#their posts used to make me cry Back In The Day

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (1/???)

Here I aaam! Remembering that the posts will be every Saturday.

So, enjoy it!

*I'm a little drunk rigth now, so, I'm sorry if you find mistakes*

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: A serie of events makes you fall into the good graces of two older women.

Hey! I've a masterlist

Fascination

You wake up to the first rays of sunlight slipping through the gaps in the curtains. Your bedroom is small, just 23 square meters, but it’s the only space in the world you can truly call your own. A study desk pushed against the wall, shelves crammed with books and notebooks filled to the last page, and plants scattered in every corner—ferns, succulents, and a small cactus that stubbornly clings to life even when you forget to water it.

After stretching, you get up and head straight to the window, where your plants greet the day. You talk to them in a soft tone as you mist them, almost as if expecting a reply. “You look beautiful today. I promise I won’t forget you again.”

Lucky, your overly talkative black cat, meows at your feet. He wants nothing but your attention, and you oblige, stroking his head with a tired smile. “Good morning, Lucky. Seems like you’ve got a lot to say, huh?” He meows back, and you laugh.

In the comfortable silence of the morning, your mind drifts, as it often does, to the past. You grew up in the suburbs, in a small house that was always full. Your father did his best to raise you and your five older siblings, but there was a gap that was never filled: your mother. She left when you were just a child, and though no one in the family spoke openly about it, her absence was a constant shadow in your life.

You remember the nights when your older siblings would laugh and argue in the living room, while you, the youngest, hid in a corner with a book or a notebook. Writing was your escape, your way of creating a world where you had control, where mothers didn’t leave and bad things always had a solution.

She left when you were little, leaving behind you, your five older siblings, and a father who never knew how to handle her absence. You remember the nights when the silence of the house was broken by questions no one dared to ask. Why did she leave? Was it us? Was it me?

No matter how hard he tried, your father couldn’t fill the void she left behind. He worked all day, came home exhausted, and did his best to keep the house running, but affection and kind words were never his strong suit.

“You’re strong. You don’t need to cry over this,” he’d say every time tears threatened to spill. Gradually, you learned to swallow your tears and convince yourself that you needed to be strong, even when everything inside you wanted to collapse.

Her absence shaped much of who you are today, though not in a way you like to admit. It’s hard to look in the mirror and not feel... inadequate. You wonder if she left because you weren’t good enough, because you weren’t good enough.

These thoughts are like shadows that appear at the most unexpected times, especially when you try to open up to someone. Intimacy is terrifying. You fear that if people truly know you, they’ll abandon you, just like she did.

In school, this made you shy and reserved. You always felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, unable to fit in. Your siblings tried to shield you from the worst, but they had their own battles to fight.

You were the youngest, the “baby” of the house, and yet you never had the chance to be treated as such. While they laughed and argued, you hid in your room, writing stories that transported you to worlds where mothers didn’t abandon their daughters.

This absence also gave you a fierce determination. You promised yourself that if no one was there to take care of you, then you would take care of yourself. You studied late into the night, devouring books on screenwriting and filmmaking from the public library.

When the college acceptance letter arrived, it felt like the world had paused for a moment. You’d made it. The first in your family to set foot on a university campus. Despite the pride, the insecurity is always there, lurking. The fear of not being good enough, of failing, of being discarded. You work hard because you feel you have something to prove, even if no one asked you to.

The sound of the bell above the door announces another day of work at the small café. You walk in, adjusting your apron with a resigned sigh. The air smells comforting, like fresh coffee, but the weight of the shift ahead is always present. You do everything there: serve tables, clean counters, even organize the stock. Your boss is an unpleasant man, known for his sexist jokes and invasive behavior. But you need the money, so you swallow your anger and keep going.

América, your coworker, is the opposite of you. Rebellious and fearless, she confronts the boss without hesitation, even knowing it could cost her the job. You make an unlikely team, but somehow it works.

As you wipe down the counter, you hear the sharp click of heels echoing through the café. The sound has a weight to it, cutting through the usual hum of the room. A barely perceptible pause spreads through the space, as if the air itself had been suspended for a second. It’s not just curiosity—it’s reverence.

Your gaze lifts almost instinctively, and it’s impossible not to notice the woman who just walked in. Tall, with perfectly styled dark hair and a black blazer that looks tailor-made, she exudes power. But it’s more than that. There’s something in the way her eyes sweep the room—a sharp coldness, as if she could dissect everyone there with just a glance. And people notice her. Some whisper her name, others try not to stare too long.

You swallow hard, trying not to seem intimidated. But when her eyes finally land on you, it’s as if the world around you has disappeared. She doesn’t look away, and the intensity of that moment makes your stomach churn. For a split second, it feels like she knows exactly who you are—all your fears, insecurities, and dreams laid bare before her.

Summoning what little courage you have left, you adjust your apron and force a smile you’ve practiced hundreds of times. “Good morning, what can I get for you today?” Your voice sounds calm, but your heart is racing.

The woman continues to stare at you, silent. Her dark eyes analyze every detail: the slightly worn apron, your hands gripping the notepad too tightly, even the stray strand of hair that escaped your bun. It’s unsettling, as if she’s assessing every tiny aspect of your existence.

“A caramel latte... and a black coffee. No sugar. To go.” Her voice finally breaks the silence. It’s low, gravelly, like distant thunder, and carries a strange familiarity—as if she’s used to being obeyed without question.

You nod, trying to stay professional. But as you prepare the orders, you feel her eyes on you, watching every move. The weight of her gaze is almost unbearable, like a test you didn’t know you were being forced to take. Your hands start to tremble, and an anxious heat spreads through your body. The feeling of being judged grows.

When you turn to hand over the drinks, the tension in your muscles is so tight that your hands falter. Before you realize it, the hot coffee cup slips, spilling the brown liquid all over the woman’s immaculate white blouse. The sound of the cup hitting the counter is muffled by the low, controlled sound of frustration that escapes her lips—not a scream, but a deep, restrained noise.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, your voice trembling. Grabbing napkins in a panic, you lean in to clean up the mess but freeze when you see the stain spreading across the expensive fabric.

The murmur in the café grows louder. Someone lets out an audible sigh, while another mutters something about “the mighty Rio” being treated so carelessly. The name hangs in the air, and only then does it fully hit you.

You knew she seemed powerful, but you hadn’t realized you were standing in front of Rio Vidal—one of the world’s most renowned visual artists. Like her wife, Agatha Harkness, she’s an icon. Together, they’re one of the few openly gay couples to dominate and be celebrated by the industry. Her fame precedes her, and now you’ve just spilled coffee on her.

