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danpuff-ao3 · 1 year

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2022 Standouts - Yet Another Rec List

Okay, LISTEN. There was lots of greatness to be had in 2022. This is not my fault. This is all of your faults. This is what you all get for having so much talent and passion for fandom!! Some of us are overly excitable and chatty and can't shut up!!

In fairness, one can never spread too much goodness and positivity. If I talk about the same fics, the same creators, and make new lists every other day, it's all born out of love and appreciation, which the world could use plenty of! And with that said, these are all my own opinions and preferences so please keep that in mind!

So...here we go?? Should I do a Top 22???? That seems fitting.

1.) Post Mortem [fic, Snarry, E, 17k] by @inarticulateimbecile. I'm still dying over how fabulous this is. The characterizations, the dynamic, the descriptions...chef's kiss, truly. This might be one of my new favorites. (Also this Snarry art they did as a runner up, though all of their art just does things to me.) (I really would have thought art would have been their mention on this list, but no, they had to go be a great writer, as well!! Rude of them, really.)

2.) Slipping [fic, Snarry, 11k] by @bluesundaycake are you kidding me???? This is fabulous. Gritty postwar story that is too real with our hero, Harry, not "living up" to his potential, and not having the happily ever after he so deserves with a bittersweet, hopeful ending. Just lovely.

3.) The Lover and the Boytoy [fic, Drucius, Snaco, Draco/Snape/Lucius, E, 10k] by @fleetingdesires. Why the heck are my friends so talented?? This is offensive. And like...I clicked it for the Malfoycest?? And I left with Snucius feels?? What the heck. Just ??? Brain melted, all I can say.

4.) Clip, Ravel, Cleave [fic, Andromeda/Bellatrix, Andromeda/Ted, E, 15k] by @vdoshu. It was hard to narrow it down to one doshu work because wow they've done the dang thing this year!!!! So much great variety, but this one really blew me away. However toxic and dark the sisters' relationship was, I was rooting for them and heartbroken for them. What a beautiful, dark, sad story.

5.) Wind and Cardamom [podfic, Angelina/Hermione, G, 5 minutes] by JocundaSykes (fic by Arsenic). All of Joc's podfics are truly so, so good. Her voice work is always amazing and I easily can (and have!) listened to her read all day. Nothing like having a good fic read to you while doing chores, let me tell you!

6.) Lover's Flight [poem, Snarry, T, 200] by PinaNaponi (@vulnerasanenturmyprince.) My dear Nina is another case of "stupidly talented friends" and "hard to narrow down", but since I've waxed poetic about some of her other works recently, and in other lists, I figured I'd shed some light on this lovely thing. It's an adaptation of Goethe's "Elf King."

7.) Compulsory Figures [fic, Snarry, 6] by @liladiurne. Listen, my lovely Lila has arguably "better" works, and more "literary" works, but...her smut speaks to me, okay? I read this and was like "Ooooh, Lila can be FILTHY." I'm obsessed with it. Even back when it was just an idea and she was brainstorming it, I was obsessed. In fact, I was grocery shopping with my partner and being useless because I couldn't stay away from our DMs talking about said idea! Then she actually wrote and posted the dang thing and !!!! Obsessed.

8.) Some morning cuddles and coffee [art, Linny] by @luendland. Lu's snarry art is great, but they also do other ships (and characters) too and equally as lovely!! This Linny one speaks to my heart. It's so warm and lovely and gives me all the feels. I do digging for it to fawn over fairly often!

9.) Alphard's Favourite [fic, Sirius/Peter, Sirius/Alphard, M, 4k] by @thistlecatfics. Another top tier fic from Blackcest Fest! Not a ship I ever had interest in but oh gosh. The complicated characterization of Peter, the screwy interactions between him and Sirius, the way Sirius acts out as a way of dealing with trauma. It's such difficult subject matter treated in such a realistic manner. Not "good", not "easy", not "romantic", just that gritty, awful realness of how trauma impacts us, and how we don't always handle it in perfect, ideal ways.

10.) Untitled Harrymort Art [art, Harrymort] by @mrviran. I have no words. This isn't even my ship. But good golly is this spicy hot!! The corset! The sweat! Voldemort's smug, amused, mischievous little grin! Those red eyes and the red string!!!! Wooooo boy.

11.) Death and the Snarry [art, Snarry] by @necromanticnoir. This is another case of "I expected one thing from this creator, but my top choice for them is another??" Great writer is Noir, but also artist???? Multi-talented folk are killing me, I stg. And like...I need more Snarry versions of Klimt works, truly. So gorgeous!

12.) even the stars admire you [art, Snarry] by @acydpop. Speaking of Snarry versions of Klimt, THIS GORGEOUS THING. I'm so obsessed. Look at those colors!! Look at that embrace!!! Oh geez, I'm having feelings.

13.) Tom Riddle: interview with @phantomato [podcast] by @fanficmaverickpodcast. ChaosBlue is a great host and listening to writer interviews is always such a treat! And hearing what Phantomato had to say here was super fascinating, and made me much more intrigued by the Tom Riddle/Voldemort character!

