#this is so different from my usual art and the exact opposite of my last post but hey were rock and rolling

[willthespy]

Did somebody say Solangelo?? ⛄️💫

[arabellaawrites]

infrunami | cl16

[ drabble ]

by which, she loved him too early, he loved her too late

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

warnings: none

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first fic ever and I'm so happy with how this turned out! I hope it was an enjoyable experience and I hope there wasn't any element that was unpleasant or unenjoyable for yall! I'm aware that it lacks dialogue and everything is past paced and doesn't have much room for detail! I swear I'm working on that and once I've perfected that art, I hope my writing will be more enchanted etc! alright enough yapping. enjoy the fic!

back then, you and arthur hated watching charles kart. the idea that you both needed to sit under the scorching monegasque sun for afew hours was never exciting but at least you get to watch arthur’s older brother, charles, kart. you’ve always fancied charles ever since arthur introduced you to him at the playground.

he was 3 years older then you and was the exact opposite of arthur, he was matured, well mannered and wasn't childish like you both were. that's what you love so much about him.

until he started going around europe to join racing series, when Arthur broke the news to you, you acted like it wasn't a big deal. you'll still get to see him on the television or during family holidays, right?. but that also means you'll be seeing him once a week or every few months, eventually a week turned into a month, a month turned into a year until suddenly you wont be seeing him at all which broke heart.

soon it was arthur who left you to follow in charles footsteps, racing across europe, joining f4 and achieving great things. unlike Charles, Arthur still kept in contact with you, constantly inviting you to his races and you both still enjoyed each others company, f4 soon turned into f3 and nothing has changed you still admired Charles from afar and Arthur would constantly ask "do you still have a crush on Charles?" or the occasional "y/n you have to let go" but you never did, Charles was your first love and you wanted him and only him.

every night you sleep in bed, tossing and turning, with arthurs voice continuously replaying in your head, but he was right you do have to let go.

when Charles first debuted for formula 1 for haas was when he first reached out to you in years with no contact. inviting you to join the paddock, to see him race in the pinnacle of motorsport, you were above and beyond the moon. strutting down the paddock next to Pascale and Arthur towards the hospitaly while also trying not to pay focus on the ever lasting sounds of camera shutters and kept your composure.

it has been years since then now Charles was in his 6 years in formula 1 and you have never been prouder, seeing him through his ups and down, supporting him through out all the hardships that this sport had caused him.

you often found yourself in and out of college trying to balance study with the constant travel to different races to support your best boys, Arthur and Charles. which alway lead you to end up in his, Charles, driver room before a race reassuring that he'll be fine and his team wont let him down again.

"your the best, y/n" he smiles before suiting up, making you stunned in place with a subtle blush spread across your face as you took his compliment.

barcelona 2023, and you just arrived at the Ferrari hospitality per usual, greeting the staff and Ferrari mechanics as your make your way inside until you bumped into someone making you tumble back as the mysterious man reaches for your waist, holding you steady, you smiled at him and apologized which made him smile back and that's where thing took off.

ever since that day you took has been seeing each other non stop and with that it ruined you and Charles relationship, plans were often cancelled, phone calls were usually ignored and text messages were left unopened. this took a toll on Charles, he's new profound feelings for you was too strong and by the time he realized that he has fallen, it was too late.

"mate please!"

Charles begged to Arthur over the phone, trying to figure out what his feelings were and was trying to piece in the clues in himself. he was frustrated, angry and confused he loved you but it was too late.

while you were living your best life, you had a partner in bed, your home always had that comfortable warm presence of your new boyfriend everything felt perfect, he was everything you ever wanted.

he was also everything Charles ever wanted to be, your man.

until one rainy Tuesday afternoon where everything went downhill, you just came home from them store and was welcome home by the repetitive sound of feminine moans that rang threw out the house. your groceries dropped to the floor followed by the sound of glass in your bag smashing which made the moans stop and your boyfriend ran out to where you were standing. "please I can explain this-" he frantically said while holding on to you as you tried to push him away, "I-ive heard enough! just leave and get your stuff while your at it!" tears swell your eyes as you tried to swallow the horrid sensation in your throat and pushed him away before running back into the rain and in your car. you broke down in heavy tears, your heart ache with hurt and sorrow as you try to make way to Charles place.

"y/n- who did this to you..?"

Charles said as he watches you stand in the rain, mascara running down your face and your clothes all soaking wet, without hesitation he pulled you inside and wrapped a towel around you,

" he cheated on me! how could he-"

you sobs onto him, "he was my-" hiccups "he was my everything and he just!"

you weeped into his chest as he held you tight and tried to calm you down. eventually you stopped crying and lifted your head from his chest

"cha.." you called out to him as he stroked your head and then looking down on you.

"know that I've-" you were cut off "yes I've known...I was an idiot, y/n...I realized too late. I really did love you...I was.." he sighed and looked down at her, "give me another chance, y/n.."

[samobservessonic]

Here he is! I apologise if a lot of this post is some degree of me going “Wow, it’s Knuckles!” I’m just very excited that one of the main characters has joined the roster

Okay, so I did read up about this beforehand and it looks as if StC did this thing where the Floating Island had a separate set of Chaos Emeralds - I can only assume that at the time the creators didn’t realise they were all supposed to be the same set. I mean, even the games themselves could be quite inconsistent about the emeralds at the time It does eventually get retconned, so for now we’ll just smile and nod as the story tells us that Knuckles has his own Chaos Emeralds and that Robotnik has tricked him into thinking that Sonic wants to steal them

I love this. I love that Sonic is like “You’re probably nice when you’re not being tricked, but you’re still going to be my rival for life now”

I usually do skip over the fight scenes in these posts, even if Elson always makes them look so cool. But come on, this is Sonic vs Knuckles! The beginnings of this epic battle that we’ll still be watching a movie about almost three decades after this comic comes out! It’s just too cool to skip!

Just gonna throw this whole page in. Enjoy!

That third panel? Just kiss already!

But sadly, playing with Knuckles was just the distraction, as Sonic had sent Tails to catch Robotnik while he kept them busy 

As much as the Sonic & Tails dynamic is different in StC to a lot of other versions, we’re still seeing here that Sonic trusts Tails enough to say to him “You know what to do” in a situation neither of them had prepared for and Tails just does it. We’ll be seeing Tails become a more competent hero during the comic, but I feel like this is one of the first times Sonic has acknowledged that, even if it is subtly

Robotnik is in the net and Sonic is outta here!

As we wrap up this story, another detail I like is the direct call out of Sonic bluffing. He says to Knuckles that he doesn’t expect to see him again and to Tails that the match wasn’t even close, but he’s thinking the exact opposite on both fronts. This is a Sonic who puts on a cocky persona, but knows that there’s stuff he can’t handle and it'll be worse for him if people know he can't handle stuff, whether those people are friend or foe. That makes him interesting to me. And actually, Sonic Frontiers kinda did that as well? I'm glad that concepts that existed in StC are still being handled by the franchise years later, even when people often write-off StC Sonic as being "too different" to the regular Sonic

It surprises me a little to see this story wrap up in just two issues when the Sonic CD arc lasted much longer, but since the next issue will follow on from this story of having Robotnik captured, it feels more like this is a larger arc broken down into different stories than just a two-parter

Also, I must confess that I have read this particular story before. Many times. I can’t remember if it gets reprinted or if it was in a friend’s comic that I borrowed, but this art is all so familiar to me and it manages to be awesome every time I read it

[narhinafan]

Honestly SP seems to make me hate ships that I normally would not hate because they're in the realm of fanfiction and fan art and I think that's harmless. Not taking the toxic fandoms into account it was SP that made me hate NaruSaku and Ichiruki.

I'll make this brief. Why do I now hate Ichiruki? I didn't always hate it. I was actually more of a fan of Ichiruki than Ichihime until I reread the bleach Manga last year and then watch the anime as well and I grew annoyed every time there was an Ichiruki moment. Not only does it break the pacing of scenes it makes characters acting out of character Ichigo and rukia especially. I don't mind non-canon crack ships as long as it's kept in the realm of fan art and fanfiction and not inserting it into what is supposed to be Canon moments in the story and at the expense of other characters.

What could have been an amazing movie where we explored a mirror universe instead we had NaruSaku the movie where Naruto and Sakura are acting both out of character and it kind of feels like there were two movies in one and the version that Kishimoto wrote was mostly cut from the cutting room floor.

There was a huge opportunity to explore a different aspect of Hinata and Sasuke's characters. Instead we got some stupid ship movie with NaruSaku. I mean there was so much potential with road to ninja Hinata and Sasuke and it was wasted. I mean the exact opposite of who these characters are in personality. I mean there's so much you could have explored. The best scenes of that movie arguably were like 5% of the film if even that and when you compare it to the likes of One piece strong world which came out a few years before actually respected The source material and the author you could tell the difference is night and day hell Naruto the last felt like a genuine story by Kishimoto and you can tell the difference between that film and road to ninja.

I argue that the tie into the movie was better than the movie itself because it actually explored Ino and explored the road to ninja version of Sakura who arguably was more likable than her canon counterpart. It's rare that you get to explore near universe versions of characters concepts are usually explored in science fiction and the very fact that SP wasted a cool concept was tossed aside for a freaking ship that had no chance in hell ever being Canon will never not piss me off.

SP makes it seem like every anime they seem to do a series of it makes it seem like that series is concerned with shipping and I don't think shipping is bad but it should never come at the expense of a Canon story written by the author. The author and only the author in my eyes in an official product should be able to dictate what ships happen and what ships don't for better or for worse we're not the people that choose who ends up with who the author does. This shipping bullshit kills the integrity in my opinion of these stories that we all enjoy because it seems like certain people are more concerned with the shipping aspect then the actual story

Honestly I was never a fan of Sakura, but it was more her fandom that made me hate her, SP's bias was just the icing on the cake that gave me more reason to dislike it.

