide that fact when you've probably become that goalpost for someone else one day, too.

it's chapter 2, with 3 more to go. it's watching your teammate win his first sprint race and finding it in yourself to be happy for him even when you're sad that it wasn't you. it's publicly saying that the rookie is not a threat, he's a threat who makes you race better. it's making fun of newbie's first day at mclaren and finding him unknowable. and he arrives with all this hype and pressure so what can you do but focus on you and step up your game, but he's always in the background and the periphery, chasing and chasing with this hunger that is unbelievable and unfamiliar because it's always humming in a way that made you mistake stillness for idleness in the past. but now, you know: still waters run deep, so you swim harder, too. drop the dj-ing. become more disciplined. train more. do things that don't matter, less.

because the future is vast. the future is happening constantly if you're ready to meet it. and maybe destiny will be kind, and your names will be remembered. your name, inked on a trophy in the precious metal of kings, and dreamers. your name, inked in gold.

but today, you're 22. you're 24.

you're driving a car as fast as you can, and everything that's possible, feels like it could be possible, right now.

[fiteandflite]

CoD fic writers, you guys are doing god’s work and ily for it BUT as a Brit I see a lot of common misconceptions / things that make me :/

1. When Soap chastises anyone for being a Brit, eg: ‘you British and your tea’. Soap is from Scotland, Scotland is British. Scotland is part of Great Britain and the British Isles. It doesn’t make sense for him to call other people Brits! He is one!

2. ‘Oh but Soap is a Scottish nationalist he doesn’t consider Scotland part of Britain bla bla’ if that’s your interpretation of his character, fine, but his issue would still be with the English. Ireland and Wales aren’t the ones that fucked Scotland up, his nationalism would be against England. So it makes more sense for him to say ‘fuckin English and their superiority complex’ or smth like that.

3. That being said, Soap would 100% identify as Scottish, NOT British. He is British, but would leans heavily on his Scottish pride. Nuances idk.

4. Scottish people also drink a lot of tea, it’s fuckin cold up there, mmm warm leaf water

5. Slight side note but when Soap complains about the weather in Manchester? Like I feel him, fuck Manchester, but again. Soap is Scottish. Weather in Scotland is often several degrees colder than in the South.

6. Overuse of British slang. Ofc the lads use quite a lot, but some of it, like ‘buggered’, is very old fashioned. Maybe Price would use it, maybe. By all means use slang, but not every other word

7. Overuse of phonetic dialogue. Similar to above. Use it for some words that are very heavily accented, but not every single one. This goes double for American writers, I’m watching you.

That’s all I can think of atm. But honestly if you’re writing fic based on characters from another country, it’s hard to get all the finicky nuances, and 90% of the time it’s really well done. So like, you’re amazing. Keep writing.

[coco-loco-nut]

TikTok

pairing: none

summary: it’s your turn to be featured on the F1 accounts

a/n: i got two tiktok requests, so i’m combining them. i also have never had tiktok so i hope this is acceptable 😭

masterlist

——————

Being a 21 year old driver for Aston Martin, you were obviously the one who did the most social media. Fernando claims he’s a rookie, but you weren’t even alive when he made his F1 debut.

“It’s your social media day,” your PR manager tells you when you arrive to the paddock. “The F1 social team is going to follow you around doing trends, as well as doing a day in the life at the paddock with you,” she tells you as said social media team walks in.

“Hi, since everything seems to be explained to you, just introduce yourself to the camera then we will get started,” one of the media people says and you wait for the cue.

“Hi, my name is Y/n L/n, I drive for Aston Martin, and I’m going to be showing you what I do on Thursday’s in the paddock,” you say, only needing the one take.

“That was great, we are going to start with the orange trend, one member from each team has been identified for the challenge. We are going to start with Fernando,” the girl who seems to be the manager for the day says as you are handed the orange.