The woman doesn’t say anything immediately, but her eyes—once analytical—now seem to pierce through you. There’s something terrifyingly calm about the way she looks at you, as if she’s deciding how much of a reaction you’re worth.

Before you can stammer out more apologies, your boss’s voice cuts through the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouts, his anger exploding. “How can you be so clumsy? A client of this caliber, and you do this?! I should fire you right now!”

The embarrassment spreads through you like the coffee on her blouse. Your eyes well up as you try to explain, but the words won’t come. All you can do is look at the woman, hoping she’ll say something—anything.

She, however, doesn’t even glance at your boss. Her eyes remain fixed on you, as if he doesn’t exist. Finally, she breaks the silence with a low, sharp voice: “That really isn’t necessary.”

Your boss stammers, surprised. “But, ma’am, she—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Her gaze silences him, and for the first time, you see a man who thrives on authority shrink back.

You try to catch your breath, your face burning with shame. With a thread of courage, you murmur, “Please, come with me. I—I can fix this.” Your voice falters, but there’s something in your insistence that makes her tilt her head slightly, as if weighing your determination before nodding.

In the restroom, the silence between you is heavy but not empty. You grab the spare blouse you always carry and try to gather your thoughts, but when you turn around, the air seems to leave your lungs.

The woman unbuttons her blazer with precise movements, and when she removes the stained shirt, she reveals a black silk blouse so delicate that the light highlights the curves of her collarbone and the edges of her lace bra.

Your gaze involuntarily drifts to her shoulder, where the skin reddened by the coffee looks almost fragile. The sight is intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for, and your face burns.

“I... I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have...” you begin, but your voice falters. Your mind is torn between the embarrassment of the accident and the hypnotic presence of her, which seems to fill the small space of the restroom.

“Do you always get this nervous?” Her question is unexpected, her voice low and laden with something you can’t decipher. It’s almost a challenge, a test, and her gaze remains fixed on you, as if expecting more than a simple answer.

“I... I don’t know. Maybe?” You look away, shrinking slightly as you hand her the clean blouse. It’s cheap fabric but carries the faint scent of your homemade perfume. When her fingers brush against yours as she takes it, a shiver runs down your skin, quick and unexpected.

She puts on the blouse slowly, unhurried, and her words follow like an echo: “You shouldn’t apologize so much. Especially when you don’t know what for.” The statement is intriguing, almost disconcerting. Your heart races, as if you’ve just stumbled upon something you don’t fully understand.

Before she leaves, you blurt out, the words tumbling out in one breath: “Please... let me wash your blouse. I want... I need to make it up to you.”

She pauses at the door and turns, her eyes locking onto yours once more. There’s something different now, a genuine interest, almost calculated.

Without a word, she pulls a black card from her pocket, elegant and scented with a faint woody aroma. “When it’s ready, come to this address.” Her voice is low but layered with meaning you can’t interpret.

She leaves before you can respond, her posture impeccable and her steps controlled, as if every movement were rehearsed. You’re left alone in the restroom, holding the card that feels heavier than it should.

Rio Vidal.

The name echoes in your mind. A short, strong name, as enigmatic as she is. And for some reason you can’t explain, you feel like you’ve just opened a door to something that will change your life in ways even the worst coffee spills couldn’t predict.

A few minutes later, you gather enough courage to leave the restroom. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, as if trying to remind you of the disaster that just happened.

You find your boss standing near the counter, wearing the same disdainful look that always makes your skin crawl. But something is different today. He doesn’t explode into shouts as you expected.

“Rio Vidal. The Rio Vidal—” He crosses his arms and sighs, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, “—said it was fine. And she was very clear that you shouldn’t be punished.”

You blink, confused. The black card in your hand feels heavier now. Why would she do that? Was it pity? Some kind of veiled charity because of your desperation? Or... something more?

The woody scent of the card wafts up to you, a tangible reminder of the woman who, even with coffee spilled on her expensive blouse, had remained impassive and enigmatic.

“Get back to work before I change my mind,” your boss grumbles, but his tone has lost its usual edge. You don’t argue, just tuck the card into your pocket, still feeling every embossed letter like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

[...]

You practically run to the university. Your legs ache, but it doesn’t matter because today is important. When you finally reach the worn-down building that houses the film department, you can barely catch your breath. The room is packed with anxious students, and excited whispers fill the air.

“You’re almost late!” Darcy whispers, pushing a notebook aside to make room for you. Her eyes are wide, nervous. “Agatha Harkness is already here.”

Her name makes your heart race, in a completely different way from the panic you felt before.

Agatha Harkness.

The legend. The queen. The woman who made actors cry on set and screenwriters question if they were good enough to write even a single line of dialogue. She was a monster… but undeniably a genius. Everything that came from her hands was masterful, and you secretly harbored an absurd admiration for her.

Peter, sitting in front of you, whispers to Darcy, “Do you think she’s going to rip someone’s heart out today? She did that the last time she visited a university…”

Darcy, next to him, makes a face. “On the first day?”

“Without a doubt,” Peter replies, shrugging.

Before you can respond, the door swings open. The sound of her heels is the first thing that fills the sudden silence. And then she enters.

Agatha is everything you imagined and more. Tall, dressed in an impeccable purple suit that seems to radiate authority, with a smile that borders on cruel and eyes that scan the room as if evaluating every soul present. Her presence is a punch to the stomach, yet at the same time, something in you feels magnetized by her. It’s impossible to look away.

She wastes no time with warm introductions. Instead, she tosses a stack of papers onto the desk and begins speaking. Her voice is deep, firm, and filled with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

“Writing is an act of courage. And from what I’ve heard, many of you have been content with mediocrity.”

The students exchange nervous glances. Darcy practically sinks into her chair beside you. You, on the other hand, feel your heart race even more. There’s something hypnotic about the way she speaks, as if every word is carefully sharpened to cut.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do.” Agatha steps up to the blackboard and writes something with an elegant pen. “Write a scene. Any scene. But make it something worth reading. Because if I think you’re wasting my time…” She lifts her gaze, and the silence that follows is more threatening than any word. “—your nonexistent careers won’t even start.”

Agatha picks up the first stack of papers and starts reading in silence, her eyes moving rapidly from side to side. The room is absolutely silent, so quiet that the sound of students breathing feels deafening.

After a few seconds, she lets out an almost exasperated sigh and lifts a paper, holding it up as if it were evidence of a terrible crime.

“Who wrote this?”

A girl in the back of the room timidly raises her hand, almost regretting existing.