14.) Snape's Hungry for a Snaco...[podcast, Snaco] by @careofmagicalshippers. Every episode of this podcast is great. Megs and Nathan are charismatic, hilarious, passionate hosts and listening to them chat is always such a fun time. Even guest episodes, even when Megs or Nathan is out, they have such interesting people to talk to and such interesting ships to talk about. This Snaco episode in particular spoke to me! (Especially since they went into it intending to cover Snack, but moved onto Snaco fairly quickly...I don't blame them!)

15.) When the Rose and the Fire Are One [ficbinding, Snarry] by @witchyficbindery. The fic by perverse_idyll is just stunning, as all of her works are! I believe earlier this year I was chatting about how I'd love to have fics on my shelf and what I imagined they might look like. And I thought "this fic would have to be STUNNING, just visually stunning." And midway through this year, I saw this post about an actual ficbinding of this fic! And...I was correct. And completely blown away. This cover is more gorgeous than I could have imagined. All of witchyficbindery's bindings are so, so outstanding. I can't imagine how they do it! But this one is the clear standout to me.

16.) 22 femslash recs from 22 years [rec list] by @consistentsquash. Squash always has the best recs, I stg!! Writer crushes I've had, but reccer crushes?? Such good taste, and always such good things to say. And this list especially is great with lots of gems for wlw content!

17.) Traid/Threesome recs [rec list] by @sitp-recs. Liv is a Queen Reccer, truly! This one is especially nice with options for Drarry+ ships, and non-Drarry ships, and a few bonus moresome fics! Lots of good stuff on this list, and more for me to check out! (RIP my TBR, fr.)

18.) The Bravest Man [fan-comic, Snarry, T] by @ac1d6urn. Acid is such a very skilled creator, both as a writer and an artist! The story, the characterizations, the art...all so stunning and perfect!

19.) Snitches and Songs [fic, Snarry, E, 50k] by @lizzy0305. When I tell you how PUMPED I was to see when this story was posted. Lizzy fic? Check. Severus sings? Color me intrigued. 'Magical tattoos'? Sign me UP. Then...I spent ages waiting to read it because I'm weird and like to "save" things that I know are going to be good. And I was right to save it! (Also: I should have read it sooner!) (Please don't expect my brain to do logic, because it will not.) What a gorgeous and enjoyable love story this was! My plan is to give this one a reread soon, actually; with luck, in January! (And I'll have the time and energy to do so!)

20.) A Life Worth Remembering [Snarco, E, 22k] by @writcraft. When Writ first reached out to me, I had to be like "okay, self, be cool. Don't fangirl and scare them off, okay?" Turns out, Writ is a lovely human and hearing they were coming back to Snarry had me just plain ecstatic!! And while Snarco isn't always my jam, I did know how invested they were in writing it, and couldn't resist checking it out! And I'm so glad I did!! One, because Writ's work is always fantastic. Two, because...I was sold on Snarco???? Maybe???? Or as close as I get to being sold. Geez Louise. It's such an interesting tale of de-aged Snape, the memories he lost, the established Drarry, and how they all come together. Their dynamic as a triad, and the individual pairs that make it up (Drarry, Snarry, and Snaco), and the individual people are all so lovely and well done!!

21.) Obedience Lessons [Snarry, E, 7k] by @likelightinglass. Um, how many times have I read this story this year? Too many, probably. (Is there such a thing as too many? Who knows.) ANYWAY. A/B/O with Alpha Harry and Omega Snape???? Yes please and thank you. All the kink and spiciness that I love. 100% did it for me (multiple times.)

22.) The Afterlight [Snarry, E, WIP] by @perverse-idyll. Good golly. Can I tell you how overjoyed I was when PI first posted this???? New PI Snarry???? All of my hopes and dreams coming true, awesome. And it's only 4 chapters in (out of ????) and so far, so GREAT. Postwar, death themes, gritty realism, A+++ characterizations, dark and spicy Snarry dynamic!!!! I don't often read WIPs (my patience is nonexistent, and not knowing how things end is bad for my anxiety (let's please not talk about my undying love and need of spoilers)), but this is totally worth it. I'll wait forever and a day for this fic if I have to. PI has been among my favorite authors for YEARS and for good reason. Characterization and relationships always so on point and exactly what I want and need. Not to mention gorgeous, stunning, unforgettable prose. The words that strike right through the heart, and burrow in to live there forever. Genuinely, PI's work is always stellar, and I already feel in my bones this will be a favorite. It's already the WIP I most look forward to update emails for! (Not that I have many, in fairness.) (Again, I generally steer clear of WIPs; no offense WIP writers. It's for my own good, I swear!) Side note: PI is another excellent human who I so appreciate knowing. Thanks for always taking time to listen to my babbling, especially knowing how busy you always are!