“Alright guys, let’s see how much the grid loves me, spoiler alert, they do,” you grin, walking over to Fernando’s room. He answers immediately and you hold out the orange to him.

“Are the oranges giving you trouble again? Maybe I should start bringing some pre done for you,” Fernando hums, your cheeks flame. You are really bad at peeling them.

“Thanks, Nando,” you take it back, eating a piece. Next is Logan, Yuki, Zhou, and Esteban who all do it, no questions asked.

“George, this orange is giving me trouble, will you help me?” you ask the Brit and he just stares at you.

“Y/n, you are my friend, so no. You drive F1 cars, you have the arm strength and dexterity needed to peel an orange, plus I know the trend,” George says, walking away. You turn to the camera and shrug. Kevin walks past, takes the orange, peels it, then hands it back to you without a word.

“Can you guys tell that Kevin has kids?” you ask the camera, laughing. Lando does it, eager to be on the camera, Charles is confused but does it too.

“Maxie, I need help peeling this orange,” you give Max your best puppy dog eyes.

“I know this is for one of your tiktok’s, but give it here,” he says, you hand the peeled orange to P who is off camera.

“As you can see, everyone but George loves me,” you say to the camera that was doing this specific video. You head back to the Aston Martin garage for a meeting.

“Alright guys, I’m going to go into a meeting then a track walk before FP1,” you say, giving the camera a thumbs up. The meeting isn’t too long, just discussing how to approach FP1.

“The next trend we will be doing is the ‘I’m a feminist, watch me cook’ trend. So take this phone with you and take small videos or pictures of you over the next couple hours leading up to free practice one,” the social media person says and you take the phone carefully. You still have one trailing you for the day in the life video. You are cued to speak again.

“Alright, so I just finished the strategy meeting, now I’m going to go out onto the track with my team, take a lap, talk through what to look for, and mentally prepare for actually driving today. Taking an hour and a half to just talk to the team and get a feel for the track is so important, our cars are sensitive and it’s nice to see it outside of the sim since we aren’t at these tracks often. We usually do this after media on Thursdays, but we got here early to do it today,” you say, following your team onto the track. The poor socials team has to follow your team the whole hour and a half you are out there, but you do get a selfie and picture for your second trend video.

“We are going to get a video of you before and after suiting up, one of those magic transitions,” the socials team tells you.

“Time to suit up,” you snap, then the team leaves so you can change and braid your hair. One you are done, the team comes back in and takes the second part. You grab a quick lunch then head out for free practice one.

“Tell us what you would do if you weren’t a racer,” they ask as you walk to the garage.

“I loved singing as a kid so I wanted to be a music teacher. I actually took piano and vocal lessons when I was karting because I thought I would never make it past Formula Four or Formula Regional. Charles and I have played duets before,” you say, even though you won both of those.

“Can you tell us what you usually focus on during FP1?” they ask next and you nod.

“I obviously want to drive well and fast, but I focus more on getting quality data for the team and not crashing. Tire temp and deg are big, seeing how any upgrades or tweaks feel, our sectors compared to other teams, where I can break earlier or later, stuff like that is important data that helps us get ready for qualifying,” you explain. “I like looking at the data after and visualizing what I saw during the track walk to match the two up in my mind,”

“Do you ever talk to yourself?”

“Sometimes, but I will sing to myself during a safety car,” you laugh, answering the last question as you get to your garage. You take a selfie of you with the car before handing the phone back to the social media person. You get in the car and wait for the signal to leave the garage.

You top the timesheet for FP1, so you give a little fist pump to your team as you get out of the car.

“Alright guys, great FP1 run. I’m going to grab a snack, then head into a meeting to go over data and discuss our objectives for FP2,” you tell the camera, getting out of your mechanic’s way. The day passes like that, just updating the social team about what you are doing. FP2 goes well and you finish third on the timesheet.

“Alright guys, not much else for me. I’m going to change, do recovery, then go back to the hotel for dinner, watching both practices, and rest. Tomorrow will be more data and racing. Thanks for joining me today!” you wave goodbye, thankful to have the camera off you.