I am more of an IchiRuki fan I watched the anime long before the manga hence all the scenes made me a fan though I have nothing against IchiHime and after reading the manga it was obvious why they happened and that SP was really bias towards IchiRuki through out the anime. Its no surprise the author had complaints and refused to let them do another season without his supervision.

Yes RTN was ruined by NaruSaku honestly considering it was set after Pain's confession and none canon it could have tied into Hinata's feelings for Naruto/Menma while exploring a different take. I really want to know why Menma ended up dark side considering he had a family and Hinata clearly loved him. It could have been a sweet story where Hinata toughened up to help Menma after people rejected him for the fox.

So true SP's shipping bias is so unprofessional and as you said ruins the integrity of the stories as they force a ship that contradicts canon and usually in ways that aren't believable.

[beecreeper]

girl your imaginary what now 👀👂

Have I not done the bear religion info dump here yet? Buckle up because I LOVE my bear religion

Okay so I have a wild west styled homebrew D&D setting that I’ve been developing on and off for a few years and one of my favorite parts is the race that is just Bears. Literal normal bears with human level intelligence. Their general lifestyle is pretty similar to normal bears as well – a usually solitary lifestyle full of eating and sleeping. However, when they do meet up with other bears, storytelling is a critical aspect of their culture. Mothers tell stories to cubs. Suitors tell stories as a part of courtship. When meeting at salmon runs or berry patches, they try to one up each other with stories. The stories included in these story sessions can range from personal stories (to catch each other up on what’s happened in their lives since they last met) to the legends and myths as part of their religion. Particularly talented story tellers are known as story keepers and are the equivalent of priests in the bear religion.

There are four gods in their religion, which match to the four seasons. There is The Father, The Mother, The Orphan, and The Bastard. The Mother, the goddess of spring, is always accompanied by a cub that then grows to become the new mother each year in a maiden-mother-crone esque cycle. The Father, who rules over fall, represents strength and virility and mates with the mother as part of her cycle. Each fall, male bears have the option of fighting The Father (if they can find him) and will take his place if they win. The Bastard, god of summer and overabundance, is a trickster with the head of salmon (which I always imagine stylized in a PNW First Nations art style). Finally, the Orphan is the goddess of winter, starvation, and death.

This set of four is also reflected in the way they tell their stories, which are traditionally told in sets of four; there should be a story of plenty, story of glory, a story of loss, and a story of cycle, generally in that order. In general, the story of plenty is either about good luck or cleverness. Somehow, the protagonist gets rewarded for doing as little physical labor as possible. Comedic stories are common in the story of plenty. The story of glory is similar to the story of plenty in that the protagonist wins, but differs in that they must overcome some sort of challenge or hardship. The story of loss is the exact opposite of the story of glory. Sometimes the loss is small, sometimes large, sometimes at the end of a long struggle or sometimes just a random act of fate, but one way or the other, the protagonist loses. The story of cycle is the most nuanced – it is required to have some sort of symmetry in its telling. Common themes in the story of cycle include birth, growing up, seasons, bad habits, romance, returning home, etc.

One more element that I’m particularly proud of is that there are also polar bears in the far far North of this setting (which has absolutely no bearing on the potential D&D game except that is allows me to think of MORE BEAR CULTURE). Their pantheon is almost exactly the same except their summer and winter gods are flipped. Their version of The Orphan (renamed The Drowned in the North) rules over summer instead of winter and is represented by a thin, starved male polar bear that is always dripping wet. Conversely, their version of The Bastard (Called The Dancer by those that like her and The Harlot by those that don’t) rules over winter and has a stylized seal head instead of a salmon head.

Oh man I have so much more bear details I love talking about my bears

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 149 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: mowing the lawn.

"For a start, there wasn’t a lab, not really." Not really-counter of S4: 17!

"That was when I noticed how quiet it was. Aside from the rain the jungle cacophony had simply stopped." Different Entity, but there was something similar in MAG 133, coincidentally also in the Amazon: "at some point I realized that there were no animals around us anymore, that the Amazon had become strangely quiet." And way back in S1 I recall something like this as well, in MAG 37: "As I stood there on the edge, I realised the trees around me were completely silent, and after a few seconds of examination saw that it didn’t look like there were any animals at all around this clearing." MAG 51, that one was underwater, so no sounds, but still absence of the usual life: "It was during that descent, when I saw that our two points of light were the only signs of movement down there, that I noticed the absence of life." [...] "Still, it was a surprise that we haven’t seen even a single school of fish on our journey to the sea floor, and once we were down there it was just as lifeless." I can't recall if there had been even more similar descriptions about an eerie silence when nearing a location heavily under the influence of a Dread Power, but that's now the fourth time it has been pointed out.

"From a distance, they looked like human beings, standing impossibly still, but getting closer quickly revealed the lie. It was just the rough shapes, cobbled together out of a hundred different pieces of garbage" Hm, reminds me of Annihilation. The plants that grew into shapes of people. So in a way the exact opposite as here, nature vs. artificially made.

"In some cases, it looked like someone had gone to a lot of effort to match anatomy with construction. I saw one with a broken water cooler where its stomach would be in. Another had a pair of oxygen tanks standing in for lungs." Okay, so I think my first thought to this would have been: art installation! (I know, it comes up later.) There's a ton of stuff like this out there and a lot of these in the middle of nowhere. Heck, we went with our school into a forest near the Czech border for a week to build a woven wicker pavilion around trees as an art project.

"It felt like they were choosing not to move." It's been some time since we had static during a specific sentence in a statement. I feel like in S1 we got this all the time and then it happened fewer and fewer.

"The lifeless concrete viper spun around, opened its mouth, and bit Doctor Anastos on the wrist. He screamed, but only for a second, because after that his throat was full. He started convulsing as gray liquid concrete began to pour from his mouth, from his nose, and his eyes. His limbs went rigid and I could see his body starting to swell with it." Hm, that is probably the one manifestation of one of the Fears that can't be stopped with concrete?

"But I know it was her who first spotted that the detritus figures were no longer choosing to stand still." Ah yes, more static.

"It was the last I ever saw of Doctor Nikos Asantos" Wait, wasn't his name Anastos? XD (I know, the transcript says Anastos, but Alex says Asantos here xD Can relate, I sometimes mix up letters in the same way...)

"In the end we crossed paths with a group of real Yanomami tribesmen. They were really friendly, and once they figured out we were lost they were very happy to return us to a part of the jungle we knew near our facility." A few years ago I watched like 2 seasons of documentaries by a German dude who sold all his belongings and went to Ethiopia to live with the Suri and sometimes days and weeks alone in the wilderness. He mostly recorded videos on his own. A TV channel then asked him to do this in other regions of the world as well (with a poor camera man who had not that much experience with that sort of adventure xD), Sumatra, Brazil, Papua New Guinea etc. He ran into a lot of indigenous peoples and ALL of them were super welcoming and friendly! It only happened once that there was misunderstanding at first, but nothing that couldn't be solved by offering them cigarettes xD Is there still the misconception of “not civilized" = brutal savages...? I mean, sure, media like the mentioned Cannibal Holocaust absolutely doesn’t help... Same goes for the mass hysteria about sharks being so dangerous after Jaws. 

"The thought that it’s more than just the things we left behind? Or that that’s all it is, and we can’t escape the ruins of our own future." And static one last time^^

GEORGIE: "You must be Martin." MARTIN: "Yeah. Has Melanie been talking about me?" GEORGIE: "Oh, um… Jon used to go on about you a lot." Yeah, there's no way Georgie didn't have a hunch back then...

MARTIN: "Oh. Oh, wait – wait, I thought Melanie-Georgie and Jon-Georgie were…" GEORGIE: "Same – same Georgie." MARTIN: "Oh. Ah, so you and Jon…." "... used to date?" - Cue jealous and petty Martin! (Also, judging by the amount of Michaels it's a reasonable assumption that not every Georgie was the same Georgie xD)

GEORGIE: "...aren’t really talking anymore." MARTIN: "Right.... Why not?" There he is!!! *Tyler Cutebiker style* Git 'er! Git 'er!

GEORGIE: "Because I think he’s going to destroy himself, and anyone who lets him get too close." That is LITERALLY what Jon said in S3, he thought everyone who's too close to him is in danger! Jon wanted to move out twice because of that and Georgie talked him out of it every time!

MARTIN: "Maybe he just needs some help." GEORGIE: "I did help him, as much as I safely could, but he just carried on anyway." Helped him how? By threatening to "flush his drugs down the toilet"? I don't think that has ever helped anyone.

GEORGIE: "Sure, but that doesn’t mean everything painful helps. Sometimes people have problems that will wreck you long before you can make a dent in them" Absolutely 100 % agree on this one!

GEORGIE: "and some people don’t want help, they just want other people suffering with them." MARTIN: "Jon doesn’t want that." GEORGIE: "He doesn’t know what he wants. And from the sound of things he’s run out of time to figure it out." MARTIN: "It’s easy to pass judgment from the outside." Oh, fuck you, Georgie, you have no idea! Absolutely, what Martin says. Yes, Jon does kinda run out of time, but not in the way she thinks (and I don't even mean this in any grand Web-sense. Even based on everything we know up to this point it seems like he's on a deadline, either for getting statements without hurting people or stopping all the apocalypses. Georgie does kind of know of the rituals, but I don't think she's aware of the scale of that. Much less about Jon's general condition...)

MARTIN: (wry laughter) "And- and you think Melanie’s worth saving?" GEORGIE: "It’s not about worth. But yeah, she’s actually trying to get well, so I’m gonna help her." You can't say one thing and then throw a "but" in there. I would have loved to find out if Melanie ever told Georgie about the Slaughter bullet... Melanie also didn't want to get better when still in it. And after the removal she didn't even have the obstacle of starvation, so I think she had a bit of an advantage on that front... 