#danpuff recs #2022 fandom #fic recs #art recs #podfic recs #podcast recs #ficbinding recs #poetry recs #rec list recs

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yourstrullyme · 1 year

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"binge-worthy show" man fuck that

i want my shows one episode followed by a whole ass week of going a little insane over it with the people on my phone, writing fics theorizing and going over every single scene through amazing gifs and meta, before the next ep drops and the cicle begins anew

#meegs rambles #yes this is about willow 2022 it owns my heart #and also its fandom like we are small but i apreciate u guys all so sosos much #willow #willow series #willow disney+#willow 2022 #willow (2022)

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auchaczer · 1 month

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can’t wait to see my beautiful fucked up evil princess soon!!! <3

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.

On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.

Hell, you wished you were drunk.

“Sergeant.”

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.

You on the other hand.

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.”

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.

“I think that was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

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jxnxai · 3 months

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here’s a quick doodle (it took me 3 hours) to celebrate how gay people saved the day once again (the magnus archives got me out of my 2 year long art block)

#good to be back #its funny bc the last serious fandom i was in before my art skills went bye bye #was tma #like yeah ive posted some stuff scattered across 2023 #but i havent felt like an actual artist since 2022 lmaooo #and i was into tma in 2022 #we are so back baby #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #idk what demon possessed me to draw this #my art

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

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Whipped

Pairing: Lando Norris x Assistant!Reader

Warnings: Smut mentioned, Lando is a secret simp, Fuckboi!Lando

Rating: PG-17

Requested: Yes/No

Being Lando's assistant, you've seen and heard many things. Girls coming and going at odd hours, girls leaving his driver's room in a mess, hell, you've even had to hide girls from the media after hookups. But you knew this when you took the job as it was the first sentence in the contract.

It has never bothered you because Lando was a playboy/fuckboi who wanted to have fun. Of course, you did more than just help him with his ways, interviews, photoshoots, media obligations for F1, and anything Lando needed you for. You did.

Lando flirted with you. Brains and beauty is what he said about you when people asked. He praised you to no end but never crossed a line with you, always keeping it professional; he cherished you too much.

"Lando! For the love of christ, put on clothes. You have the driver's interview!" You bang on his door, but that doesn't stop the porno noises in the room; you just roll your eyes.

Leaning against the wall, the door gets thrown open, almost hitting you, but you just stare at the blonde girl rushing out of the room with Lando following her.

"See you later." The blonde giggles winking at him as she rushes into the sea of people here for the race.

"Really? We just landed yesterday and couldn't wait, could you?" His head turns to your hard stare, and he has the decency to look ashamed.

"What? She's hot." Is his only argument which has you standing up straight again.

"Make yourself presentable. I don't need to get shit again from Zac about your.......look." Eyes roll over his messy hair, lipstick-stained skin, and love bites very visible.

"Damn, okay, don't lose your cool. I'll look nice." He smiles and goes back into the room and, not long after, comes out smelling clean, clearly taken a shower while you waited.

"Ready?" He asks and starts the walk to the media room having the media day with Carlos, Fernando, Pierre, and Max.

You don't say a word to him on the walk there, just stopping occasionally for him to take pictures and sign autographs for fans. Walking into the media pen, you wave at the others, but you have a slight blush when you wave at Max, who waves back, smiling too. Lando looks back and forth between you two, this little tightness in his chest with seeing the blush on your cheeks.

"Stay here. You've been trying to find me all day, so you don't have to stand the entire time." Lando mushes you to a chair in the back.

"Bu-" "Just stay here." He groans, walks up to the sofa, and sits between Max and Carlos, forgetting about that feeling in his chest.

You type away on your phone, answering emails and texts from the team and brands that want Lando to model or talk about their brand. You don't even look up when Carlo's, Lando's, and Max's voices are above your head.

"Lando's got you working hard, doesn't he?" Head snapping up, you meet Carlos's eyes with a slight blush forming, having always found him attractive.

"Not too hard. He needs a shock collar when he wonders after a girl." You joke, making Carlos laugh and causing the other two drivers to stare at the both of you

"Yes, he does. Honestly, it's impressive but also cruel to you." You nod in agreement with the Spaniard heading out into the sun and walking through the Paddock.

"It is; the girls sometimes come back expecting round 2 only to realize that he doesn't do that. One and Done." You gripe, which Carlos adds onto.

Lando tries to stay focused on his conversation with Max, but he's unable to when he hears you and Carlos laughing and quipping inside jokes back and forth. That earlier feeling returns to his chest, making him wonder why he felt this way.

"What's up with you? Why are you staring at Y/n like that?" Max asks, noticing how Lando is walking weirdly to keep an eye on the two people behind them.

"What? I'm staring at her. I'm just....I gave her a hard time earlier and ensuring she's okay." He rushes out, ripping his eyes off his assistant, trying his best to focus on Max.

"Translation; I was busy getting laid that I made Y/n run all around the Paddock trying to find me before the interview." Max snips.

The drivers hated seeing Lando give you such a hard time, especially regarding the girls. Carlos and Max hated it when you'd run to them out of breath or annoyed trying to find Lando when he runs off with some girl. Lando doesn't say anything as he stops walking, staring as Carlos and you walk past, not even paying to the fact you walked right past them.