“Thanks for being a good sport about today, a lot of other drivers tend to get irritated,” the social media team says.

“Well, it’s an alternative to the other media stuff,” you shrug, nice enough to not tell them you are grateful it’s over. It’s fun making a silly video every once in a while, but marketing days are tiring.

You get back to the hotel and collapse on the bed, only getting up when there is a knock on the door.

“We brought you food since you had to do social media all day,” George says and you immediately let him and Alex in.

“Thank you, you guys are the best,” you say as Alex cues up the practices. You guys made it a tradition, but since you are on separate teams you don’t ever talk about them beyond how you would with any other driver.

“Well, I’ll see you guys in my mirrors tomorrow,” you say, closing the door behind them after the mini watch party. You check the response to the posts featuring you, and even though they are positive, you tell yourself you won’t be doing it again for a while.

[specialagentartemis]

Black Women writing SFF

The post about Octavia Butler also made me think about the injustice we do both Butler, SFF readers, and Black women SFF writers by holding her up as the one Black Woman Writing Sci-Fi. She occupies an important place in the genre, for her creativity, the beauty and impact of her writing, and her prolific work... but she's still just one writer, and no one writer works for everybody.

So whether you liked Octavia Butler's books or didn't, here are some of the (many!!! this list is just the authors I've read and liked, or been recommended and been wanting to read) other Black women writing speculative fiction aimed at adults, who might be writing something within your interest:

N. K. Jemisin - a prolific powerhouse of modern sff. Will probably have something you'll like. Won three Hugo awards in a row for her Broken Earth trilogy. I’ve only read her book of short stories, How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? and it is absolutely story after story of bangers. Creative, chilling, beautifully written, make you think. They’re so good and I highly recommend the collection. Several of her novels have spun out of premises she first explored through these short stories, most recently “The City Born Great” giving rise to her novel The City We Became. Leans more fantasy than sci-fi, but has a lot of both, in various permutations. 

Nisi Shawl - EDIT: I have been informed that Nisi Shawl identifies as genderfluid, not as a woman. They primarily write short stories that lean literary. Their one novel that I’ve read, Everfair, is an alternate-history 19th century that asks, what if the Congo had fought off European colonization and became a free and independent African state? Told in vignettes spanning decades of political organization, political movements, war tactics, and social development, among an ensemble of local African people, Black Americans coming to the new country, white and mixed-race Brits, and Chinese immigrants who came as British laborers.

Nnedi Okorafor - American-Nigerian writer of Africanfuturism, sci-fi stories emphasizing life in present, future, and alternate-magical Africa. She has range! From Binti, a trilogy of novellas about a teenage girl in Namibia encountering aliens and balancing her newfound connection to space with expectations of her family; to Akata Witch, a middle-grade series about a Nigerian-American girl moving to Nigeria and learning to use magic powers she didn’t know she had; to Who Fears Death, a brutal depiction of magical-realism in a futuristic, post-war Sudan; to short stories like "Africanfuturism 419", about that poor Nigerian prince who’s desperately sending out those emails looking for help (but with a sci-fi twist), and "Mother of Invention" about a smart house taking care of its human and her baby… she’s done a little bit of everything, but always emphasizes the future, the science, and the magic of (usually western) Africa.

Karen Lord - an Afro-Caribbean author.  I actually didn’t particularly like the one novel by her I’ve read, The Best of All Possible Worlds, but Martha Wells did, so. Lord has more novels set in this world—a Star Trek-esque multicultural, multispecies spacefuture set on a planet that has welcomed immigrants and refugees for a long time, and become a vibrant multicultural planet. I find her stories rooted in near-future Caribbean socio-climatic concerns like "Haven" and "Cities of the Sun" and her folktale-fantasy style Redemption in Indigo more compelling.  And more short stories here.