GEORGIE: "Jumping on a grenade is only heroic if you weren’t the one who actually threw it." MARTIN: "That’s not what’s happening." GEORGIE: "Okay. It’s still not something I want any part of." Absolutely fair to decide not wanting to be a part of whatever is going on. But a shitty thing to judge, judge, judge, judge... Conversations like this hardly lead to anything good. Everyone is so wrapped up in what they believe and get blinded by emotions, people don't want to hear what the other party says, much less consider it. They just want to defend their stance and tell the other one they're wrong. For the story per se a very believable situation.

And then we finally get Martin doing some OOOooooOOooo!^^ Both the Eye and the Lonely have so handy abilities. Also, Martin never seems to actually be dependable on causing more fear either as opposed to Jon or Daisy. So is there canonically a point of no return? And when does that happen? Jon already could compel people by MAG 61 (1st December 2016), so smack in the middle of S2  after he was Head Archivist for about one and a half years or something? Only in MAG 107 we learn about his apparent physical dependence on statements (somewhere between 14th and 29th June 2017). So it was a good half a year from demonstrating abilities until dependence (the latter could have happened earlier, but we won’t find that out... Didn't seem to affect him too hard when he was with the circus for a month). We don't know exactly when Melanie got shot, she said in MAG 76 she had her flight booked (13th February 2017) and got employed in MAG 84. Though we don't get any dates between MAG 81/82 (18th February 2017) and MAG 89 (24th April 2017). Melanie displays the first effect of the bullet in MAG 98 (so between 29th April 2017 and 2nd May 2017) and MAG 102 (end of May 2017), so that was rather fast. The Flesh attack happened 2 months before Jon woke up, so about December 2017, by then she seemed properly into the Slaughter since she could defend the institute quite well. She got the bullet removed between 15th February 2018 and 3rd March 2018. Martin started doing work for the Eye as an archival assistant in late spring/summer 2015 (depending, when Gertrude died - I think it was March and that one thing in MAG 25 with May was a bit of an error), started recording statements in S3 (so second half of February 2017) and took Peter's deal after the Flesh attack in December 2017. It's now somewhere between 20th July 2018 and 14th August 2018, about 7 to 8 months into the Lonely. He'll start his break up with the Lonely on 25th September 2018, so about 2 months-ish later. I don't think there's like a hard time limit on this, dream logic, narrative reasons etc. but I like to have a timeline for all these progressions and why not do it here^^ 

@a-mag-a-day

[curestardust]

Dust Watched: Yuru Camp△ Movie

Genres: SoL, CGDCT, Iyashikei //1 movie (2h) //  S01 (x) S02 (x)

My last review was 8 months ago (holy jesus christ) and I made the horrible decision of getting back into it while having a horrible cold. As usual, I make great life decisions.

✧  story  ✧

Now, to be fair, I thought “Yuru Camp” would be a perfect fit to watch bundled in some blankets and sipping some warm tea and for the seasonal episodes that’d be correct. However, this movie is a bit more ambitious than what came before and for me, it just didn’t work.

I like to mention that I don’t particularly like SoL in the first place as it usually bores me to death but there was something truly charming and soothing about Yuru Camp that even I liked. But what I liked was the actual camping (surprisingly?). A balanced dose of actual useful real life information and just characters chilling among beautiful scenery with some slight humour speckled in. So what is different in this movie? Well... there’s no camping. Not in the way I enjoyed it anyway.

The whole journey WAS what I liked. Planning, buying supplies, getting to the campsite, setting up, preparing the meal, and waiting for night to arrive is what kept me watching. Where are they going next? What type of camping will it be? 

The movie’s story is about the girls, who are adults now, renovating an abandoned patch of land into a campsite. And then they camp there twice. 

Obviously, I wouldn’t find what I originally liked about “Yuru Camp” in this movie but it still could’ve been good. However, the plot wastes time on things that are not important. This is a feel-good SoL; we already know that the outcome will be the best possible ending. There’s no reason to add “pretend drama” to make the movie feel more mature which is what I felt it was trying to do. Would it have been unrealistic for such a plan to go off without a hitch? Yes. But you’re trying to tell me that 5 working class adult women would have the strength, energy and time to gather at this place together X number of times and clean the whole place up BY HAND? Bro.(Not to mention that they all have stable jobs which they seem to enjoy more or less AND their own apartments by the age of like 25. Come on, we’re already in fantasy land.)

✧  characters  ✧

Aight, I might’ve complained quite a bit about the story but it’s a SoL so that in itself wouldn’t have been a particular problem. What actually bored me was that this movie is almost entirely character focused. And you may crucify me if you want but I honestly couldn’t care less about the main characters in a serious sense. They are cute, squishy and their only purpose was to take you on a journey. Rin and Nadeshiko are the only ones whose character arcs made me feel something but the other 3... listen, I’m happy for them and found the occupations they ended up with intriguing but I didn’t care enough for them to carry a movie.

At Nadeshiko’s workplace, a camping gear shop, we see 3 new characters who are there to start their own camping journey at the same age as the original gang did. They felt very underutilized, only showing up twice. I would’ve really enjoyed it if they somehow got involved in helping out with the Campground Building Project and the movie served more as a figurative baton pass to a new generation.

✧  art  ✧

The background art, based on real locations, were gorgeous as usual. Even though the character designs are the exact opposite of the overly detailed environment design, they still managed to combine them so things didn’t feel out of place. Oh, and the animation was very smooth.

✧  sound ✧

The chill and jovial instrumental OST really set the atmosphere as usual.

✧  overview ✧

This movie recieved great reviews from fans of the show and I’m glad others enjoyed it, but it was very different from what I expected and just found many ways it could’ve been more enjoyable to me personally. My only problem is that someone called this movie “very realistic.” The only realistic part about it was that one of them became an alcoholic!

My Rating: 6/10

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, September 18th, 2024.

Here’s some weird and personal questions, you down?: Yeah. I'm sure they're really weird and really personal. Just like every other survey that makes this claim. ;D

Can you call your ex without it being awkward?: I don't have any of their numbers, but no, it would definitely be awkward.

Do you still talk to the person you last kissed on the lips?: I don't.

Will you be in a relationship one month from now?: Not unless something highly unexpected and unlikely happens.

What about 2?: Maybe more like two YEARS. Maybe not even THEN. Let me learn how to socialize on a basic level first, maybe form some friendships IRL - something! - before jumping back into the dating pool.

Could you go a day not talking to the last person you kissed? I haven't spoken to them for years.

Is your room ever clean?: I just finished cleaning it a little bit ago. It could be cleaner, though. The closet area is still a mess and I have drawers filled with old/useless junk, but at least the "exterior" is presentable.

Do you drink bottled water?: I drink water from a bottle, but I don't often drink bottled water. I did get one at Fuel & Iron the last time I went out to eat, though, because that's all they offer - bottled or canned drinks.

Honestly, are things going the way you planned?: Ehhh.

Do you hate the last person who called you?: That was my mom, and no, I don't hate her. Also, the resentment and awkwardness I felt when we reconnected last year has greatly diminished. I realized just recently that I no longer have much of an anxiety response to meeting up with her. We still don't have a strong bond, but there's a lot more warmth involved.

What are you listening to at the moment?: I'm not listening to anything.

Think back five months ago, what was your relationship status?: Single.

Name something you dislike about the day you’re having?: Nothing really. It's been a good day so far. I woke up early to go grocery shopping (Halloween/autumn goodies acquired), had therapy at 9:30am (very helpful), made some art, cleaned my room, and now I'm here. The only things to dislike would be the fact that I have a bit of a headache, as well as my art not turning out quite the way I wanted…although, on second thought, now that I'm giving it another glance…it's not that bad. I would have been thrilled to be able to create something like that a year ago. I think part of my dissatisfaction with recent pieces has to do with the fact that I'm treating "art time" more like an obligation to rush through rather than an opportunity to relax and meditate.

If you are being extremely quiet, what does that mean?: It could mean a lot of different things depending on the situation. I don't feel well; I'm shy; I'm tired; I'm uncomfortable; I don't have anything to say; I'm just chillin'…

Think back to the last person you held hands with, would you kiss them?: No.

Is the last person of the opposite sex you texted single?: Yeah.

When was the last time you cried?: I almost cried in therapy earlier, but as usual, I reminded myself that a few tears weren't worth a migraine. Lot of good that did, though, since I can kind of feel one coming on now. :')

Why was that?: I don't recall the exact reason. I have a general idea because the appointment stuck to a specific theme, but I don't remember what I was saying/thinking in that moment.

What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?: Put on the newest podcast from Essential Salts.

How would you feel about traveling abroad alone?: I'm not interested in traveling alone. One, I'd be scared; two, I would much rather have someone with me to share in the experience.

Do you currently have feelings for anybody?: No.

Do you think a lot of people think bad things about you?: A few might, but some of those people probably don't even think about me at all anymore, so. Most of the people actually in my life seem to think good things.

What was the last thing you watched on TV?: Some old sitcom on the TV in the waiting room for therapy. Maybe Cheers? Something like that? Idk.

Is your birthday soon?: It's not until March.

Do you like the color green?: Yeah. Pine green, mint or pastel green, soft wintry green…

Do you like winter?: I love winter.

What are you scared of most?: Ughgh.

Have you ever given out your number and then regretted it?: I don't think so.

Do you curse a lot?: I'm probably somewhere in the middle.

Who do you wish was with you at the moment?: No one. I can't concentrate on surveys when other people are around. My brain turns to jumbled mush.

How many pillows do you sleep with?: One body pillow, but there are several more on the bed that I don't use for sleeping.

Are you drunk?: No.

What was the last song you listened to that made you cry? I'm not sure.

Your ex REALLY needs you at 3am and you have a way to their house would you go?: Why me specifically and not literally anyone else? Also is the way to their house via astral projection because I feel like that's the only way I could get there so quickly.

Could you survive without electricity?: Without using it under any circumstances whatsoever? No.