"Honestly, if the money wasn't so damn good, I would've quite a while ago." You joke, but to Lando, it sucked the air out of his lungs hearing those words.

Max watches Lando's face, the color draining, and how his chest and throat tighten as he processes those words. He wants to tell Lando that it was a joke, you always joked about quitting, but the moment someone offered you a job or tried to tell you how horrible Lando was, you'd defend him.

Yes, he slept around. Yes, he sometimes made life unbearable, and you wanted to kill the prick, but you knew the real him. The gamer nerd, the doting uncle, the mentor for young karting kids, the guy who would drop anything to help anyone. You knew the real Lando but saw more of the Fuckboi than the man behind this persona.

Laughing and joking some more, you find yourself back in front of the Mclaren motorhome, and low and behold, a new girl was sitting in the spot Lando always told girls he met that he wanted to hook up with. Lando jogs up the steps and stops when the girl steps in front of him.

"Hi, Lando." The girl was practically shoving her chest in his face, and while you wanted to gag, you didn't blame her.

Lando was beautiful, and that boyish charm would make any girl drop. What would usually not bother you was. Why did you care if Lando paid more attention to them than you? Woah...where'd that thought come from. You didn't want that attention from him. Did you? No, you didn't because if Lando wanted you, he'd already have you. You fell for the man you knew personally, not the act he put on in front of the girls.

"Listen, umm Kelley, I'm sorry but.....I'm canceling plans. I have to do training with my assistant. Sorry." He rambles and yanks you inside, leaving your head spinning.

"Lando, you don't have plans; you can hook up with her. I'll cover for you." You smile, double-checking the calendar to make sure you got everything.

"The night before the first practice, we always watch movies." He states, looking at you hurt since you forgot.

"Lando.....we haven't done that in almost 2 years. You spend your nights hooking up with girls." You state cocking your head to the side, suspicious of his motives.

"Well, I want to do it tonight, okay. Just....I'm not always like that." You almost missed the last part since he turned his back to you and started to walk away.

"See you at 9." rushing past him and up the stairs to your mini office to get some work done. You swear you could hear Lando's smile.

When 9 hit, you knock on the door, standing outside his apartment door for the last 15 minutes trying to gather courage. You loved the Monaco race since you all could be home, but also you loved the view outside Lando's apartment that overlooked the marina and city. The door swings open after the 2nd knock. Lando wearing a black shirt and grey sweatpants, you almost blushed at the thoughts that whizzed past but quickly shook them away. It was cheating for him to wear this, but it wasn't for you; for all you knew, he could've just gotten home from a girl's place.

"Come on, I've got Fast and Furious on." Closing the door behind you, a soft giggle leaves your lips. Lando can't help his full smile come out, hearing your laughter, and follows you to his living room.

You slide your shoes off and lay comfortably on the couch, knowing Lando is probably fixing snacks as you hit play on the movie. He comes padding into the room and puts down fruits, pretzels, candy, and other things laid out, but you notice that all your favorite foods and the movie selection lined up as your favorite movies. Nothing of his was thrown into the mix.

Thinking nothing of it until Lando lifts your head and lays it in his lap, but he doesn't touch you, not even playing with your hair like he would typically do whenever you had your head in his lap.

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you?" You ask, pausing the movie as you sit up to look at him.

"What do you mean? We're just watching movies." His face scrunched up in confusion.

"No. We're watching my favorite movies only. Eating only my favorite snacks, and you aren't even trying to make a move on me! So what's going on with you?" You yell, hating this change in him all of a sudden.

"I don't want you to quit!" He yells back now you're the one making the confused face.

"What? Lando, I'm not going to quit."

"Yes, yes, you are. I heard you talking with Carlos. You said you'd quit if the money wasn't so good. I...I know I've been sleeping around a lot, but honestly, I can't...I'm just trying to forget that the person I want doesn't want me." He groans, running his hands over his face in frustration.

"Lando." You sigh, gathering your thoughts. "it's a joke. A gag between Carlos, Max, and me. I'm not going to quit. You'd have to fire me first." You laugh, touching his jittering leg, making it stop as he looks up at you.

"Also, no girl is ever worth that. You shouldn't even be dealing with your feelings like that. So, who is this girl?" You ask, wanting to know who is sending Lando into a tailspin.

"You." You both just stare at each other as you just blink at him before laughing out loud.

Lando groans and hangs his head. He knew he didn't deserve you; honestly, no one did; you were perfect. You try to gather yourself so you don't hurt Lando too much with your laughter.

"No, seriously, who is it really?" You ask, wiping away tears from laughing.

"You. It's always been you. You weren't supposed to have 3 weeks of vacation when you first started. It was supposed to be 1. I changed it. I changed the menu for your favorite foods on the road so you weren't homesick. Whenever you got sick, I left the little care baskets of your favorite things to make you feel better. You big ass raise you got last year? ME! I pay for it myself; Mclaren doesn't pay you like everyone thinks. I pay you because you're mine. I don't want you to leave because if you leave, no one, no one, could even replace you. You are what I want." He huffs out, breathing heavily.

