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magnoliabutters · 1 year

Text

• EYES ON ME •

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader (they/them, 18+)

summary: captain price and station chief kate laswell assign you to your latest mission with some new and old faces. for some reason they thought it would be a good idea to have two lieutenants...

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; angsttt to smut (kinda enemies to lovers trope?); cod mw 2 campaign spoilers; reader referred to by rank (lieutenant, "lt") and call sign (aero); weapons, gore, violence; heavy petting, oral and rough sex, etc.

word count: ~4.3k

support your author: reblogs for the sexy masked menace, ghostie boy ✨

• ghost stories series •

note: hello there! i’ve desperately needed to get this ghost smut out of my head. i hope you will join me on this crazy ghost loving journey. this is also my first time writing for a gender neutral reader. please let me know your thoughts so i can make my posts more inclusive for everyone! situational dynamics are inspired by the "my personal ghost" wattpad series. highly recommend.

resource: cod character list

Your CIA briefings usually last no more than 5-minutes. Laswell informs you of the target, the place, the time, and whether it’s a capture or kill. She typically chooses the squad for you, seeing as you haven’t collected many friends along the way. Price is often involved. Your favorite captain - your thoughts, priorities, and ideals always aligned. The briefing videos are always choppy and difficult to hear, but perfect for contracts.

“Her name is Nadia Sidorov. Intel says she will be at Restaurant Ébullition in Montpellier by 21:00,” Laswell reports. “France,” you mutter under your breath. “Yes, I know you have some history but Price will make sure everything’s clear before you land,” she replies with amusement. The country leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You love France, but France most certainly does not love you. Any mission you have had there typically goes to shit and leaves you improvising. Improvising tends to lead to more trouble than needed.

Laswell continues, “You are to capture her and deal-maker for interrogation. Deal-maker has ties with AQ.” You smile, “Tying up lose ends, Kate?” A smirk grows on her face. You aren’t supposed to know much about AQ’s organization, especially anything to do with the most recent mission against them. However, you have eyes everywhere. You tend to make it habit to keep tabs on your employers. Always ready for whatever they throw your way.

“I’ll get it done,” you answer with a firm nod. You reach to end the call, as you normally would at this point. “Wait, Aero-”, Laswell adds. You pause as quickly as you are instructed. “Your squad. You’ll be running with Sergeant MacTavish,” she continues. Soap, you think to yourself. He’s a good man to have, but can be quite annoying. He never knows how to keep quiet on coms, always making the corniest of jokes to keep things light. “And Lieutenant Riley,” she hesitantly adds.

You scoff with your eyebrows pulled together. “Another lieutenant?” you ask with a monotoned voice. You try your best to keep your face deadpanned, but you are disgusted at the thought of sharing rank with someone. To have to coordinate with another squad leader? To have to compromise and hear out their thoughts on how to approach the mission. Fuck that. “Price’s orders,” she shares. With an audible growl, you confirm, “I’ll get it done.” You furiously click the button to end the call. “Fucking hell.”

Boots on the ground and you are already dreading this mission. “Aero, it’s nice to see you again,” Soap says in passing as he pats your back with a smile. God, you hated his constant chipper attitude. You nod as you watch him run off towards the Captain’s table. There Price is, another wild style to his already wild beard. As soon as he makes eye contact with you, his eyes dart towards the map he’s laid upon the table. Oh, he knows exactly how much he’s asking of you by pairing you with another LT.

You observe the other men around the table. Many of which you have not met before. This was not out of the ordinary. It appears you may have been late to the briefing, despite being an hour early. “Welcome Aero,” Price says with a nod. “Captain,” you respond as you walk up to the table. “This is Alejandro and Rudy from Mexican Special Forces,” he continues. Rudy nods as Alejandro shoots you a smile. “You know Soap and Gaz.” Soap smiles at you, while Gaz smirks with a raise of his brow. You have some history with Gaz, but you were always a big fan of the solider.

“Lieutenant Riley, aka Ghost,” Price continues with finality. Soap bites his lip as he leads your gaze over towards the tall dark mass in the corner. The first thing you see is his skulled mask. It covers all but his eyes. Those eyes that burn holes into your face. They gaze back at only your eye line and none of your other features. He leaves no social or facial cues for you to decipher. You find it incredibly annoying.

You've had experience with masked soldiers. Usually, there's not much to look at underneath the mask. Or their face is a constant reminder of who they've become so they hide it away and never address it. You wonder why Simon Riley wears his, and why it's a skull. What's underneath? What's Ghost hiding? Arms crossed over his chest displays his black tattoos spread across his forearms. Interesting that he has visible identifying features, yet continues to use a mask.

“And this is Lieutenant y/l/n, aka Aero,” Price continues, pulling you from your thoughts. You look over the squad. If Price orchestrated this assignment, everyone must be more than capable to complete the mission. You trust your life in the Captain’s hands. However, it’s difficult to transfer that trust to those you’ve just met. Unfortunately, you have to try. “Hello boys,” you greet with a nod. A grin quickly forms on Soap, Gaz , and Alejandro’s faces as they exchange looks. Ghost remains stone cold, as far as you can tell.

“Sidorov will be meeting AQ’s out-sourcing team at the breakfast. We’ll have Gaz and Aero pose in the restaurant. Ghost and Soap overwatch. Alejandro and Rudy for exfil,” Price informs the group. Like a shot of unfortunate luck, both you and Ghost speak at the same time. “Why do they want her?” and “What does she have to offer?” You both exchange looks. Yours full of disgust. Ghost's eyes as ambiguous as ever. Soap and Alejandro snicker quietly. “This’ll be fun,” Soap adds with a bump to Gaz’s shoulder.