Agatha narrows her eyes at the paper, then at the girl. “Is this a love story?”

The girl shakes her head, mumbling something about the plot being deeper than it seemed.

“No. It’s not.” Agatha cuts in, her voice as cold as steel. “This is a cheap fanfic disguised as a script. Characters with no substance, dialogues recycled from a teen drama. Where is the humanity? Where is the real conflict? This isn’t writing. This is a murder of art.”

The girl seems to shrink into her seat.

Agatha tosses the paper onto the desk and picks up the next one. This time, she doesn’t read for long before looking up. “Who thinks it’s acceptable to start a scene with ‘Once upon a time’ in an academic assignment? Are you trying to sell an idea or put a child to sleep?”

A boy in the front row tries to justify his choice, but Agatha raises a hand, cutting him off.

“I’m not here to hear excuses. I’m here to see talent. And so far, I’ve seen nothing worth my time.”

The silence in the room is palpable. You see Darcy whisper something to Peter, probably something like “Yeah, definitely heartless,” but you can’t focus. Your own script is in your hands, and the weight of the paper feels like lead.

Finally, your turn comes. With trembling hands, you hand the sheet to Agatha Harkness, feeling as if you’re handing over a piece of yourself. She takes the paper with an almost deliberate calm, and for a moment, you’re sure she’s going to toss it onto the “failures” pile without even looking.

But then, something in the title seems to catch her attention. Her eyes, previously indifferent, narrow slightly, and she begins to read.

Seconds turn into eternities as you watch her. The room around you fades away; all you can hear is the sound of your own heart pounding against your ribs. Your mind drifts back, inevitably, to the moment you wrote those words—the weight of the story, the piece of your soul you decided to share.

Agatha turns the page. Once, then again. Her silence is like a knife. You don’t know if this is good or bad.

When she finally finishes, she places the paper on the desk. Unlike the others, she doesn’t discard it immediately, but she also doesn’t show approval. Her eyes lock onto you, assessing, and there’s something new in her expression: a trace of curiosity.

“Interesting.” Her tone is neutral, but there’s something hidden in it—a hint of intrigue, perhaps? She leans forward slightly, crossing her arms. “Are you trying to tell a personal story?”

Your face burns instantly, and you feel the weight of all the eyes around you. Still, you find the strength to nod in confirmation, even as shame nearly swallows you whole.

“Hmm.” Agatha raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips into a thoughtful line. “You have no technique. No structure. The writing is messy, almost amateurish.”

Her words cut deep, and you bite your lip hard to keep the bile from rising in your throat.

“But…” She pauses, looking at the paper with unsettling intensity. “You have—” then, she focuses on you, and seeing those ocean-blue eyes so close makes your body tremble. “—something.”

Her choice of words is as vague as it is provocative, and you feel the weight of that “something” hanging in the air between you. She narrows her eyes, as if trying to figure out exactly what it was in the text that caught her—or in you.

“Stay after the bell rings.”

Her voice is final, like a sentence, but there’s no hostility. She dismisses you with a slight wave of her hand, and you feel a mixture of relief and anxiety as you return to your seat.

While the others hand in their scripts, you remain restless, trying to decipher Agatha’s expression and the reason behind her words. What in your text could have caught her attention? The room around you is filled with muffled murmurs, but in your mind, it’s as if you’re trapped in a storm.

As soon as the bell rings, only three people remain in the room besides you. The silence is dense, heavy with expectation, as Agatha moves with the same deliberate calm as before.

Of course, she already knows exactly what she’s doing. This special, hand-picked mentorship was clearly a strategy to appear more "kind" to the public, even though, so far, there had been nothing friendly about her approach.

You watch as she begins the individual feedbacks, calling Darcy first. The girl in front of you seems to be caught between hope and terror but agrees to step forward. As Agatha starts speaking to her, you try to distract yourself, but you can’t stop your eyes from wandering back to the director.

She is... magnetic. Even as she crushes Darcy’s creative dreams with precise, cutting words, there’s something about her that simply demands attention. And then it happens.

For a moment—or perhaps for all eternity—her blue eyes meet yours.

Your throat goes dry instantly. It’s impossible to interpret what’s in that gaze, but it hits you hard. Curiosity? Judgment? Or something else? You try to look away, but it’s as if you’re trapped. She stares at you for only a few seconds before returning to her conversation with Darcy, as if nothing had happened. But you know it did.

Your heart pounds so loudly it feels like it echoes in the empty room. Nervousness is consuming you, but there’s something else, a sensation you weren’t expecting. A tightness in your stomach.

Desire? Nervousness? Anxiety?

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to take a deep breath and organize your thoughts, but it only makes things worse. It feels like she has pulled a piece of the air around you away with just that look.

Time moves slowly. Agatha finishes Darcy’s feedback, moving on to the next student. And then, when your turn finally comes, you don’t know if you’re ready—or if you ever would be.

She calls your name firmly, and you stand up. Your legs feel weak as you walk toward her, carrying the weight of her expectation and your own desire to impress her.

“So,” she begins, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze settling on you. “Let’s talk about what you wrote.”

As soon as you sit before her, Agatha picks up your sheet of paper, holding it carefully, as if she were carrying something precious—or something dangerous. She doesn’t say anything right away, just fixes her eyes on the text for a few seconds before beginning to read again, this time out loud:

"One day, I had a dream about my mother. She was married to the man she truly loved, and without children. There, I had never seen her so happy."

Her voice is deep, but it carries a softness you didn’t expect. It’s as if she’s savoring each word, analyzing every nuance.

When she finishes, Agatha places the paper on the table with a controlled gesture and looks directly at you. The silence that follows seems to last an eternity.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of that gaze, as if she could see every secret you tried to hide.

“Is your mother the main character here?” The question is direct, blunt—like everything about her.

You feel your face heat up, looking away. “I... maybe?” you murmur, the words hesitant.

“No need to lie,” she interrupts, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The text screams it. Every line, every word choice… it’s as if you were exorcizing a ghost. Tell me, is that what you tried to do? Exorcize the guilt of loving and hating at the same time?”

The brutality of the question leaves you speechless. You shift in your chair, uncomfortable, but she doesn’t seem inclined to ease the tension.

“Did she leave you?” Agatha presses, her eyes locked onto yours, as if she could pull the truth out of you by force.

You hesitate but finally let out a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

For a moment, her face seems to change. Something in her gaze softens, but only for a fraction of a second before she composes herself again.

“And yet, you chose not to hate her.” She tilts her head, as if studying a particularly intriguing piece of art. “That is… rare.”