Standing slowly, you nudge his legs open, move between them, and lean down, making Lando swallow thickly as he tries hard to control the urge to not kiss you silly.

"Want me, Lando? I'm yours?" You ask, smirking, moving your fingers through his curls.

"Then earn me. You wanted to be such a fuckboi, but you're really a simp, right? The moment we met, I wasn't yours. You were mine." Leaning down, you kiss the corner of his mouth before quietly leaving his place.

Let the Games Begin.

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thundergrace · 2 years

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After over 40 years in the industry, Sheryl Lee Ralph wins her first Emmy in her first nomination. She accepts by singing a line from "Endangered Species" by Dianne Reeves:

I am an endangered species, but I sing no victim's song. I am a woman. I am an artist. And I know where my voice belongs.

#sheryl lee ralph #abbott elementary #dianne reeves #emmys #emmys 2022 #motherland fort salem #i mean it should be relevant to that fandom as well

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1990jeevas · 5 months

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i miss you jackbox streams i miss you mcc liveblogging i miss you lore mixed into an otherwise normal stream i miss you tales from the smp i miss you beeduo meet up i miss you karl jacobs total drama viewing party i miss you wilbur soot drunk christmas streams i miss you wilbur soot mcc monologues i miss you technoblade i miss you origins smp i miss you rust server i miss you ylyl i miss you tommy vlogs i miss you ranboo late night mining i miss you among us streams i miss you i miss you i miss you

#i think the crimeboys stream broke me #idk feel free to rb and add idc #dream smp #mcyt #mcytblr #shit self #2020-2022 was rough but i never had so much fun in a fandom #im watching vods rn and i feel insane #bangerz

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nat111love · 4 months

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ZOE KRAVITZ as SELINA KYLE in

THE BATMAN (2022) | dir. Matt Reeves

#the batman #zoe kravitz #selina kyle #catwoman #the batman 2022 #zkravitzedit #zoekravitzedit #dc #dc movies #dc ladies #dc fandome #dcmultiverse #thebatmanedit #cinemaedit #tvandfilm #dc comics #dc universe #dcedit #q

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bruciemilf · 10 months

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I think the Batman (2022) sheds light on such an underrated detail of Batman's story, and that's, ironically, Batman himself. We see Bruce. As in actually, truly see him. the way he's so repulsed by himself when he's not Batman. The most apathetic we ever see him is towards himself. Bruce does not care If Bruce lives or dies because ultimately, he does not care for himself.

He's lonely and starves for people and contact but he doesn't want to be BRUCE. Even when he shares intimate moments, he's Batman, while everyone around him wants the man behind the cowl, because no one cares about an empty mask.

But the final scene? Where he's helping, saving, holding people tenderly? Where he doesn't wear the contacts? That's BRUCE.

Bruce who's tragedy with heartbeat, who has all the reasons to be a villain and leave Gotham for death and rot and he DOESN’T because at his core Bruce loves people so MUCH. Not Batman, not The Bat, not the Knight, -- it's BRUCE. BRUCE IS THE HEART. YOU CAN'T WRITE A GOOD BATMAN IF YOU DON'T WRITE A GOOD BRUCE WAYNE!

#bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #dcu #battinson #the batman #batman 2022 #the MOST movie ever #text #rant #meta #fandom meta #text post #batman

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allonsybadwolf · 2 years

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So I'm slightly obsessed with Severance (2022) and I may have spent like a week straight cutting together an Innie Cut and an Outie cut and holy shit guys it's such an experience. I watched them both straight through like long movies and

(edit: guys it's available now!! Check the notes/reblogs of this post, or check my blog, for how to access it!!)

The Outie Cut is like an obscure offbeat indie dark comedy where none of your questions get answered and there's zero resolution at the end.

You really get to focus on oMark's perspective, which is interesting because in the show it feels like iMark is the main focus. We get to focus on how oMark's depression has impacted his life, and his journey through the confusion of what's happening with Lumon and Severance. The story feels slower and more grounded. It works better than I anticipated.

The Innie Cut is like a slow and unexpected descent into madness. Honestly, I thought the Outie Cut would be spookier, but no. The Innie Cut is very unsettling.

At first, it kind of just feels like a regular kind of office life show, where it's not at all unusual that we never see the characters at home. We only see them in the office because the show is about the office.

But then there are. Things. Very strange unsettling things. Just out of nowhere. With no context from the outside world. No relief from the blinding bright white landscape of Lumon Industries. The hallways that never stop, the walls closing in on you, the fact that you can't ever leave.

And oh my god when they wake up in the outside world in the final episode it is. SO. JARRING. It's been like three plus hours of bright white office at this point. And then suddenly, disconcertingly, you're thrown into this world that is dark and warm but unfamiliar and treacherous and you have to navigate it perfectly and fast or suffer the consequences.