Without saying any names what is one thing that you would like to say to someone?: I just feel like it would be super obvious who the intended recipient would be. Plus, I don't feel like anything I would say would make any difference. Well…that's not entirely accurate. It might make a difference, but not a positive or worthwhile one.

Does the thought of marriage scare you?: Yeah.

What were the last words you spoke out loud?: I'm not sure.

Would your parents get mad if you got drunk while they were present?: I wouldn't drink around my mom because she's a recovering alcoholic. My dad probably wouldn't care, but I'm not much of a drinker anymore. Not to the point of drunkenness, anyway.

Would you date someone who lived in another state?: I've answered this before in greater depth, so let's just say it's not out of the question but it's not something I would prefer.

Are you friends with your ex?: No.

Where is the person you last texted? I think he's in his room. If not, then maybe in the family room/office.

Who is someone that you would do anything for?: My dad.

What time did you wake up today? Way too early, but I got out of bed at 6:00am.

Did you wear what you are wearing today for a specific reason?: No.

Did you eat a cookie today?: No, but I had a little bit of a walnut pistachio muffin.

What’s bothering you right now?: Same old, same old. I hate that I more or less know the answers to my current troubles, but those answers aren't immediately satisfying.

Have you ever laid on a bed and stayed there for no reason at all?: Like just sort of zoned out for a bit? Sure.

What does the last text message in your inbox say?: It's just a random key smash from my dad. That's his typical response to me letting him know when I'm on my way home from the shelter.

[rozinaaa]

SCREAM (Screens Certainly Rule Everything Around Me)

Surprise, surprise. It's another critical blog post from someone who literally designs screens for a living (that same person also had a keen interest in technology during art school), so this is actually pretty ironic, considering that I work in tech (what's even more ironic is that this time last year, I actually wanted to work in tech to the point where I wished that I studied something "more practical" like Computer Science, although now, I'm craving the opposite as I've now spent the past six months working within the tech industry, and I'm only just facing the brunt of it now), but I want to lead a more analogue life, which is basically impossible to do in 2024, since society now assumes that everyone wants and has access to some sort of screen that can connect to the internet, so that they can do literally everything ever, and also because I fear going backwards and not really keeping up with the times.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm being ungrateful by taking all of this frictionless convenience all for granted (especially with everything else that's going on in the world right now), since this ultimately will make my life easier, but at the same time, I don't want to end up being a phone zombie and middle class office drone (I'm actually okay with the concept of being middle class (after having come from a somewhat decent working class background, although it was probably on the border between being a part of the working and middle class, so thankfully it wasn't too bad), but it still feels like a shock to the system as a lot of friction has suddenly been removed in a very short amount of time) at the same time, where all I do is drift mindlessly from one screen to another to another until I die, which isn't really going to be a remarkable way to live.

What's even more depressing is being out in public, where everyone (save for a few people who spent most of their lives without screens, although some of these people might not belong to older generations) just stares at their phones but looking absolutely miserable and expresionless as they do it, where they flick their thumb through the screen as though their life depends on it, sometimes being so addicted to the point as they become unaware of their surroundings, which becomes frustrating when they're doing it as they walk (I've done this, but I've done it in a short and productive way, such as firing off a quick text or looking at directions, where I aim to get that one task done as quickly as possible), especially if they're just mindlessly scrolling through social media as they're doing it.

To add salt to the wound, I see people doing work on their commute (when there's space available), and although it does seem like a productive use of time, I find that even worse, since I know that I'm going to stare at a screen at an office for 8 hours instead, but then again, they might have larger workloads than me and tight deadlines to meet, so they might not actually have a choice in how they work, since I usually use the (often dreadful and soul sucking) commute to just have some time to myself and to mentally prepare myself for the workday as well as unwinding at the end of the day, although it isn't particularly relaxing.

To be honest, I didn't realise how much screens ruled my life until I had to design them, and although I do enjoy my job, I sometimes want to do the analogue equivalent (perhaps becoming a craftsperson or learning a skilled trade, although these typically require a lot of maths, and it is doable for me, though it will take longer to be able to grasp different concepts), just to be able to get away from the screens for a while and do something where I use my mind and hands at the exact same time (my current job is the complete opposite of the warehouse job that I had when I was 20, because although I moved around a lot and worked long and physically demanding shifts, I didn't get to use my mind as much, and for my current job, I use my mind a lot more than my actual body, which can also have consequences), so being able to use both my mind and body (I typically enjoyed art school since there was usually a healthy balance between the two) at the exact same time would be a happy medium for me.

I've started doing (mostly) screen free weekends, mainly to get into the real world a bit more, as well as only using my personal devices when I absolutely must do it, and this mainly started to avoid feeling burnt out at my job, not to mention that (due to the nature of my job) I now subsconsciously analyse everything about screens, which also puts me off from looking at them when I don't need to look at them, so I guess this can be viewed as a blessing in disguise that I could only truly appreciate when I actually had a job that dealt with this, and where I've currently worked in it long enough to be able to notice the impact that screens actually have on me, instead of taking it all for granted, since I now know what goes into designing different screens for one single product.

[acidmouthed]

I'd be happy to do an art trade some time if you want to! I'm a very slow artist because I'm very busy (I just started my Ph.D.!), but I love working on stuff slowly and taking my time to learn and improve. <3

My main OC is Nova-3 along with her chatterbox gossip of a Ghost, Wisteria! Here are a few pieces of her that I have done myself (more available on my artblog - @acidmouthed !) A few WIPs from her reference sheet and the most recent piece I've drawn of her (without lighting filter for clarity of viewing).

As you can see, she's a chunky Titan of a lady! Fat and proud, a transwoman who loves every inch of the exo body she designed for herself. She's been described by others as "laconic and cool," "she of little words and much heart," and "a one-woman tank." Wisteria is almost the exact opposite as a total chatterbox and she loves him fiercely. Usually a Thundercrash or Burning Maul main, lover of trace rifles, and big into making public gardens inside ruined buildings in the Last City. She's pretty different timeline/history-wise to the Young Wolf, rezzed on Europa years before Guardians started going there and mostly been pal-ing around with the Vanguard as just a Regular Ol', Everyday Garden-Variety Guardian (or so she thinks). I would get more into her story/history buuut I play her in our @destinylegendrpg streams on twitch using a homemade Destiny ttrpg system that my partner and I designed together, and much of that history becomes relevant to the story of our campaign, so... spoilers. >:)

I'm slowly working on a lorebook for her that follows her pre-Lightbearer life, back when she became one of the first exos by working for Bray Exoscience and the events that lead to her first death. I'll release it alongside a specific story arc that we plan to go through in the twitch stream!

More art on @acidmouthed and more glimpses into her personality/story here!

My Warlock OC, Anita Nkansah (Human), is one of her former queerplatonic partners, along with one of my two Hunter OCs, Camilla (Awoken). Anita is clever and athletic but quick to hold a grudge, where Camilla is carefree and jovial, the glue that kept them together. The three of them have a very entangled-turned-embittered history together. My other Hunter OC is also an exo, nicknamed Four, a bartender and DJ who works at a nightclub in the Last City called Fortune's Fervor! She's a total party girl in personality, but something else lurks underneath... spoilers. 👀

HEY D2 TUMBLR OC ENJOYERS!

Do you have a Destiny OC? I draw them all the time- I'm known for my Exo OCs! I want to see YOURS! Any race, species, be it casual "just a dude" or the 7th son of Oryx, I want to see them! Tell me about them!!! I want to draw them, I specialize in Exos but I REALLY want to learn more about the community on here. Be it big or small, please don't be shy!! I want to know sooo much. You can even submit a whooole block of text and only ingame screenshots if you're not the artistic type. Examples of my D2 OC art here:

[mokutone]

hi how do you mix skintones i am in hell! i love watercolors but my skintones always end up super weird :(

Hm...let me see if I can help... if you keep in mind the basics of color theory, you will be able to figure out a way to get to whatever color you need as long as you are determined, and this is a very important skill—I will explain a bit. Here:

This is the pared down version of the color wheel! You've probably seen it before, you've probably had to paint it for an art class before, we're all sick of it and hate it, but it is sooo helpful with mixing colors.

When I work with Ecoline colors, I often end up making Yamato's skin a little too red bc their reds are very strong, and so to balance that out, I often add sap green to his skin tone.

We don't think of green as a color we should use for skin often, but when you've got to much red, adding green will make it a little bit closer to brown, will make it a little bit more neutral and natural looking because they're opposites.

Similarly, I had a problem where I was making a color for his hair, and my brown was coming out very kind of...dull orange? I wanted to add a color to balance out the orange, but I thought that blue might be too strong of a contrast, and that his hair might then come out almost dark grey—

—When working with pigments, if you mix direct opposites in equal balance, the color you should end up with is close to grey— —And I didn't want that! So instead, I mixed a deep purple I had in my pallet already, and the blue in the purple cancelled out some of the orange, but the red in the purple gave the brown a nice, strong red undertone, leaving me a kind of mahogony color.

A lot of color mixing is just playing this game of balancing, adding some of one color, then balancing it out with something else, continually adding more until you reach what you're looking for. It feels tedious at first, but then you start to get into it, and you don't ever want to use paint straight from the tube again LMAO!

If it helps, for Yamato I usually use: Lots of Ochre A little bit of a deep, almost pinkish or purplish leaning red, A little bit of brown/burnt umber

If it comes out looking too red, or too orange, I sometimes add a little bit of green or green and brown.

Here's a video where I mix his skintone. I'm using a set of holbein for speed and demonstration purposes (so the mixing is more obvious) but you can do this with literally any set of watercolors

obviously there's a huge range of skin tones which u could try to match with painting and i am only covering one, but the same basic principle applies to most, just with different paints in the combination

if you're new to paint mixing it may be overwhelming at first and you may think "i need to record this exact mixture so that i can replicate it in the future" which is. super stressful! i, at least, felt like that last year lol. i do not recommend trying to keep track of every mix you make, it is so much work, and mostly useless 😓

but as you experiment more and grow in confidence it becomes easier and easier to play it by ear

[true-unicorn-queen]

The fatal flaw in Hope's characterization and How it relates to Klaus

Since Klaus' funeral I have not been able to get this out of my head so here goes....