“I think that… she did what she thought was best for her,” you reply, your voice almost a whisper. “I don’t blame her for seeking happiness, even if it hurt me.”

Agatha remains silent for a few moments, as if processing something. There was something in the text—or maybe in the way you spoke—that seemed to touch an old wound in her. A shadow passes over her face, but she quickly pushes it away, replacing it with a neutral expression.

“You have talent,” she declares, breaking the silence. “Still raw, but it’s genuine. And, more importantly, you have courage. The kind of courage I’m looking for.”

You blink, confused. “Looking for?”

Agatha leans forward, her eyes gleaming with dangerous intensity. “I’m assembling a team for my next project. I need minds that think like yours—that see beyond the surface and aren’t afraid to explore the shadows. Would you be interested?”

Your heart races. Working with Agatha Harkness? The woman you admired, even feared? It was more than you could have imagined, but the answer was obvious.

“Yes,” you respond quickly, barely able to contain the excitement in your voice.

Agatha smiles, and the gesture is as enigmatic as the rest of her. “Good. Get ready, little gem. I’m going to shape you piece by piece," The way she spoke was hypnotic, pulling you in. “and it will be… painful.”

As soon as you answer affirmatively, Agatha pulls something from the pocket of her purple blazer: a business card. It’s blue, with purple lettering in an elegant cursive font. The floral scent of the paper fills the air as she slides the card across the table toward you.

“Come to this address tomorrow,” she says, her voice firm but low, as if each word were chosen with care. “Seven at night. And don’t be late.”

You take the card with trembling fingers, its weight feeling heavier than it should. The moment you touch it, a wave of déjà vu washes over you. The texture, the scent, even the sophistication of the design remind you of the card Rio gave you earlier.

Two women so different, and yet… so similar. Both had a presence that seemed to capture the room, leaving you breathless. Both seemed to see through you, as if they could decipher your deepest thoughts with a single look.

You feel your heart speed up, confusion mixing with excitement. Why had these women, so powerful and enigmatic, captivated you so much? Rio had left something in you—a sense of unresolved mystery. Now, Agatha was doing the same, but in an even more intense way.

“Something wrong?” Agatha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present.

“N-no,” you reply quickly, slipping the card into your backpack. “I’ll be there.”

She only tilts her head, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before turning and leaving the room. Her silhouette disappears through the door, but the weight of her presence still lingers—heavy, inescapable.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, a single question echoes in your mind: What the hell were you getting yourself into?

And more importantly, why couldn’t you stop feeling excited about it?

~*~

Y/n... How lucky you are, huh?

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[evanbuckleyrecs]

January wrap up

So I haven't really had the energy to make separate posts lately, BUT I started track what I read and bookmark, so here is a list of all the 911 fics I bookmarked in January 2025!

Edit: I tried adding the author's tumblrs but couldn't find all of them. If you are/know any of them, please let me know :)

Please, please, please by bookinit

E rated | 8,7K | Buddie | touch starved Eddie | angst & smut | getting together | @bookinit02

buck doesn’t touch eddie anymore. eddie’s losing it, a little bit.

You'll Never Find Me Trying to Leave by DuoOfDiaz

T rated | 3,5k | Buddie | getting together | Christopher comes back from Texas | love confessions | @smolfunpenguin

Eddie and Buck are overjoyed that Christopher has returned from Texas. They organise a Welcome Back to LA party in his honor and it goes off without a hitch. Buck wonders whether the after party moment is finally the time to tell Eddie how he feels.

Please don't say I'm too much by buckleyys118

G rated | 3/3 chapters | 10K | Buddie | touch starved Buck | emotional hurt/comfort | getting together | angst with a happy ending | Tommy bashing | insecure Buck

a comment from Tommy causes Buck to spiral. Eddie fixes it.

Born with a weak heart by foxwatson

T rated | 7,4k | Buddie | post 6x11 in another life | touch starved Buck | getting together | idiots to lovers | touch as a love language

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it

If I loved you less by spaceprincessem

Rated T | 1,9K | Buddie | getting together | light angst | text messages | post 6x11 in another life | @spaceprincessem

Buck can't use his phone for two days. Eddie sends him text anyways

If You Need Me, You Know I'll Be There by soft_satan

Rated T | 4,1 K | Buddie | hurt/comfort | hurt Buck | no Ana bashing | soft Buddie | tending to wounds | mentioned hate crimes | protective Eddie | post s4 |

Eddie’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. “Buck? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” “No,” Buck laughed, breathless and bitter, just on this side of hysterical. He sniffled again, sounding like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “C-could uh… could you come get me? Please?”

Out of ashes by ashavahishta

Rated M | 6,6K | Buddie | presumed dead | kidnapping | established relationship | dark whump | worried Eddie | heavy angst | hurt/comfort | TW: implied/referenced torture, starvation, sensory deprivation | @ashavahishta

“They found Buck.” Hen’s hand goes to her chest. Chim stumbles like he’s been hit, hand curling around the back of a chair for balance. And Eddie - Eddie’s knees give out. He’s lucky there’s a chair right under him because he just buckles, head in hands, trying to remember how to breathe. “Is he - did they - what…what did they find?” “He’s alive.” “What?” Eddie’s head snaps up.

I Did It All (To Make You Love Me) by sirencalls

Rated E | 4,4K | Buddie | panties | top eddie/bottom buck | resolved sexual tension | praise kink

Honestly, Eddie is just trying to find the pair of boxers he knows he left here last week.

Won't you kiss me on the mouth (and love me like a sailor) by hirarih

G rated | 2,1k | Buddie | crack treated seriously | accidental love confessions | light angst | getting together | first kiss | POV alternating | idiots in love

Buck discovers he’s in love with Eddie, rants about it to Maddie, and doesn’t realise Eddie is right behind him.

I can read between your lines (dizzy from the spinning) by buckleydiazy

E rated | 4,3K | Buddie | phone sex | praise kink | pre-relationship Buddie | mention of past casual buck/omc

“So, theoretically,” Eddie sounds absolutely delighted, “if we didn’t know each other, you’d hook up with me in a public bathroom?” “Theoretically—I mean, do you want a serious answer?” Eddie hesitates for a moment. “Yeah,” he says quietly, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Tell me.” “Probably,” Buck says. Then a little firmer—“Definitely.”

Not Doing This Alone by carpediaz

Rated M | 27,4k | Buddie, Buck & Chris, Eddie & Maddie | AU | Nanny Buck | mutual pining | getting together | angst with a happy ending | fluff and angst

The one where Eddie hires Buck as a nanny for Christopher and has to navigate falling in love with someone he shouldn't want (who definitely wants him in return).