And iMark, at the party. When you watch Severance for the first time, the party scene is a meeting of two worlds that are familiar to you, the viewer. When you watch the Innie Cut, you're just as off balance as iMark. You don't know these people. You don't know who you can trust. You don't know the right thing or the wrong thing to do here.

Anyways I'd love to share these cuts with people but I have no idea how to go about doing that

#severance #severance 2022 #severance apple tv plus #innie mark #iMark #outie mark #oMark #Innie Cut #Outie Cut #severance edit #severance discussion #fandom

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saltpepperbeard · 3 months

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The Kiss That Started It All Happy Second Birthday, OFMD 🏳️‍🌈🏴‍☠️💙💜

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Gentlebeard #Blackbonnet #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #Edit #Taika Waititi #Rhys Darby #ofmd gifs #ofmdgifs #ofmdedit #ofmdsource #ofmdblog #ofmdaily #how has it been two years already what on EARTH #it's not quite my fandom anniversary since i popped up around the end of june 2022 #but man lol MAN

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sulieykte · 11 months

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DILF!JAKE BODY APPRECIATION ‣ tummy pt. 1

#jake sully #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar twow #dilf jake sully #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar 2022 #avatar fandom #awow #avatar james cameron #sam worthington #✧˖*°࿐ 𝒍𝒚𝒔 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒔

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mraftonart · 2 months

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And I still believe that I cannot be saved

#my art #art #edward nashton #batman 2022 #riddler #THIS MOVIE STILL HAS A FANDOM RIGHT??#RIGHT????

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makanioverlord · 2 years

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since yellow and duck had drag outfits, I wanted to make red a matching one ❤️💚💛 this is also available as a print in my store!!

#dhmis #dhmis fanart #dhmis red guy #dhmis duck guy #dhmis yellow guy #my art #fanart #finished #2022 #dont hug me im scared #don't hug me i'm scared #fandom

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

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It’s Too Early

Pairing: Charles x Pregnant!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Tough pregnancy, premature birth, PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), IVF mentioned, angst, fluff at the end

Synopsis: Being pregnant hasn’t been easy, especially when Charles is away for the season and can’t be with you 24/7 like he wants to be. So what happens when he finds out you went into labor from a reporter? Chaos, utter chaos

A/N: Wrote this morning and I picked PCOS because that's something I suffer with all the time, and felt the need to write a fic about now, everyone's experience with PCOS and the topics discussed in this are different, I did research and put my own hardships and feelings in this, I hope everyone reads with an open mind and enjoys this but also Dad!Charles who could give up Dad!Charles

Charles would kill for you; he really would. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to kill the FIA, who would refuse to let him sit out this season to be with you, his pregnant wife.

Finding out you were pregnant was the happiest day of his life, but soon it turned...not a nightmare, but a living hell. You were classified as a high-risk pregnancy due to polycystic ovarian syndrome, something you let Charles know when you first started dating.

He was there through the painful periods, the cramps that left you defenseless and laying in bed all day, to the doctor visits and the mood swings. Through it all, he was still with you and loved you more and more each day.

When you both married and settled down a bit more, the conversation of becoming pregnant came up. Charles knew the risks and had done research before bringing it up with you; he even explored other ways of having children. But you told him you wanted to try naturally and go from there before discussing different ways and seeing what happens.

After 3 years of trying and doing everything, even trying IVF, that damn stick showed that fucking plus sign. You sat in the bathroom for hours just staring at the positive test, and that's precisely how Charles found you when he came home. On the bathroom floor, staring at the test.

He can still feel the tile on his skin as he hugs and kisses you, calming your fears away from the worst thoughts in your head.

It hasn't been an easy pregnancy, from cramps to horrible morning sickness, to the doctors worried you might give birth way too early, even being put on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy due to worries of preeclampsia. Charles fought hard with the FIA, saying he needed to be with you, but they refused to listen and told him he needed to race. You talked him off the ledge as he called to quit and stay home.

"Charles stop; this is ridiculous. You love racing; you aren't quitting because of me." You groaned, going in circles with your mess of a husband.

"No! What's ridiculous is that the FIA won't even see why my wife has a high-risk pregnancy and that I'm needed home, not driving in goddamn circles!" He snaps, slamming his phone down and pulling his hair.

"Char, breath." You whisper from the bed, in agony, simply because you can't get up and comfort your husband.

Charles, almost sensing your dilemma moves from the end of the bed to laying down next to you, placing his head on your chest, careful of your swollen breasts, knowing how much they've been hurting lately. No words are said as fingers run through his hair to calm him down and stop him from making a huge mistake.

"Charles, I'll have your mother here with me. Me and the baby are going to be okay. Listen, if anything changes, I will call you immediately. You can't miss this; you have a real chance this year and must show the world that Charles Leclerc will be a World Champion." Your words convince him as he lets off that familiar defeated sigh of his, making your smile grow at this.

"Immediately. Do you understand? I don't care if it's stupid like your back itches you call me." He bargains, making you laugh and nod in agreement.