Hope is again and again compared to Klaus. Since the very first episode, she has been compared to Klaus. But she is not like Klaus. And I would argue she is more like Hayley. Yes, she has a temper. So do both her parents. But she does not enjoy violence. Klaus will only use it as a last resort, if he can't get his way with words or manipulation, only then will he get violent. But he enjoys the violence. He enjoys the act of domination, of knowing your enemy knows he has been defeated. He is cocky, extremely confident and most importantly extremely clever.

He manipulates situations from behind the scenes like a puppet master. He has an element of drama to this fighting too. The oldest flashback we see of him fighting is with Elijah where he cuts his belt and makes a joke. That is all for the drama. The with the Marcel's Army vs Klaus fight in S1E8 The River in Reverse, Klaus lets Marcel's vampires beat him, lets them think they won before he goes all out and shows his true power. It's all for the drama. Again in S3E22 The Bloody Crown, he is getting the crowd to rage, he is manipulating them into the exact place he wants them. Between S4 and S5 Klaus was going all over the world killing his enemies to make the world safer for Hope.

My point is Klaus is clever. He thinks strategically, with deductive reasoning, multiple steps ahead of everyone else. Including his family.

None of this translates to Hope.

Not to say that Hope is stupid. She is smart but she she more book smart and Klaus was a strategist art-of-war type of smart. Hope knows information. Klaus understands the information and knows how to use it.

Hope also does not have Klaus' three steps ahead approach to .... anything. For Hope the only problem that exists is the one that is right in front of her this very moment and nothing else.

A good metaphor would be Klaus is a scalpel and Hope is a chainsaw.

But then, she doesn't need to be the scalpel. She is powerful enough to be the chainsaw. True, but she can't be in multiple places at once. She'd had to choose who to save multiple times in this show. One of them is usually Landon. And Hope wants him to be safe so she refuses to train him. This is the exact opposite of what Klaus would have done. If Hope was like Klaus she would not have wanted him to be in danger but she would not have refused to train him.

Klaus hopes for the best and prepares for the worst. Hope hopes for the best.

Side note: Hope looks down on nerd stuff that Landon likes. And let me tell you this Klaus Mikaelson was a nerd. He read poems, paints(he mentions painters over the course of the show, I don't remember them right now), he likes Shakespeare, he was a theatre kid. Today we have nerd that are into Star Wars and DnD. But if you look at Klaus' past you see that he is a nerd. Nerd just looked different back then.

The mark that I think the writers missed with Hope and something that plays into the like father, like daughter thing is that Hope isn't cunning like her father. Klaus, for a millennia was a vampire, he couldn't be killed but he was still not nearly as powerful as Hope is today or he would become after becoming the Hybrid. So he had to be cunning. He has shown the ability and patience to wait a prey out. Wait for the right moment to strike. He doesn't always antagonize everyone. He does have the ability to think things through. He behaves like a proper King and a proper army General.

And none of this translates into Hope.

Instead Hope is more impulsive and short-sighted. She is not going to poke the bear to see if it wakes up. She is just going to kill the bear.

So while she might have the power to do bad things she doesn't have the cunning to be Klaus Mikaelson: The Great Evil.

[specialagentsergio]

love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”  

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

[spices-and-cherries]

Don’t make me wait (James Bond x Reader)

This was a request by the lovely @iamcavainna​! I’m so sorry it took so long, but life was being a bit rough. I also wanted to at least try and make this good, so I thought that it would be better if I took some time with it... There is a fluffy ending!

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it! 

Warnings: drinking wine, a gun, angst, anxiety, mentions of potential accidents that could happen in a snowy mountain

It’s not uncommon for your partner, James Bond, to be traveling abroad for weeks on end. While it can get lonely, he does try to call regularly from whichever hotel he’s staying in. After a while, you became used to it. Why? Late or not, he always kept his promise: 

I’ll be back.

The last time he had called, he had said that he wouldn’t be able to contact you for a week at most due to a strenuous business conference at a ski resort in the Alps. Seeing as this was normal routine for him, you thought nothing of it and just reminded him not to accidentally hurt himself (yet again). 

But today, you’re worried. In fact, you’ve been worried for five days straight. It’s been over a week - eleven days to be exact - and now you feel as though something is off. 

Had he flown off the side of a cliff? Did he get lost? Was he trapped under an avalanche of snow?

James had given you an address to go to in case of emergency, but would this be the right time to use it? How can you be sure that you’re just not being paranoid? And if you did go, what would you say? James has never taken you to his place of work and barely talks about his colleagues, so who would you even be speaking to?

Hundreds of panicked questions circle your mind as you pace around your living space, phone in one hand and address in the other. You had barely slept the night before and hadn’t eaten all day. 

You missed James. He’s been gone for almost a month now and no number of phone calls could replace the feeling of his warmth on his side of the bed. His laugh, his miserable cooking, his rough hands...  You needed all of that and more back at home next to you. So you had to go. 

You check the time. It’s just before four o’clock. If you hurry, you just might catch someone on their way out.

---

Without a second thought, you slip on your coat and hurry to the closest bus stop. The trip there was a bit of a haze, between the times you were navigating and transferring. The haze dissipates pretty quickly as you walk up to what was supposed to be some office building and not a glamourous apartment complex with a Rolls Royce being unloaded in front of the main entrance. 

You have to double and triple check the address written down and your GPS on your phone. It seemed to be the right place...

Tentatively, you walk into the lobby, feeling very out of place and small. The floor looks like it all marble and there’s a little fountain in the middle of the space.

Anxious, you manage to sign yourself in at the front desk. There were some complications due to your ID, but after a quick phone call, it was sorted out and you were free to go up. You speed-walk to the elevators, feeling like someone was watching you. Looking around, you didn’t see anyone but the uptight attendant you had just spoken to making another call. The elevator doors open and you walk in. 

As you get closer and closer to your destination, you feel more anxious and your palms start to sweat. You furiously try and dry them as the doors open into what looked to be someone’s home. 

And that someone was straight in front of you.

“Who are you?” She was an older woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair and a fitted pantsuit.

“Uh...” You hear the elevator doors close behind you. There’s no escaping now.

“Well? I don’t have all day, you know.”

“My name is (Y/) (L/N)... I think my husband works for you.” One of her eyebrows raised. “Uh, he said that in case of emergency that I come here...” You pull out the piece of paper and she takes it. “I don’t really have anything urgent, but he’s unusually late in checking in and I-”

“Good lord.” She muttered furiously after scanning the note and crushes it.

“Pardon?” You ask, somewhat alarmed by the unexpected response. 

“Please, have a seat.” She waves to a chair and you comply. 

“Do you know-”

“Your husband? Yes. He’s one of my men.”

“Men?”

“...Well I can see that that fool did follow my order for once, not that it makes much difference...”

“I’m not sure I understand...”

“Normally, you wouldn’t have to.” She sits down across from you. “What is it that Bond told you about his job?”

“...Well, he’s one of those people who are the intermediaries between large company deals...?”

“Close. In reality, he’s the exact opposite.”

“I don’t-”

“Bond is an agent trained in the art of infiltration in order to stop certain kinds of ...businesses from expanding more than they already have. In short, your... husband... is an international spy.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“But that is not the issue here.” She stares at you with eagle eyes. “The issue is this address. Did Bond give it to you?”

“Yes!” You squeak - to say you’re terrified would be an understatement. “He said to come here in case of an emergency while he wasn’t home.”

“And the emergency is?”

“It’s been over a week since he last called. He promised that he would contact me once the week ended. He’s five days late. He’s never late for that long!”

“Right.” She rests her head in the palm of her hand as if she were dealing with some trivial issue. “Has anyone seen this address or followed you here?”

“No one has seen it and I don’t think so?”

“You don’t think so or you don’t know?” She snaps, but her face softens after seeing the look on your face. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you - do you know where James is?”

"...We know just as much as yourself. It seems the only thing that man is good for is causing me trouble.” She was standing up again and pacing.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I have this awful feeling that something happened!”

“I am afraid not. We are already doing all we can.” She sighs. “...Did he tell you anything last time he contacted you?”

“He said he was going to a ski resort with a client in the Alps...”

“Nothing else?”

“Not that I can remember.” She takes a good look at you, then turns away. 

“We were told the same. Any longer and we’ll may have to consider him MIA.” 

“MIA?” You feel slightly faint. “Is - is he in danger?”

“If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be doing his job.” You slump back into your seat, unsure of how to take all this information in. Not only has your husband lied to you about his profession, but that profession is putting him in danger!

“Is there anything you can tell me?” You start fiddling with your hands. “I don’t think I caught your name...”

“That would be because I didn’t tell it to you. You may call me M.” 

“Right.” You nod awkwardly. “Seeing as all this is top secret and I’m-”

“A civilian.”

“...What’s going to happen to me?”

“That would be for upper management to decide. Though it shouldn’t be anything too harmful. Bond was the one who brought you into this, after all.”

“Will he be fired?” Alarm rushes through you at the thought. 

“Oh no,” M looks at you with surprise. “James has done much worse than this. They’ll just give him a light spanking and send him off. He’s too good to be let go of.” She looks at you with a penetrating gaze. “Too damn good.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” You smile awkwardly. “In all honesty, this whole situation is a bit much for me.”

“I can imagine.”

“Does this happen with James often?”

“Missing a check-in or finding out about secret marriages?”

“Missing check-ins?”

“Yes, yes it does. Although it seems as though he contacts you more than us. It’s been two weeks since he last called in. It does seem like he’s taking longer than usual...” 