Bethany C. Morrow - only has one novella (short novel?) for adults, Mem, but it was creative and fascinating and good and I’d be remiss not to shout it out. In an alternate-history 1920s Toronto, scientists have discovered how to extract specific memories from a person—but then those memories are embodied as physical, cloned manifestations of the person at the moment the memory was made. The main character is one such “Mem,” struggling to determine who she is if she was created from and defined by one single traumatic memory that her original-self wanted to remove. It’s mostly quiet, contemplative, and very interesting.  (Morrow has some YA novels too. I read one of them and thought it was okay.)

Rebecca Roanhorse - Afro-Indigenous, Black and "Spanish Indian" and married into Diné (Navajo). I’ve read her ongoing post-apocalyptic fantasy series starting with Trail of Lightning, and am liking it a lot; after a climate catastrophe, the spirits and magic of the Diné awakened to protect Dinetah (the Navajo Nation) from the onslaught; and now magic and monsters are part of life in this fundamentally changed world. Coyote is there and he is only sometimes helpful. She also has a more traditional second-world epic high fantasy, Black Sun, an elaborate fantasy world with quests and prophecies and seafaring adventure that draws inspiration from Indigenous cultures of the US and Mexico rather than Europe. She also has bitingly satirical and very incisive short stories like “Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” about virtual reality and cultural tourism, and the fantasy-horror "Harvest."

Micaiah Johnson - her multiverse-hopping novel The Space Between Worlds plays with alternate universes and alternate selves in a continuously creative and interesting way! The setup doesn’t take the easy premise that one universe is our own recognizable one that opens up onto strange alternate universes—even the main character’s home universe is wildly different in speculative ways, with the MC coming from a Mad Max-esque desert community abandoned to the elements, while working for the universe-travel company within the climate-controlled walled city where the rich and well-connected live and work. Also, it’s unabashedly gay. 

And if you like audiobooks and audio fiction (I listened to The Space Between Worlds as an audiobook, it’s good), then Jordan Cobb is someone you should check out. She does sci-fi/horror/thriller audio drama. Her works include Janus Descending, a lyrical and eerie sci-fi horror about a small research expedition to a distant planet and how it went so, so wrong; and Descendants, the sequel about its aftermath. She also has Primordial Deep, about a research expedition to the deep undersea, to investigate the apparent re-emergence of a lot of extinct prehistoric sea creatures. She’s a writer/producer I like, and always follow her new releases. Her detailed prose, minimal casts  (especially in Janus Descending), good audio quality, and full-series supercuts make these welcoming to audiobook fans. 

-

Nalo Hopkinson - a writer who should be considered nearly as foundational as Octavia Butler, honestly. A novelist and short story writer with a wide variety of sci-fi, dystopian futures, fairy-tale horror, gods and epics, and space Carnival, drawing heavily from her Caribbean experiences and aesthetics.

Tananarive Due - fantastical/horror. Immortals, vampires, curses, altered reality, unnerving mystery. Also has written a lot of books.

Andrea Hairston - creative and otherworldly, weird and bisexual, with mindscapes and magic and aliens. 

Helen Oyeyemi - I haven’t read her work but she comes highly recommended by a friend. A novelist and short story writer, most of her work leans fairytale fantastical-horror. What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours is a collection of short fiction and recc’ed to me as her best work. White is for Witching is a well-regarded haunted house novel. 

Ashia Monet - indie author, writer of The Black Veins, pitched as “the no-love-interest, found family adventure you’ve been searching for.” Magic road trip! Possibly YA? I’m not positive. 

-

This also doesn’t include Black non-binary sff authors I’ve read and liked like An Owomoyela, C. L. Polk, and Rivers Solomon. And this is specifically about adult sff books, so I didn’t include Black women YA sff authors like Kalynn Bayron, Tomi Adeyemi, Tracy Deonn, Justina Ireland, or Alechia Dow, though they’re writing fantasy and sci-fi in the YA world too.