Pascale has been staying with you for only a month, and you finally reached the safe zone, where if you did go into labor, it wouldn't be so dangerous for you or the baby. It was race day, and Charles was in Silverstone, needing to finish P2 or higher to challenge Max for the title.

It was a typical day as Pascale fixed you a light snack as you weren't feeling well, your lower back was hurting, and it felt like your pelvis had its own heartbeat. You didn't think much of it as it was a hot day in Monte Carlo, and you had read in books that it was customary to feel this, so you didn't say anything to Pascale to not worry her. The race was halfway through when the first real cramp startled you to the point you dropped your cup; thankfully, it was rubber, so it didn't break.

"Y/n? Honey, what's wrong?" Pascale was right there in an instant picking up the cup, looking over you.

"Just...a cramp, it's nothing." You mummer rubbing your stomach but flinch from how much it hurts to touch it.

"Y/n, when did this start?" Pascale asks calmly, knowing it was wise to keep you calm and not start to freak out because you might be in early labor.

"Last night, but it's picked up this morning. It's nothing, Pascale, honestly, just the baby moving." You try to reason, not wanting to jump straight to labor.

"Y/n, I'm calling for an ambulance, okay? I think you might be in early labor, and with you being on bed rest, they need to help me, alright." She mummers pushing your hair back, trying everything to keep you calm.

"Okay, okay." You repeat as the cramp passes, and you hear her on the phone telling them everything as you force yourself to pay attention to the race and not to the growing pit in your stomach that you might be in labor.

They get here fast as you breathe through another cramp. Tears start to flutter down your cheeks, the realization of you possibly in labor while Charles isn't here, but in the UK. They ask you question after question and share a look, a look that sets you off.

"No! No! I'm not in labor, okay? I'm just having some cramps, which is normal; I have PCOS; okay, nope, I'm not." You argue as the medics alert the hospital to your condition.

"Mrs. Leclerc, I understand that you are only 29 weeks and you're scared, but right now, you are in early labor, and we need to get you to the hospital as soon as we can, okay?" The friendly medic tries to reason with you, but you refuse to see reason.

"I'm sorry, but no. Charles isn't here; he should be here; I can't do this alone. I'm sorry, but I'm not going anywhere." You argue as Pascale packs your bags and looks over at you.

"Y/n, I know you are scared, but Charles isn't here right now, but he will be okay. I'll call him when the race is over and let him know immediately what's going on. But, please, if you wait, it'll be worse for you and the baby." She can reason with you, finally getting you to the hospital as you try hard to stay calm and not make things worse.

But of course, Pascale could never make the phone call as everyone was too busy keeping you calm.

Charles was on top of the world. He had won Silverstone and was only 4 points behind Max now. Sticky with champagne, he checks his phone, looking for the standard text from you, but not seeing a text from you, he hits dial, calling you. But, you don't pick up, making him call you again, yet again, you don't pick up.

He reasons you must be asleep, knowing you had been super tired lately, and his mother said everything was fine. You're eating normally and just sleeping or reading. He moves and takes a picture of the trophy, telling you he won it for you and the baby and he couldn't wait to get back home to you both. Sadly, he's pulled away from his phone to go do media even though he wants to head to the airport and go home, but he needs to do this first.

Only 4 more hours before heading to the plane, then another 5 to 6 hours before he's back home to you.

He makes it through all 5 interviews before coming to the last one, Pierre on his right and Carlos on his left as they all give their final interviews.

"Charles, amazing race. I have to say that it was fabulous to see you win this and to have your teammate and your childhood best friend up there. It must've been something." The reporter gushes, making Charles smile at how genuine the reporter is.

"Yes, um, having Carlos and Pierre be there next to me was something. I mean, the Red Bulls put up one hell of a fight, but we know not to get too comfortable and that we really need to start pushing it more and more each day so we can close the gap and pull in front of them." Charles smiles.

"Yes, this must be a wonderful day with you; with what winning Silverstone and your wife going into labor, you must be just on top of the world." Charles freezes, hearing the words come out of the reporter's mouth and let's put a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry? My wife isn't in labor," he argues, starting to fidget and lick his lips.

''Really? Reports are that she went into labor at the start of lap 23 and has been at the hospital, your mother." Having cut the camera, realizing that Charles honestly had no idea.

"Nope, she's not, okay, she's not in labor. She would've called." he snaps, hands fumbling for his phone, trying to call you again. This time, it goes to voicemail, sending his heart plummeting to his feet.

"Alright, that's enough for today." Pierre voices and grabs Charles leading him away from prying eyes as he keeps calling you repeatedly.

"Charles. Charles, stop!" Pierre yells, snatching the phone away as his friend cries. Fear takes over Charles as he starts to imagine the worst. What if something was seriously wrong, and you went into early labor. You're only 29 weeks. That's 6 months. Yes, the baby would be okay, but would you?

"Come on, let's go to the hotel. Get your stuff, and you and I will fly out and call your mom. Okay, let's go." Pierre reasons, dragging his friend away and to the cars trying to calm down Charles.