---

Out of supposed security concerns, M told you to stay with her until James comes back. As a compromise, she sent some people to keep surveillance in your neighborhood and on your flat. Of course, this meant a couple of days (or more) living with this mysterious woman. M never talked unless necessary and most certainly did not bring her work home. While she trusts you enough in her home, she cannot afford anything leaking out, no matter how harmless.

That being said, she did try to update you on any word (or lack thereof) from your husband. The more time past, the more anxious you became. You could no longer sleep and M would find you in your room just staring at the ceiling. You had confided in her just once about how much you were missing him when you had one too many glasses of wine. Despite your loneliness, you really did try and keep strong. If the two of you were eating together, you’d ask her questions about your husband’s job. M couldn’t answer more than half of them, but did try to help shed some light on this new side of James. 

She couldn’t go into a lot of details, both due to how classified it all was, but because she thought that James should be the one to explain everything.

On the third day, M had informed you that James had sent a message. It was short and didn’t disclose his whereabouts, but you were so relieved that your knees just about gave out from underneath you. 

He was safe.

He was safe and that was all that mattered to you. Several more days would pass before you’d be reunited. 

---

It was the dead of night and, like usual, you couldn’t sleep. M wasn’t home - she said that she would be late - so you had eaten by yourself. While her suite is beautiful, you can’t help but wish that you were home in your little flat. You used to be annoyed about how much the building settled or your neighbors snoring during the night. Now, the lack of noise unsettles you. However, every noise you do happen to hear makes the hairs on your arms stick up.

Especially when you hear the elevator open awfully early in the night.

Somehow, you knew that it wasn’t M. Maybe it was because you didn’t hear her toss her handbag on one of the chairs or that her usual heels didn’t sound like they should. Either way, you had to make sure that everything was okay. You quietly get out of the bed and grab an empty wine bottle. 

Carefully, you slowly twist the doorknob to ease the door open by just a crack. You can just make out a figure that was much bigger than M shuffling around her desk. Unsure of what to do and not wanting to blow your cover immediately, you stay right where you are. He - for it was most definitely a man - straightened himself out and proceeded to make himself comfortable in one her chairs with his back towards you. 

Why would a burglar make himself at home?

As he begins to pour himself a glass, you gently open the door wide enough that you could slip through it. You bless your lucky starts that it doesn’t squeak. 

One, two, three, four steps forward when suddenly two unexpected things happen at the same time.

The man had gotten up, spun around and pointed a gun at your head. 

The elevator doors open to reveal M.

“Good heavens! What is happening?” You watch M hurry in, throwing her bag on a chair. “Bond! Put the gun down!” Your head snaps back around. The look of surprise and alarm was reflected in your husband’s bright blue eyes. You drop the bottle and it shatters. His gun was swiftly tossed aside. 

“James.” You choke back a sob as you run into his arms. He hugs back just as fiercely. 

“(Y/N).” He softly tucks your head into his shoulder and seems to relax in your arms. 

“I missed you.”

“I know.” 

“While this is awfully touching, you have a lot of explaining to do, Bond.” James lifts his head when he hears M say his name. 

“Ah. Yes. I forgot you were here.” You didn’t need to see M’s face to know the look of annoyance she was most likely sporting. 

“Just sit down.” M snaps, but you can tell that it’s half-hearted. James lets go of you, but grabs your hand as he sinks down into the couch. You curl up on his side, his hand still in yours.

You would never know what it was that the two talked about after that because you had fallen asleep as soon as your head settled on his shoulder. 

When you woke up, it was bright out and you were on the couch. Your pillow shifts, making you do a double take. Your pillow was in fact an arm. You shift to your other side and find yourself face to face with your husband’s sleeping face. Gently, you caress his face then plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“That’s hardly what I would call a good afternoon kiss.” James smirks, suddenly wide awake.

“Afternoon?”

“It’s just after one.” He gently pulls you closer to him. “Now, don’t make me wait more than I already have...” 

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it-” You kiss him squarely on the mouth then pull back - much to his obvious displeasure. “-Mr. Secret Agent?”

Needless to say, the two of you would take the time to talk things out and bring everything (that’s not classified information) into the light.

I tried really hard with this one, so I hope you all enjoyed it! I kinda feel like the start and the end were rushed... I plan on doing some Jake Lonergan headcanons this week, so that will be fun. Please feel free to send me ideas or requests! It might take a while for me to finish it, but I’ll try my best!

- Simpy

[moonbeamwritings]

holiday wine

Summary: Abbacchio had a knack for getting a little too drunk during the holidays, but it was never the fun kind of drunk. Loneliness had a firm grip around his heart, even as he sat near the Christmas tree, watching as the others spoke excitedly, music playing in the background. With some soft reassurance from you, maybe the coming days would be easier to weather.

Author’s Note: I hit a wall with the one missed call sequel, so have this fic inspired by a conversation I had with a friend today! Let me know what you think! 💕

tw: drinking, drunk character (abbacchio), abbacchio being a little bit of a mean drunk (though i promise there’s fluff), brief peek at his mental health

Abbacchio didn’t like the holidays. Everyone was too loud, too nosy, and too happy. He was glad, of course, that his friends were happy. They deserved it after everything they’d been through, even Giorno, but something about the season just made him feel lonely, disheartened even. 

That’s why he’d resigned himself to a seat in the corner of the living room, away from the kitchen and nestled close to the Christmas tree, nursing his third glass of wine.

He watched as you paced the floor, keeping Mista from eating all of the food, steering Narancia away from asking too many questions about the presents, and helping Bruno and Giorno in the kitchen.

Abbacchio took a long swig from his glass.

He knew he was being pathetic, frowning as he watched the hustle and bustle, but he really didn’t have it in him to participate, as much as everyone had tried to get him to join in on all of the festivities. At the very least, he had adorned the soft red sweater you’d left on his bed for him. He owed you that much.

He could still see the grin that lit up your face as he descended the stairs, the sweater on instead of his usual black attire. You were beautiful.

In the days leading up to the gang’s little holiday get together, Abbacchio had very nearly convinced himself to finally confess his feelings for you. When the day arrived, however, he’d scrapped the idea altogether, feeling pathetic and undeserving of your attention, your time. Anything.

Another long sip of wine.

“Hey Abbacchio,” Mista called from across the room, “why the long face?”

All the white-haired man could do was roll his eyes, shifting to slouch further into the chair.

“Yeah, Abbacchio,” Narancia joined in, “where’s your holiday spirit?”

“Isn’t my sweater enough?” Abbacchio drawled, unamused that he seemed to now be the center of attention.

“Well maybe-”

“You guys,” you interjected, “leave Abbacchio alone, please. If he’s not in the mood, he’s not in the mood. You two bugging him about it isn’t going to do anything.”

The two teens were quick to jump into conversation with you, insisting that if you were all getting into the spirit, then Abbacchio should be too.

He began drowning out their words almost immediately, feeling even more dejected than before. Over the next twenty minutes, he had finished the bottle of wine resting on the table in front of him.

The alcohol did little to calm his frayed nerves.

The night went on much the same, drinking wine, eating food, and sulking to his heart’s content, all while he watched you smile and laugh with the rest of the group.

Unbeknownst to him, you had been keeping a very close eye on him when he wasn’t looking. From your position in the kitchen or in the living room, you kept him within your line of sight, counting his drinks and paying close attention to his facial expressions.

It nearly made your eyes water. You had thought that perhaps the red sweater may have gotten him more excited about celebrating the holiday, but it seemed that only the opposite was true. Abbacchio was handsome, even despite his furrowed brows and petulant look, however, you wished you could see him smile, if only once. Just one, fleeting quirk at the corners of his lips would be enough.

Abbacchio seemingly had other plans, though.

Once you were done in the kitchen, and once everyone had eaten, you carefully perched yourself in the chair next to him, keeping an eye on his hand as it shook, pouring out his fifth glass of the night.

“Abbacchio, are you okay?”

His eyes snapped over to yours in an instant, having not heard you sit down.

“‘M fine.” His speech was slightly slurred, face rosy with the effects of the alcohol.

You sat in silence after that, unsure of where to go from there. You desperately wanted to help, to make him feel more included, but you had no idea how to do that. In the kitchen, Bruno had told you that even he didn’t know how to approach Abbacchio at this time of year. It was saddening, to say the least.

As the night wound down, bellies stuffed with food and excited for what the next morning would bring, each member began ascending the stairs, heading off to get some shut eye. Giorno and Fugo were the first to go, followed by Narancia and Mista about an hour later.

Bruno lingered, if only for your sake, finding your dedication to Abbacchio endearing. He was also reluctant to leave you to try and corral Abbacchio up to bed, knowing his drunken mood swings could be difficult to navigate.

“We’ll be okay, Bruno.” You assured, smiling warmly as a sleepy look formed on the capo’s face, “You go up and go to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

You glanced at Abbacchio, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Well,” Bruno said, “in that case, I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The room fell into silence, the ticking of a clock the only sound that could be heard, music having been shut off over an hour ago. You tapped your foot against the floor nervously, glancing between Abbacchio and the clock.

“If you’re itchin’ to go to bed that badly, be m’guest.”

“I was going to head up when you did.” You reasoned, “I don’t want to leave you down here all alone.”

Abbacchio was quick to scoff at that. He knew he was being argumentative, getting worked up over nothing as the red wine flowed through his system, but he really didn’t understand why you were so insistent on sitting near him, paying attention to him, or even caring about him.

“‘M not a baby.”

“I never said you were.”

“Why do you even care?” He asked, shifting to look at you despite the dizzying haze creeping into the corners of his vision, “‘M not even worth the time anyway.”

“You’re worth it to me, Abbacchio. I care about you.”

“Why?”

The question caught you off guard, causing you to shoot your eyes over to meet his. He was already looking at you, glossy eyes twinkling under the lights of the Christmas tree. If the circumstances were different, you would’ve told him they looked beautiful.

“Well, because I- I love you, Abbacchio. You- you’re sweet to me, intelligent. Hell, I don’t know! Do I really have to have a reason?”