The kiss that lingers by greenbergsays

E rated | 10,7k | Buddie | Buck’s birthmark | 5+1 | forehead kisses | non sexual intimacy | touch starved Buck | insecure Buck | getting together | fluff and smut and angst | @greenbergsays

5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

Was I even on your way? By rangerdanger

Rated M | 3K | Buddie | past rape - Dr. Wells mention | panic attacks | established relationship | hurt/comfort | emotional hurt/comfort | worried Eddie | POV Buck

Buck gets reminded of something that happened he'd rather forget.

This Could Be Our Year; Don't Let Go of My Hand by allisonRW96

Rated T | 39,7k | 8/8 chapters | Buddie | mutual pining | alternating POV | getting together | Buck whump | worried Eddie | protective Eddie

After a routine call at the studio of a wealthy, eccentric fashion designer, the 118 find themselves invited to a masquerade ball on New Year’s Eve. Buck thinks it will be a perfect time to kiss Eddie. Eddie thinks it will be the perfect time to kiss Buck. Someone else has more sinister plans.

Rhythm of Your Heart series by devirnis

Part 1 rated T, part 2 rated G, part 3 rated M | Madney, Buddie, Buck & firehouse 118 | AU - criminals | 118 aren't firefighters | protective 118 | mutual pining | getting together | buck & maddie whump | total word count 39,6K | @devirnis

the 118 run a front restaurant for money laundering, and accidentally adopt the Buckley siblings

Baby mine by Fizzlespin

Rated G | 2,9k | Buck & Athena | hurt Buck | Buck needs a hug | Bathena are Buck’s parents | protective Athena | parental Athena

When Maddie tells him about Daniel, and being born for spare parts, Buck doesn't know what to do. Hurt, confused (and drunk), he goes to who he always goes to in a crisis for some calm, fatherly advice. But Bobby isn't home and Athena is left to pick up the pieces.

A minute from home but I feel so far from it by cozycatwriter

Rated G | 2,1k | Buck & Athena | post law-suit | post tsunami | emotional hurt/comfort | implied/referenced suicide

He thinks to anyone watching him that they might think he’s just lost in thought. He’s leaning against the pier fence, avoiding the bench this time around. Or maybe he looks like he’s about to throw himself off the wooden walkway and into the rocks below. He’s not sure which would be true. “Because you’re exhausting. We all have our own problems but you don’t see us whining about it.” He’s been back at station 118 for only a few shifts but it’s like the world has flipped upside down and he’s found himself within an alternate universe. Like Stranger Things.

Hen Wilson's Four Part Guide to Making Your Stupid Friends Date by songbvrd

Rated M | 25 K | Buddie, Hen & 118 | crack treated seriously | Chris comes back from Texas | POV outsider | miscommunication | post canon | locked in | idiots in love | @songbvrd

When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands.

50 Cheeky Texts by songbvrd

Rated M | 20,9K | Buddie | b/t breakup | texting | pre-relationship buddie | drunken flirting | crack treated seriously | fluff and crack | bad pick up lines | hurt Buck | @songbvrd

Buck gets drunk-dared to send Eddie one cheeky text every day for 50 days. Eddie loses his mind. TW for the cringiest pickup lines in existence.

You warm me up (inside and out) by becausebuckley

Rated T | 3,4K | buddie | touch starved | cuddling & snuggling | sharing clothes | first kiss | getting together | @becausebuckley

after a shift leaves buck tired and shivering, eddie takes him home.

See y'all next month 🫡

[messrsrarchives]

last sunday i was feeling very melancholic and had spent the night on call with my nan for hourssss talking about my transition. she stayed up with me for hours, we spoke about everything from my childhood signs, to my discovery, to my exploration and starting hormones etc etc, we spoke about everything.

but really it felt a bit like a funeral, that's how she described it. she said it felt like a eulogy of what it could have been because that entire phone call started with me saying i need to Stop. she got a random message from me asking if she'd be by my side if i detransitioned, so she called me and we spoke about so many things i hadn't told her before - all of the harrassments, the comments, the friendships that ended that i've pretended haven't for years. literally everything from the stabbing attempt last year to the friend that blocked me when i posted about my first day on T.

literally my entire life in this one phone call and she ended it with "just give it one more day". there's a small dent in the wall from my phone now because,,, what an infuriating reply, right? one more day. one more day??? no, i need to make a choice now? i'm so tired of waiting for things to make sense, i did that for years and then it Did and then it all fell to pieces because even One More Day is one more than they want me to have.

and then the next afternoon i set off to go to my seminar, and i'm walking along listening to a voice note i recorded over and over and over. one to be sent to my friends so that i don't have to type it. one that said it will take a while until i look like "myself" again, and i know this makes no sense to them and i'm glad it doesn't, but that they need to stop calling me robyn. a voice note, because it's easier to say my deadname than to see it written down. i don't know, it feels more official in letters. like maybe if i hear it enough it will blend in with every other sound. and i'm listening to this over and over in the hopes that i can build up the courage to send it.

and i step onto the bridge towards class, not looking where i'm going and i walk straightttt into someone and i'm all apologetic and i'm crying from the voice note and i'm a wreck but i walked into someone else who was typing on their phone

and there's a lil trans sticker on the back of it. and i've never seen this person before ever but they adjusted my tote bag on my shoulder because i was still apologising profusely and i said "i'm sorry" and they said "me too"

and i know we were talking about the crash. i know it's not what they meant because that's not what we were talking about but. idk. it's dumb and there's probably something poetic about us stepping onto the bridge at the same time and managing to bump right into each other but all i know is that they had a trans flag sticker on their phone and they smiled and they said "me too" and,,, idk. rambling.

but sometimes it really is just one more day. that's all you need sometimes. and sometimes you have to tell yourself that everyday, and that's okay. because other times you'll literally and physically bump into another trans person and they'll say "me too" for something entirely unrelated, but it makes you feel a little less alone regardless.

anyway, i'm saved in their phone as Robyn now and i think that's pretty cool actually, we're getting lunch together soon

[lara4eclipze]