'Pierre calls Pascale and puts her on the speaker; thankfully, the woman picks up after 3 rings.

"Why the fuck didn't you call me the moment she went into labor? I wouldn't give a damn if I was still in the car. Why didn't you call!" Charles rips out before Pascale can say anything, and Pierre groans, knowing that if the situation was different, the Ferrari driver's mother would bury his ass in the ground.

"Because Charles, I've been trying to keep her calm. She's freaking out because you're not here, and honestly, honey, I forgot, as I was trying to make sure your wife's blood pressure doesn't get worse; now, get here as fast as you can because she's almost fully dilated and she needs you Charles, and she needs you to be calm and strong for her because right now she's not." Pascale hangs up, leaving the car in a stiff eerie silence.

"Get me to the airport as fast as you can," Charles whispers, making Pierre nod to ensure he'd get there.

"I can't do this, Pascale; nope, I'm sorry, but I can't. It hurts too much, please, make it stop." you cry as your mother-in-law soothes you. She tells you Charles is on the way. But that did nothing to comfort you. It only made you more anxious about the fact that this would happen.

"Y/n, I know you're scared but Charles will be here soon, okay? But you can't stop pushing, okay? All these nurses and doctors are here to help you, ow let them." She urges as you scream out from another contraction.

"I want Charles." You sob, collapsing against the bed from exhaustion. This was too much for you, the pain, Charles, and everyone in the room; you can't do this.

"Baby!" A familiar voice cries out as the door swings open, and Charles runs in. His hair is messy, and he looks so bewildered you could kiss him, but all you can do is scream.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Making Pascale and everyone else jump, Charles just smiles and pushes everyone out of the way to get to your side.

"I'm sorry, I was on a plane, and my phone wasn't working." And lies, not wanting to tell the truth of no one telling him but a reporter that you were in labor.

"You're lucky I'm giving birth right now or so; help me go-" Your words get cut off by another contraction, making you grab Charles's hand and squeeze it so hard he'd thought it'd break.

"Okay, Mrs. Leclerc, we need you to push." the doctor instructs while Pascale slips outside, startled to see half the grid in the hallway.

"Come on, let's give them some privacy." Pascale smiles, wrapping an arm around Pierre as she leads the boys down the hallway.

"I love you," Charles whispers, kissing your forehead, not caring for a minute you are drenched in sweat.

"I love you too, but we're adopting or surrogacy next time." You cry as you get one more contraction, everyone yelling at you to push, and soon your cries are mixed in with smaller ones.

"He's here. He's here." Charles repeats, kissing you all over and making sure you are okay. He wanted to check on his baby, but first, he needed to ensure you were alright.

"It's a boy? We had a little boy." You whimper, leaning into Charles's chest as you cry in relief that everything went as smoothly as possible.

"He's perfect, Y/n, all ten toes and fingers, and god, I love you so much." Charles mummers finally kissing you while the nurse cleans up your son.

"Here you go." the nurse smiles, handing you your son, who cries his little lungs out but soon stops when he's placed on your chest.

"He'll need to go to NICU for just a night so we can go over everything and make sure there are no complications, but after that, he can come down here and stay with you, Momma." the nurse smiles, going back to help make sure your vitals and everything else was good.

'Charles, and you can't help but stare at your little boy while you start to feel that ache and tiredness settle in, but Charles holds you both, his entire world in his arms.

"We need a name," Charles whispers, making you hum in agreement.

"I've got the perfect one. Also, tell Pierre I say thank you for getting you here."

Charles blinks down at you, confused, but you just giggle.

"I can smell his cologne." Making Charles laugh right along with you.

You fell asleep after picking the name, and the nurses follow Charles to the waiting room where everyone is, Pascale the first to see her son.

"Everyone," Charles starts making the others turn their heads, Isa and Carmen gushing at the tiny little baby in Charles's arms.

"Meet Pierre Hervé Jules Leclerc." Charles announces, making everyone laugh as Pierre stands there stunned, looking at his best friend holding his son.

"Really?" Pierre asks, making Charles nod. "Of course, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have gotten here in one piece. Also, Y/n says thank you." Charles smiles but adds, "she could smell your cologne on my clothes." Making everyone laugh at this.

"Can I hold him?" Pascale asks, but Charles shakes his head no.

"Sorry, but he won't be held by anyone but us and the staff for right now; he's got to go to the NICU overnight, and frankly, I want Y/n to get a say who holds him first after us, Mother." Charles smiles, but Pascale just beams, seeing Charles transform before her.

"Say goodbye to all your uncles and aunts, Pierre," Charles whispers, laying him in the trolly as the nurse reassures him that he'll be fine and he can come up and visit if he'd like.

Everyone watches as the Ferrari driver just smiles at his boy and leans down, whispering something to the baby before pulling away and watching the nurses take him a floor up.

"What did you say?" Pierre asks his friend.

"We'd always love and protect him, and he's only allowed to root for Ferrari." He laughs, making Pascale slap her son on the arm, everyone joining in on the laughter, a memory no one would forget.

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