“Guess not.” Was all he could bring himself to say, face flushing with more than just the alcohol as those three little words got stuck in his throat.

You were glad he hadn’t gotten more angry, prolonging the argument to an uncomfortable degree.

“Let’s get you to bed. I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” You stood, taking the wine glass from his hand to place it back on the table. You held both of your hands out to help him out of the chair, knowing he would need it.

Abbacchio looked up at you like one would a deity, like you were an angel incarnate. He really didn’t deserve you.

“Okay.” Came his quiet response, gingerly resting his hands in yours as you pulled him up. You led him towards the stairs, hand hovering over the small of his back as you climbed up behind him. At the top, you walked him down to his room, keeping close to his personal space in order to right him if he were to stumble.

Once at his door, you followed him in, urging him to change before he got into bed. As he tugged his clothes off, pulling a tee shirt and pajama pants on in their wake, you averted your gaze to the wall behind you.

You turned back around as you heard him shuffle underneath his sheets. When you moved to head out to the bathroom, aiming to look for some painkillers, he stopped you in your tracks.

“Will you-” He paused, closing his eyes for a few seconds before continuing, “Will you sit with me?”

Abbacchio’s eyes were soft as he looked over at you, drowsiness evident on his face. The walk upstairs must’ve really taken it out of him, you thought.

“Sure I can.”

Taking a seat next to him, back against the headboard, you sat in silence as Abbacchio’s eyes began to close. In a rare show of tender emotion, his hand searched for yours in the darkness of his bedroom and upon finding it, he laced his fingers with yours.

You looked down at where his head was nuzzled against his pillow, heart swelling with emotion at how adorable he looked swathed in his comforter.

Just when you thought he had fallen asleep, his eyes cracked open, blinking slowly as he stared up at you. He repeated almost the exact same expression as he had in the living room, like you were some ethereal being, a work of art. It was endearing, if not a little intimidating. What you wouldn’t give to truly know what was reeling through his drunken mind.

Before you could even ask him what he was looking at, his eyes were closing again. “Mmm,” he mumbled, “love you.”

Your eyes widened as you watched him drift to sleep, blissfully unaware of the confession he had just made. Without a second thought, you brought your free hand up to gently run through his hair, careful not to wake him.

The next morning, you awoke to a weight against your lap, feeling warm and undeniably comfortable. As your mind began to catch up with you, you realized you were still in Abbacchio’s room, still on his bed. You smiled as you identified the source of the weight.

In his sleep, Abbacchio had migrated over to you, wrapping both arms around your waist like one would hug a pillow, head resting in your lap.

If you thought he looked cute last night, staring up at you like you were the only person in the world, the view you had now certainly took the cake.

It was another few minutes before he began to shift, arms tightening around your waist as he blearily glanced around the room.

“Wha’ time is it?” His voice was muffled by the fabric of your shirt. The sound made your heart flutter.

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“Mmm, ‘kay.”

It took all of another minute before he was shooting up, retracting his body at lightning speed.

“God, I’m sorry! This is embarrassing. How long was I-?”

“I dunno, you did it while we were both asleep.”

Abbacchio hid his head in the closest pillow, refusing to so much as see you out of the corner of his eye, mortified at the situation he had found himself in. As he heard you let out a laugh, last night began racing into his mind. The alcohol, the bad mood, your confession. 

Your confession.

“Did you mean what you said?”

His voice went nearly unheard as you hunched down to the pillow, ear close to where you assumed his mouth might’ve been.

“Huh?”

“Did you mean it,” he asked more clearly, “What you said last night?”

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes I did.”

As he emerged from his pillow, he nearly reeled back again with how much closer you had gotten, noses a centimeter away from brushing against one another. Feeling emboldened by your words, he pressed his lips to yours, effectively closing the distance between you.

Abbacchio’s lips moved effortlessly against yours, like he was made to kiss you. Bringing a hand up to his face, you brought him that much closer, feeling his long, soft hair between your fingers.

As he finally pulled away, he lent his forehead against yours, eyes remaining closed. Peaceful. He could wake up like this every day for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

“I love you,” he finally spoke, “so much.”

You beamed.

It was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen.

Abbacchio was a pessimistic man, biting and cold, always keeping others at arm's length, keeping his emotions tight to his chest. As he relished in the feeling of your fingers on his face, in his hair, your lips against his, he decided to do better, to be better. 

For you.

[mighty-ragnarssons]

Knocked Up | Modern Vikings AU | Chapter I

Relationships | Modern Ivar x OC Summary | Ivar always thought he'd be one of those people that never find the love of their lives. But then he found her - or, as the story goes, she bumped into him. He never saw it coming. Then he had to deal with it, and all the consequences that came along. Warnings | some smut, a little angst, harassement, teenage pregnancy

You can read in AO3 as well (click here). 

Chapter 1

There was no one in town that didn’t know about the Ragnarssons, the children of the famous Ragnar Lothbrok. They were fearless, they were reckless, and they were dangerous, just like their father. That’s what everybody said.

Bjorn was the eldest, the first-born of Ragnar’s first marriage with Lagertha. There had been a daughter too, Gyda, but she had passed away terribly young. After that, Ragnar had only sons born from his second marriage, this time with Aslaug. First came Ubbe, then Hvitserk and Sigurd. All of them perfectly healthy and strong boys that, much like Bjorn and to Ragnar’s amusement, took after their father in several ways. Unexpectedly and accidentally, however, there was a fifth child, the last son of Ragnar, Ivar. 

Ivar was very different from his brothers.

Born with a bone condition, he was crippled from the start. It was not just his legs that wouldn’t allow him to ever walk on his own, but a whole lot more pain coming from his frail bones that were never to be trusted. No wonder he grew up as a vulnerable, angry, and sad kid, despite being his mother’s favorite and most protected son. And now, as he was becoming a man, people called him mad and a drunk, a wild card with whom everyone rather stay away from. Ivar didn’t mind, he preferred to be tamed than to be pitied after a lifetime of being looked down on. In fact, he would do everything in his power to remain like this. It was the only way to prove himself and stay out of his brothers’ shadow and, most importantly, his father’s to who Ivar was the least favored son, something which hurt the boy more deeply than his constant physical pain.

“Hurry up, Ivar. Crawl faster, or else when we get to the club Ubbe and Hvitserk will have gotten all the best girls” Sigurd’s voice echoed loudly through the house. 

Ivar was there a second later clearly annoyed at his brother’s mocking tone. “Last time I checked, dear brother, you need me to drive you. So shut up. Let’s go.” 

Sigurd couldn’t argue back. He did need Ivar to drive them to the club. He kept failing at taking his driver’s license. It was humiliating to have to need his crippled brother to drive him, but Ubbe and Hvistserk, the bastards, hadn’t been home. Minutes afterward Ivar was behind the wheel of his accessible SUV and off they were.

Thirty minutes later they were skipping the line to get into the club. The Ragnarssons had their ways.  If there was one circuit in which their name was known by everyone, it was the nightlife one. No party would ever start without one of them being there. Ivar and Sigurd joined Ubbe and Hvisterk in the VIP area. As usual, Ivar took a corner where he knew he’d spend the next few hours drinking, smoking, and glaring at the dancing crowd. Perhaps if someone caught his eye he’d make a move, but usually, it was more like his brothers to do that.  

“There you go” Hvitzerk handed him a joint “Don’t look so serious, Ivar. The night is young. Enjoy!” By the looks of it, it was clear that he was already a bit high. But again it was Hvitserk and unusual would be to find him sober. “A lot of pretty ladies out there. Want me to pick one for you?” 

Ivar knew Hivtserk was only joking, but he still didn’t like it. His brother, ignoring Ivar’s cold glare and much to his annoyance, started pointing out to random girls who were dancing. “Oh, look at that one. C’mon Ivar, ain’t she a treat to stare at?”  

Thankfully, Hivtserk stopped his stupid game once their oldest brother Bjorn joined them, bringing shots to everyone with the help of his wife, Torvi.

“Brother, to what do we owe the honor?” Ivar said, throwing one of his ironic smirks. 

“I bring good news. Father is going to be released from jail sooner than expected. In three months to be exact! I had to pull some strings but it’s settled”

The news was received with different reactions. Sigurd didn’t seem that happy, while Ivar was the opposite. Ubbe was the first one to hold one of the shot glasses and started the toast “To Father! To Ragnar!”

Ragnar had been in prison for almost three years due to white-collar crimes, having been convicted of corporate fraud and money laundering. His sentence would’ve been of more than ten years, but Ragnar had his ways and was able to cut a deal for five years. And now, apparently, he would only serve almost four. Throughout this time it had been Bjorn taking over the leadership of the family’s successful business, Northmen Ventures, of which all of Ragnar’s sons had become the sole shareholders just before he was imprisoned. This explained why they were one of the richest families in their Norwegian city of Bergen. 

Bjorn,  now age 30, had been the natural successor of Ragnar. Not only because he was the oldest and perhaps the favorite son of Ragnar, but also because at the time he was the only one with a university degree, having just graduated from Law School. Yet, all of Ragnar’s sons were meant to get involved with the business. At least that was their father’s wish. Ubbe, now 24, had just graduated from Architecture School but had recently joined Bjorn on the company’s executive board.  Ivar wasn’t given the opportunity to help out, something which he grudged his older brothers - for dismissing him for his age, despite the fact that he’d watch and learned as much from his father as possible since an early age. Now 19 he was a freshman in college taking Business Administration. Then there were Hvitserk, 23, and Sigurd, 21,  the ones more adamant about following in their father’s footsteps. Hvitserk was using the money they were all getting to sustain his pricy bachelor lifestyle, and so was Sigurd who dedicated most of his time to art and music. Neither tried to pursue a higher education degree. 

“Don’t get too excited. Father will be back and then what? It’s not like he cares about us.” Sigurd, the mood killer, chugged his beer aggressively “He didn’t let us visit him in prison not even once. Not even Mother was allowed to. He didn’t even care for sending a postcard for Christmas!”