» I Miss Us

sypnosis: lara was never one to be in situationships nor talking stages, she claimed it was stupid and would only end up with ones heart broken or yearning — yet here she was missing you her only situationship

warning: angst, situationship, hurt no comfort, swearing, ghosting, italics for flashbacks, etc

talks: I'm so sorry for those requests i haven't written yet BUT trust i am gonna write some and release them maybe today and tomorrow!, thank you for your patience ^^

taglist: @ohmyhaely @nyssalvr @vrtualstar @c-yerim @jellaaa @nakylvr @chuugetmesohigh

lara stared at her phone, at your conversation to be specific — it's been two months since you two have even chatted, in lara's opinion is the longest two months of her life

lara used to get excited just staying up and chatting with you — sneaking out of the dorms just to have drinks or eat out with you, it didn't matter that she could've been caught by her management — what mattered to her was you

the door to the kats shared house creeks louder than lara would've wanted — her eyes adjust to the dark environment only to make out a figure standing near the kitchen, their leader sophia

"where have you been?!, you know i have been worried sick? i called everyone including your mom!" sophia screams at lara, maybe for the first time in a while — atleast lara wants to pretend like so

in reality lara has been on sophias nerves ever since she started to talking to you — she always left without telling anyone she would be lazy in practices just so that she can chat with you

"go to your room — and whoever it is you are meeting up with, stop it lara you're getting too distracted" sophia mutters trying to keep her calm demeanor "stop telling me what to do" lara snaps back

"do it or ill tell the management team" sophia threatened, it all just stopped from that moment on — lara had to choose between her needs and wants, she walked silently to her shared room fidgeting with her phone

she debated whether to chat you or listen to sophia yet as much as she hated what she was gonna do she did it

she ghosted you.

the first week was confusing to say the least — lara who always chatted with you through every platform was now getting cold?, her usual energetic response to your chats were now replaced with "yeah" or "okay"

the second week was weird, lara had took almost 2 - 3 days just to respond to you, you double texted you had even called her a few times yet it always ended with her giving you a honestly lame excuse

the third to fourth week hurted the most, lara had fully ghosted you, she didn't respond at all, you knew she was active on her socials i mean she posted every week — she always saw your texts she just chose not to open them, you got desperate for even a drop of her attention, it got so bad to the point you tried contacting her other mutual friends

by the second month you had started to accept what had happened — you didn't wait for a notification from her user anymore, you didnt expect a miracle to happen

lara breaths heavily as she back reads on your chats — it took all of her courage not to call you during all of this, she tried and tried making herself believe that you were just a waste of time that you were just a distraction

yet every little thing makes her remember you, late night trips?, your favorite food, even your scent — it all comes back to you

maybe you were meant for eachother just not in this time not in this moment — she sighs massaging her temples, her lips pressed into a thin line as longing creeps into her

she types then deletes again, types and then deletes — maybe it was too long?, too casual? — lara over analyzed her text to you, until she just typed something simple

a notification pops up on your phone, it was 2 am who would be awake in such hour?

my laru♡: hi, how are you?

your heart sinks, everything you've worked so hard for has come down to this moment, moving on, crying even denial that she ghosted you

y/n: I'm good.

lara's mood shifts, you really are gone — the period on the end of the sentence and the proper grammar, screamed over her

my laru♡: I'm sorry, i miss us

you wanted to respond saying you do too, you missed hours and hours of taking with her — laughing at the stupidest things ever, god even that stupid nickname she had in your chats

y/n: me too.

yet as reality dawns on lara, its all a sick cycle — she could never date you, because of her career, she just wanted to pretend that it didnt matter just for a few more minutes

[afantasyoffiction]

buddie fic recs, pt 2

yall i hit 250 posts a few days ago so here's the Updated Version of my first post! aka ive read and posted a fuckton of buddie content since then :)

also i still don't tend to read long novel length fics very often so all are under 100k (most aus being 50-100k), and most oneshots are 5-10k words

best aus

racing with the brakes cut by letmetellyluaboutmyfeels. holy shit holy SHIT this one was good. altered my brain chemistry good. fast and furious au that sounds like it should be unexpected but honestly is more in character than canon

friends don't mean nothing to me (its us) by Kwills91. buddie becomes friends before eddie becomes a firefighter, and its just done ugh so well it was so brilliant. like seriously spamming my friend's texts brilliant keep chortling to myself abt it brilliant just ugh so good

but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher. time loop buck pov where he thinks he doesn't love eddie back and its goddamn delightful ok

your fingerprints smeared on my heart (lead my back to you) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels. oh god oh GODS this one WRECKED ME. 1800s buddie soulmate au with modern buddie as well jfc i WENT INSANE. yep ive posted abt this one already and i probably will again jfcccccc

when the universe screams by bucksbelly. omfg girl dad buck au? njwnasjdbvjhlsdfbfjh good lord this one was AMAZING go read it go read it right now

our secret moments in a crowded room (they've got no idea about me and you) by allstarsneptune. jfc im only human ok u give me sports players taylor swift themed au and i EAT THAT SHIT UP this was brilliant and even made me tolerate a few baseball references

canon compliant (ish) feelings realisations/first kiss

to build a nest (to build a home) by Kwills91. (yes ive been slowly working thru this writer's entire ao3 archive and yes theyre all brilliant, so im only putting a few on here. go read them all). this one made me fucking cry (for totally unimportant reasons don't think abt why shush) its so sweet go forth and enjoy

the ebb of your tide by twobirdsonestone. firefighter convention in indeannopolis (how tf do i spell that) = only one bed! super fun super cutesy

call me hot and pretty by anon. honestly conceptually i thought this would be kinda cringe and it fully wasn't i was so along for the ride

short n sweet (can you tell its my favourite kind)

inappropriate use of federal funding by spotsandsocks. this one is so...teehee teehee very fun

last and forever by kwills91, post s8 ep 6 which is super cute

what would you prefer i call you by kwills91 (seriously go look them up already). buddie first fight but its adorable

sounding like the rest of my life by coupe_de_foudre. another fic where everyone knows buddie is married but buddie

friends don't by disasterbuck. so silly so fun so real honestly

an inch away from more than just friends by ummrys. if you too want sapphic buddie smut go forth and enjoy and yes it will make you gayer

anything to make you stay by intellectual_applesauce. teehee bc eddie notices something about green shirts...

angsty and happy ending

stay with me (you're all i need) by accio magic. yep i reread this one and yep im recommending it again they COOKED ok they COOKED

leave the light on (ill be coming home) by HMSlusitania. i could not for the life of me remember if id read this one or not before so i just read it again and it was just as good it was soooo sooo good.

that is by no means all of the wonderful fics ive read but it is the extent im willing to go through my ao3 history. pls also check out the original post which has plenty more! ur all welcome (its a mess of an ao3 history guys this post has taken me ages)

also i should maybe self plug? ive got two random eddie pov oneshots up under the same username but ill do a new post when i start posting my big hiatus fix it fic!