And a lot of short stories are out there in the online magazine world, where so many up and coming authors get their start, and established ones explore offbeat and new ideas.  Pick up an issue (or a subscription!) of FIYAH magazine for the most current Black speculative writing.

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

I fully believe Damon Hill sees Max competing for the championship with a Brit, immediately self identifies with the British driver, and casts Max as their Michael/villain because - even though he won the title in 1996 - Damon has never let 1994 go

[n0tchiii]

For your information also, I am against the events of October 7, but I did not see your ideas, your racism, and the bloodiness that you speak about. We are the owners of the land and we will remain and expand. Palestine is the capital of Jerusalem.

Do me a break and stop lying all the time. We all saw how you guys cheered hamas in those many videos you guys yourselves posted on socials and gazan civilians as well took part on 7.10 attack. The fact that you called here, in this message, for the destruction of Israel, and stealing the Jews capital city strengthens it.

And fr learn history instead of twisting it and lying. Palestine is a Roman colonial name of Judea kingdom, given by the Romans in the year 135 ad as a punishment. The name “Palestine” was inspired by a Greek tribe “The Philistines” who were the Israelites (including Jews) greatest enemies in the biblical era (The colonial Roman full name was Syria - Palestine). The ones who actually named those greeks “Philistines” from the beginning were the Israelites. They called them after the Hebrew word “invader” (פולש) since they invaded southern Israel and settled there. The name “Palestine” is the latin pronunciation of the Hebrew word “invader”. Before 1948, there was no such a thing an independent Palestinian state and ever since the Romans till 1948 the land of Israel was occupied and colonized by a different nation.

The Arabs occupied and colonized the levant during the Arabian conquest and colonized Judea between the years 639-1099 ad (the 7th century). Many Arabs from Arabian Peninsula immigrated to the levant and north africa. Whatsoever called today’s palestinisn are decedents of Arab colonizers of the land of Israel from the 7th century. They called it “El sham” which means the Levant. The Palestinians adopted this identity in the 60’s. The one who founded the PLO was actually Egyptian. Yasser Arafat was born and raised in Egypt and had nothing to do w/ the Arabs who lived in the land of Israel. They adopted their current flag in 1964 and copied it btw. The flag originally belonged to a Syrian party and was also the flag of Arab rebels during the ottoman era who fought the ottomans (but back then they also included a cross and islamic symbol). During the British Mandate, who also called officially the region as “the land of Israel, the Jews identified as the Jews of Palestine while the Arabs didn’t want anything to do w/ this latin name and didn’t identity as ones. The Jews, to compare to the Arabs, were socially very active during the Brits role. The Jews established the palestinian football team (Maccabi), Palestine post and the Palestinian Philharmonic Orchestra. The Jews also joined the British military and fought in WW2 helping the UK. As you can see, saying “Free palestine” is denying this important historical facts that erases the Jews connection to the land of Israel and basically leads to illegitimacy of the Jews to live in their homeland Judea, the land of Israel.

Ps: In 1947 the UN raised the 2 states solution - a JEWISH state and an ARAB (not a palestinian) state which is basically Jordan. -30% was supposed to be the Jewish state and 73% (which was Jordan) was supposed to the the Arab state. Btw, Jordan was created by the UK as well. The Jews agreed but the Arabs didn’t. The Arab leaders of the nations bear by told the Arabs who lived in the land if Israel to leave, so when they won they would return (since they, the Arabs, declared a war). The Arabs lost, Israel won and the Arabs who remained and lived within the Israeli borders received an Israeli citizenship and enjoy human rights as the Jews.

Here is a code to one of those videos YOU took, celebrating 7.10. I can give you more vids.

One of our hostages testimony. He’s only 13 years old and was kidnapped on 7.10!

Another testimony by Amit Susana, a hostage that was released.

Gazan teens cheering Hamas on 7.10.

Another qr showing how gazan civilians participated in 7.10 attack and cheered Hamas.