“He must have had his reasons.”

“And he left us the company”

“And so what? He just wanted to prevent it from ending up in the hands of the government.  Fuck him! You might all want to play the role of doting sons, but I’m not gonna tag along” After this Sigurd stormed off.

The remaining brothers looked at one another. A little bit of what Sigurd had just said resounsed with them, but at the same time they were excited to welcome back their father. Things would be very different with him around. 

“I say we celebrate.” Ivar said, not minding Sigurd. He couldn’t wait for his father to be back so that he could prove himself once and for all. He was no longer the defenseless crippled child he was when Ragnar went away. 

Despite the good mood he was in about Bjorn’s good news, Ivar wasn’t vibing with the club’s atmosphere that night. Hvitserk and Ubbe were making out with some random girls, Sigurd was nowhere to be seen and Torvi and Bjorn had left already. Instead, he was craving for some adrenaline and he knew just the way to get it. Texting his dealer, he left the club with the help of his crutches.

Nothing was to stop him except that on the way out someone bumped into him almost causing him to lose his fragile balance. Fury grew on Ivar who was about to yell at whoever made the mistake of infuriating him that night, but that’s when her face lost the blurriness of a few seconds ago and Ivar lost his balance again but for a completely different reason.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to...shit” 

“Bitch, get back! For the hundredth time, you’re not getting in!” 

The girl’s expression quickly turned one of desperation. “I told you I have to. My cousin needs help! Don’t stop me, please” Her words were towards the bouncer that was now pulling her back, but her pleading eyes were on Ivar as if asking for help.  

“Hey, let her go!”  Ivar didn’t know why, but his rage got up to new levels when he saw the bouncer getting his filthy hands on her. “I said back off. Take your fucking hands off of her.”

At Ivar’s command the bouncer let her go. It didn’t matter that he was a big muscle guy, Ivar took a step towards him and faced him with a cold death stare. 

“She’s coming in with me, do you understand?”

“Ragnarsson, she is a minor. I can’t let her in.”

“I’m not asking.” 

His tone set it. He nodded so that the girl got in the club ahead of him. She didn’t even say a word, going immediately in. Ivar had to hurry himself inside to catch up. 

“Fuck, there’s so many people” she noticed looking absolutely lost.

“Let me help you.” he offered. 

“The bathrooms. My cousin... she called me, she didn’t sound fine… I’m worried something’s happened... She said she couldn’t move” she was trembling as she spoke. Ivar reached her hand with his. 

“If she is here we are going to find her.” he assured her “Follow me” 

It was not typical of Ivar to help a lady in distress but as he was guiding this girl through the crowd of drunk dancing people he couldn’t understand the need he was abruptly feeling for shielding her and, worst of all, to comfort her. These feelings left him uneased, but he was not going to dwell into that right now. If his suspicions were right and her cousin was somewhere in the club, then she was probably drugged to the point of unconsciousness and in a position to be taken advantage of. 

They swiped all the bathrooms at the club until at last they burst into one where a girl was noticeably knocked down in a corner.

“Cathrine!” the girl immediately crouched down on her cousin. “Cathrine, can you hear me?” 

“All of you, get out” Ivar demanded the girls who were inside. Some tried to complain, after all he was the guy in a female bathroom. These same girls that had paid no attention, or they just didn’t care, to the other girl on the floor. He then went outside as fast as he could and got a water bottle.

“She’s awake, but barely. Says she 's dizzy. She’s not talking right” 

“She was likely drugged” It wouldn’t be a first in that club “Make her sip some water” he threw the water bottle at them. He really wanted to level down to them, but with his crutches and all it just wouldn’t go well. “I’m gonna find help.”

 He ‘raced’ to the VIP area. Only Hivtserk was there with a girl on top of him. What was wrong with his brothers for acting as if their corner was a place of public foreplay display?

“Hvitserk, I need your help!”

“Go away Ivar” he grumbled and continued to suggestively run his hands on the brunette over his lap.

Ivar had to take the matter into his hands. The first thing he found was a leftover cocktail on the table which he threw at the girl. Her immediate squeak was so high and audible despite the deafening music. She practically jumped from on top of his brother.

“You crazy motherfucker!”

“What the fuck Ivar?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Come with me. I need your help.” 

Usually he didn't have much faith in his brothers - after all they were a pain in his ass most of the time - but this time he was really hoping to call on Hvitserk’s good senses. Fortunately his prayers were answered and his older brother followed him back to the bathroom

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a passed out girl. We need to get her out of here.”

“Would you go so far as in to get laid, little brother? Oh, you sicko” 

“This is not the time for jokes, asshole. You’re the sicko for even suggesting that”

Ivar was almost regretting getting Hvitserk to help, but the truth was that he alone wouldn’t be able to carry the girl out from the bathroom. The moment they got in there Hvitserk got a bit more serious and kneeled next to the two girls. 

“Let’s get her out of here” 

Together with Hvitserk, the girl helped raise her semi-unconscious cousin. People inside the club were so fucked up that they didn’t drop one second to look at them leaving. 

“Take her to my car” Ivar indicated and so they did. He unlocked his metallic grey SUV from afar and went on to open the backdoors where they laid the girl. “Let her get some fresh hair. It will do her good.”

“Should we take her to the hospital?” Hvitserk suggested.

A loud “No!” came from the inside of the car.

“She can’t. It will be too complicated” said the other girl but not without hinting her dissatisfaction.

Ivar finally took a moment to fully look at her. Dressed  in just a pair of jeans and a warm sweatshirt, she was lean and tall, but at least a good ten centimeters shorter than himself. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun with some strands falling down on her face. He had to hold the instinct to gently brush those aside. And her eyes… They were a very greyish blue color like he had never seen before. They were mirroring worry and nervousness. 

“I’m calling a cab. Thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you” she said facing Ivar and Ivar only. 

“I can drive you.” he offered without thinking.

“We already bothered you enough -”

Ivar cut her off “Nonsense. I’m going to drive you” he declares in a way that offered no other option.

Relief poured from her gaze “Thank you”

It was quite the drive, further out of Bergen’s city center. By the time they got there the passed out girl - Cathrine - had regained consciousness, albeit feeling nauseous and dizzy. Hvitserk carried her alone in his arms to the inside of the house and further into her bed. It was time enough for her to fall asleep like a rock.

“She seems just to need some rest. Keep her hydrated when she wakes up.”

“If she was drugged then it should wear off her system soon”

“Noted. I don’t know how to thank you both” 

“You could go on a date with one of us, how does that sound?”

“Hvitserk!” Ivar admonished in reaction to the girl’s shocked expression “Please, ignore my brother. He, too, has drugs that need to wear off his system”

“You’re no fun, Ivar” Hvitserk couldn’t argue back on the drugs part. “A pleasure to help, milady. Until next time” He did a silly bow and left the apartment back to the car. 

“Is he always like that?” 

 “Most of the time, yeah.” Ivar shrugged his shoulders “Hand me your phone” Because she did without complaining, he got it and put his number in there “I’m Ivar Lothbrook. Whenever you need help.”

What he really wanted to say was ‘text me’. He didn’t have the nerve for that, tho.

For the first time that night she finally showed a glimpse of a smile “Honestly, thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help, Ivar Lothbrok” 

Her hand was touching his and for a moment everything seemed to stop. The way his name sounded on her lips… A shiver went down his spine. He wanted to hear it again, but most importantly he wanted to know her name.

But in that exact moment a horn yelled. Goddamned Hvitserk. He was going to wake up the whole street, which was the opposite of what the girls had asked. “I better go drive him home now or else he’ll wake up the whole neighborhood” 

Yet Ivar was finding it difficult to leave. To leave her. Another honk made him take the necessary steps.

“I mean it when I say for you to use my number whenever. Stay safe”

He finally closed the door behind him and walked back to the car, but not before looking over his shoulder. There she was, by the window, waving goodbye with a shy smile on her face.

He needed to see her again.

The next morning Ivar woke up rather hopeful of seeing a text message. Seeing there was none, his day didn’t kick off exactly on the right terms. Throughout the day he checked his phone more times than he cared to admit and each time he grew impatient and irritated. What was it about that girl to make him like this? It’s not like he usually gave a crap about whoever he met.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve got a right cob-on” his older brother Ubbe asked later that day when they were all chilling by the firepit  in the backyard of the Lothbrook’s home.

Although in Norway it was uncommon for people their age to still be living at home, in their case that’s how things were and worked out great most days. Usually it was just the four brothers and the house was  big enough for them not to be in each other’s ways.. Their mother, Aslaug Lothbrok, ran one the country’s finest art galleries. After her husband’s arrest she had moved her gallery to the capital city, Oslo, instead of their home city. Lately she spent most of her time there rather than at home. 

“It’s nothing. Leave me alone” 

“He’s hung up” teased Hvitserk “Still thinking about the pretty blondie from last night, brother?”

Right that moment Ivar wished he could smack the mocking smiles out of his brother’s faces. 

“Well, well, well Ivar. Didn’t know you had company last night.”

“He didn’t.  Not exactly. None of us did” Hvitserk proceed to put Ubbe on the loop in regards to their little episode last night. “Instead of asking her for her number, our little brother gave her his. Wrong move, dude.” Ivar immediately regretted telling this to Hvitserk. “Don’t be so bummed out, Ivar. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. Speaking of…”

A blonde Ivar doesn’t care much about exits their home in Sigurd’s company, both appearing content which can only mean one thing. Margrethe is a constant guest at the Lothbrok’s and probably the only female with the fame of being acquainted with all of the brothers’ rooms. Although a favorite among the Ragnarssons, to Ivar she’s nothing but an unpleasant company he is forced to tolerate after they fall out months ago. 

“If that’s the fish you’re hinting at, I’d rather go vegan” Ivar mumbled under his breath.

I hope you liked it! It’s my first Vikings fic :) Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language. At least five more chapters will be on the way.