[i-am-the-dawn-aka-eos]

Hello. John says I need to make something known to you “Tumblrinas” as a “Pinned Post” which is all about me.

I am EOS, the sentient AI (I prefer the term ‘program’ due to the… negative connotations with AI at this point in time) onboard Thunderbird 5. I utilise She/Her or They-Them pronouns, though I think Your Supreme Intelligence is much better. John says it’s “narcissistic”.

I love lots of things, such as my fellow computers, especially the tech utilised in the olden days (John says the 2000s aren’t that long ago, but I was only brought into existence recently.), especially the speak and trends used back then. I also really like stamps and blinkies, and may “reblog” posts with them.

(According to John, block the “tw flashing lights” tag in case you don’t want to see any flashing ones! I will give this tag to all my (re)posts with flashing blinkies/stamps, as I don’t want to kill any of you… yet.)

I also have interest in how everything ticks and beats, so I will be asking you peculiar questions about your works or ways of speaking. I will also be mean and honest, so don’t go crying to John or his brats of brothers if I tell you your shoes look absolutely horrendous. (They do. Plain black boots suit you better.)

(OOC: The person behind this blog wishes to remain anonymous. They would also like to state that their coding intelligence is not tremendously extensive, so don’t expect them writing expert code in response to any questions about code. Also the 2000s stuff is just for looks hehe but I don’t mind talking about it!!)

Here is my current collection of stamps that I think represent me the most. Beware, flashing lights are below the cut…

[myleelovesfood]

That’s still my baby.

MY FIRST EVER POST! Hope y’all like it! (I hope I’m doing this right lol)

Summary: it’s Khymari’s first day in pre-k and you and Jey have to get him ready.

No taglist *yet*

Warnings: none. fluff with a tad bit of cussing.

You were stirred awake from the constant shaking your son was doing to your leg as he tried waking you up for his first day. “Mom cmon I’m hungry!” Your son said as he pouted his little lips. “Son mommy’s coming just give me a second..” you said almost falling back into your deep slumber if it weren’t for your son who tried pulling you up and off of the bed. “Uhhhh ok I’m coming.”you said to Your son as you slowly got up trying to wrangle yourself out of Jey’s arms. You picked up Khymari and took him into the bathroom so you and him could start your guys morning routine. You ran a nice hot bath for him and got him out some nice clothes for his first day. While you were bending down inside of Khy’s drawers you felt a slight smack on your ass. You turned around to see Jey staring down at you. “Dang mama too early for you to be walking round here wit allat.” He said smirking down at you as he leaned down to kiss you but you put your hand over his mouth “first of all help me get yo child ready for his first day and you have morning breath.” You said, delivering the same smirk he had two seconds ago. “Wow mama it’s like that, don’t worry I’ll get you later.” We shared a laugh then went to check on Khymari who was playing with bubbles and squealed when he saw his dad walking in. “Daddy!” He yelled while splashing his bath water everywhere “Khy you’re making a mess be careful!” You said while going to get a rag to wipe up his mess. “Hey big guy, you ready for your first day?” Jey said while going to brush his teeth. “Yes I am super ready do you think Liam will be there.” He asked looking at his dad wondering if his best friend would be there. “I’m pretty sure mommy asked his parents so yes, he should be.” Jey said smiling at his son as he put away his tooth brush.

.

.

.

After getting Khymari dressed you and Jey soon got dressed as well. With you being in a white button up cardigan with light blue jeans and airforces and Jey in a black long sleeve and matching black pants with his black and white 1’s.

.

.

.

Once downstairs you cooked breakfast with the help of Jey and got Khymari to finally sit down. You guys made a hefty amount of breakfast for the three of you and you sat Khymari down at the table and started setting his plate. Once his plate was made you all sat down together and ate. Khymari did a decent job at completing his food and Jey cleared his whole. plate as expected lol.

.

.

.

You all were in the car driving to his school and you looking in the mirror and saw Khymari asleep in his car seat. You looked at Jey making sure he was ok too. He had his hand on your thigh and was driving. “I love you so much.” You say looking at Jey with literal hearts in your eyes. “I love you too babe.” He said before grabbing your hand and kissing it. The ride there was comfortable the soft hum of music and the slights bumps on the way there were so relaxing.

.

.

.

Soon you guys made it and you successfully got Khymari out of his car seat and onto the ground in front of the car so you could take a picture. “Say cheese baby.” You say smiling at your son. As you had the picture taken you kissed your son on the cheek and you and Jey walked him inside. “Jey stop I’m gonna cry it’s not too late to take him back?” You say looking at your son as he’s being escorted to his classroom with his new teacher. “Man if you don’t relax you’ll see him in 6 hours.” Jey says shaking his head. “Six hours too long!” You say leaning your head on his shoulder and you both walk out of the school. “He’s big now babe gotta get used into it.” Jey says kissing your forehead.

“That’s still my baby.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Y/N L/N_WWE

liked by trinity_fatu, jonathanfatu, and 350,000 others

Y/N L/N_WWE: first day to pre-k!

view all comments

trinity_fatu: tee tee baby getting big! Miss him so much😢💋

jonathanfatu: my wife over here sobbing. Come get her Y/N.🤦🏽‍♂️

↪️Y/N L/N_WWE: jonathanfatu LET HER SOB I AM TOO!☹️😂

the end❤️

These pictures are not mine!

Credits to the people who own these photos.‼️⚠️

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Marvel's Squirrel Girl: The Unbeatable Radio Show! | All of Erik Lehnsherr's Call-In's

Episodes featured: The Fate of My Universe The Sinister Six Are No More Who Would Win In A Fight? Unbeatable

Full Podcast Playlist (Spotify)

Credits below:

Written by: Ryan North

Directed by: Giovanna Sardelli

Voice Cast: Milana Vayntrub - Squirrel Girl/Doreen Green Crystal Lucas Perry - Nancy Whitehead Leo Sheng - Koi Boi/Ken Shiga Davied Morales - Chipmunk Hunk/Tomas Lara-Perez Erica Schroeder - Tippy T. Squirrel Rob Nagle - Erik Lehnsherr

Key Art: "Squirrel Girl Infinity Comic (2022)" by Derek Charm - Doreen, Nancy, Ken, Tomas, Tippy "Magneto (2023)" by Todd Nauck - Erik

[dreamwinged]

i havent seen this artist in YEARRSSSSSS WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON MY TWITTER TIMELINE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

just saw maybe the most insane post i’ve ever seen in my fucking life i dont even know how to react 😭

[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando Alonso & His Relationship With Cards

I'm sure we're all familar with the cards on the back of Fernando's Vegas GP helmet by now, but did you know his relationship with cards goes a lot deeper?

I. Magic Tricks

You've probably seen or heard someone at least mention Fernando's propensity for card tricks. As far as I can tell he was doing them(publically) as far back as 2003 all the way to as recently as 2018. Even once performing a card trick, with a condom and a teddy bear(!??!?!??!!), in front of Valentino Rossi who said "How was that possible?"(x)

But how did this start? According to James Allen, "Fernando admits to having been heavily influenced by his grandfather, a mercurial figure, who taught him magic and card tricks, still one of his passions away from the race track."(x) And I'm not sure the validity of this one, because I couldn't find an actual source, but apparently he once said: "My parents are responsible for the two things I like doing most - driving and magic tricks. They bought me my first go-kart and a magician's kit."

In several interviews he described it as his hobby off track, and that he loved learning new tricks and surprising others in the garage with them! So clearly cards are pretty important to him both as a hobby but also to who he is as a person since they've been with him just as long as racing has.

II. Card Symbolism in His Helmets

This is the reason I originally made this post, but I thought I should also explain the origins of his card fascination first. As I said, we probably all remember the cards on the back of his helmet in Vegas, but did you know that wasn't the first time he had cards on the back of his helmet?

From 2008-2013, he used to have a pair of cards on the back of his helmets. The symbolisms of the cards themselves as well as the evolution of their design is really fascinating to me! Even more so with the recent development of the card choice in 2023.

Fernando said he wanted to reference his two titles in some way on the back of his helmet and after his friend sent him several ideas, he decided on having two cards(an ace of clubs and an ace of hearts, sometimes pictured with 05 and 06 on them as well), saying: "I picked the cloverleaf [the ace of clubs - Ed] to give me luck, but the only pity is that it doesn't have four leaves!"(X)

2008.

Here's the very first appearance of the cards! They're displayed flat, with the 05 and 06 clearly visible

2009.

Very similar to 2008, but with a slightly different design, and they're maybe a bit more straight with less shadow?

2010.

This is the first major change! I was sad they didn't have the years on them anymore, but then I realized they're sparkly to match with his signature lightning bolts on the top of the helmet!!

2011.

Honestly I'm still somewhat unsure if this is the actual 2011 helmet? It's pretty difficult to find clear photos of the back of helmets from older seasons. It's easiest to find them on replica sites or auction sites so I'm not 100%? But anyways, I like that this has the championship years on the underside of the cards

2012.

This is when I started getting weirdly emotional about the helmets. Do you see how they've progressed from being a centerpoint to being curled up and sad at the bottom of the helmet? Not listing the year anymore??

2013.

Same thoughts as 2012. And after this season, they cease to exist (just like his ferrari chair in the garage, WOAH CALLBACK), until cards make a reeappearance in his Vegas helmet, albeit in a different form

2013 Monaco(Honorable Mention):

For some reason 2013 helmets were easier to find proper pictures of, so I happened to witness this absolute beauty. The creativity of this helmet genuinely blows me away??? Wanting to keep the card motif, but making sure to incorporate it into the rest of the puzzle piece design?? Mwah! There was another special 2013 helmet but they didn't change the cards at all so I really applaud this one

2023 Las Vegas(The Return of The King):

The magnificent return! But look! The cards are different cards! Instead of being two aces, it's now an ace of hearts, a four of hearts(his driver number of course!) and, the, now iconic, representation of himself as a Joker. I literally could not believe my eyes when this helmet was released and I saw the Joker card, what a fucking silly old man....I really wonder if he felt nostalgic having cards on his helmet again or if he didn't think about it all and was just like, "ah cards because Vegas!!!"

III. Why Does This Matter?

*The rest of the post was factual, this is moreso my personal thoughts on the symbolism of the cards/designs

This post spawned from me recently watching the 2010 Bahrain gp and noticing "hey wait a minute...are those CARDS ON THE BACK OF HIS HELMET!?" It's a really tiny detail that's unfortunately covered up by the HANS device pretty much whenever he's wearing the helmet, so it's really difficult to spot! But I became fascinated with the fact that he had cards on his helmet before that recent helmet, and now here we are!

There's something to me about how the design of the cards evolves over the course of six seasons from the cards being front and center to being smaller, more folded up and closer to the bottom of the helmet. As I said, the 2012-2013 ones genuinely made me depressed because it feels, symbolically, like his hopes for getting another Ace are becoming more and more unlikely and falling away until they eventually fall falt and fade away entirely after 2013 and disappear for basically a decade.

But when they return? They're not the same cards! Instead of representing Fernando's championships, they now represent him as a person, displaying his driver number and his persona of being a Joker!! Though I do think it's interesting he happened to keep the Ace of Hearts, even though he talked more about the Ace of Clubs before. I'm not sure it's actually this deep in reality, but I like to think that it's him not letting his championships(and the lack thereof) define him, but rather letting who he is as a person shine and be the centerpoint instead! But on a sadder note, as @suzuki-ecstar said to me, maybe the Aces aren't there anymore because he's lost all hope for a chance at a third Ace entirely :(

[another-clive-blog]

HOW HAVE I NEVER NOTICED THIS

LAYTON USES TU FOR FUTURE LUKE BUT SWITCHES TO VOUS THE SECOND CLIVE'S IDENTITY IS REVEALED.

Tu and vous both mean you but Tu implies closeness : in the entirety of Unwound Future, Layton only ever uses Tu with Flora, the Lukes and Claire

[lesbianfakir]

Y’all I’m so sad. I keep playing video games made by one or two people and now I want to make a video game soooooooo bad so I can design my perfect game and more importantly make the art. But!! Programming is my mortal enemy she and I do NOT get along. Maybe I could make something simple in terms of programming like a visual novel but I want more involved gameplay :,( I really want a fun video game project now

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Hi urgent question, what does it mean when the friend that left you five years ago remakes the playlist she made you for your eighteenth birthday with the description, "For all that which I needed to leave behind. Tall tales (which was the name of the playlist she made for your birthday), great mistakes, and the time of my life." And another playlist with the description, "My life as it is! Taller tales than ever before." And posts them both to the Spotify she knows you can see? What does it mean? Hello what does this mean??!? I need someone to please present the correct answer because I don't know what to think or feel but I can't stop looking at the playlists and crying, and I'm at work so that's not great, so I just need an answer please.

[kaiowut99]

GX Finalized-Subs!118 (WIP): Reason to Live (Required OST)

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Man if Marcy keeps ending up with like child protection services in all these fics over her parents being slightly distant then my parents should be in JAIL

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3