“Why do we need two Lieutenants, Price?” Ghost asks sternly. You weren’t able to hear it before on account of you both speaking over each other, but the tall masked man sounds deep, raspy, and unbearably serious. His voice filled with British inflection. The melodic tone has peaked your interest, but not any more than the Captain’s answer to the question.

Price sighs deeply, appearing to be annoyed. “God damnit,” he mutters under his breath. “Alright, you are both experts in your own fields. We need two of our top players for this mission. You two are the lieutenants. Figure out how you will both lead the 141.” He clearly has been annoyed for some time regarding the assignment, but funny how you have yet to even bring it up. Ghost, over there, must have drilled him prior to your arrival. He growls in response as you swear you watch the whites of his eyes roll. A slight smile forms on the side of your face.

With a clearing of your voice, you repeat, “Sidorov - what does she have to offer AQ?” Gaz quickly steps in. Your eyes darting towards his movement. “She’s an arms dealer. Pretty big in Europe. We have word that she’s moving something big,” he shares. “We need to find out what, when, and where.” You hum at the sound of his intel. “Sounds like fun. Where will exfil be?” you ask with your eyes to the map. Alejandro points towards the bridge across the way from the restaurant. “Los Vaqueros will be here. Ready for support if needed," he answers confidently.

"Alright," you answer. With a flick of your eyes, your glance shifts up to Ghost. "You got any questions, LT?" you tauntingly ask. You know exactly what you are doing. Hell bent on poking this masked bear. Soap exchanges looks between you two, like his first Christmas with divorced parents. Another growl emerges from behind the mask. It leaves you with a smirk. "Let's roll out," Price says as he grabs hold of the map.

Restaurant Ébullition has an interesting feel to it. Its stoned walls transport you to another time, but the food has you right here in the present. "God, I love when we get to eat on the job," you say with a mouth full of food. "You're damn right, Aero. This tastes incredible," Gaz responds with a laugh. You chuckle alongside him, truly selling the idea that both of you were close friends on a dinner date. All while beautiful Nadia is sitting alone three tables down from you. "Are you both done?" the chilling, deep voice plays through the covert communication device in your ear.

"Ugh. Can't even enjoy our meal, huh, Gaz?" you ask with a laugh. "Always work and no play," Gaz taunts. Ghost willingly radios his annoyed grunt. You take another bite of your pasta. A piece of you hinting that it should be your last, seeing as you are about to embark on quite the physical journey.

"AQ has arrived. One going in, two security outside," Soap radios in. You place down your fork as you shine a smile towards Gaz. "Eyes on," you whisper through your smile as you mark the male figure walking towards Sidorov. He wears a navy blue suit that fits him like a glove. "Confirmed meeting," Gaz says as he stabs his fork into another bite of food. You bite your lip as you watch the man and Sidorov greet each other. They both sit down as their hands rest upon their phones. "Electronic transaction," you mutter against your cup right before taking a sip of your water. "Tracking," Ghost answers coldly.

Gaz smiles as his hands reach over to yours. You oblige as you lean closer towards him. His fingers warm to the touch, but hardened in the way you appreciate. His delicate brown eyes leaving you with a genuine smirk. As much as this mission irks you, you do appreciate having something beautiful to look at.

While you are lost in thought, Gaz passes a small cylindrical item into your palm. "Who do you want?" he asks with a grin. The question leads you to believe the item is a tranquilizer. "Hm, I was thinking the man. I like his suit," you lean closer into him as you grip onto the needled tranq. He smiles devilishly as his eyes fall towards your mouth. You hum as you lightly place your lips upon him. Your eyes initially closed, but slowly open once you hear movement from the targets’ table.

"Are you two done snogging or are we gonna get the arm's dealer?" Ghost abruptly pours over the coms. You pull back with a laugh. "Someone's a little jealous," you murmur. That brings a huge smile to Gaz’s face. “Quite the opposite,” Ghost retorts. You place a gentle hand upon Gaz’s cheek, covering your mouth from Sidorov’s point of view.

You continue to keep your eyes on Gaz’s to sell that you were speaking only to him. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to be here and eat this delicious food right now?” Gaz places kisses to the palm of your hand. “No, I would not want to down there with you,” he answers matter of factly.

As much as his comment left a sting to your heart, you watch as Gaz’s eyes track Sidorov through the restaurant. She stands and walks towards the back kitchen. The AQ target stands as well. He straightens out his dress shirt and walks over to the front. "It's done," you whisper. Once their backs are turned, both you and Gaz go to your designated targets. He should have her down easy, but worst case he has Los Vanqueros to back him up. You, on the other hand, have to rely on Ghost’s overwatch.

“He’s about to meet up with his men,” Ghost chimes in. You hurry your pace as you watch the man pat one of his security on the shoulder. “Window’s lost. Made it harder on yourself,” he shares with disgust. Soap awkwardly adds, “What’s the point if there’s no challenge?” With a roll of your eyes, you mark one civilian in the area - the valet boy. As the target was finishing his conversation, you quickly move past him to give the valet your ticket first.

The boy runs to grab your car in the other lot. You turn to the men with a smile sprawled across your face. “Sorry, boys. I’m in a bit of a rush,” you share as they look at you with disdain. Abruptly, you stab the target in the top of his thigh with your tranquilizer. Your thumb pressing firmly against the plunge. All while spinning your leg through a low kick and dropping one of the security guards onto their backs. The other one attempts to reach for his gun. You quickly grab your knife from your boot and fling it. It lands perfectly into the man’s chest, just as Ghost’s bullet plows through his head.

You let out a growl as you turn your attention towards the man on his back. You rapidly plunge your other knife into his heart as you look up towards Ghost’s overwatch position. “I had him,” you say through gritted teeth. “Didn’t look like it,” he responds. You shake off that bullshit and reach for the AQ trader. He rests peacefully, face down, on the sidewalk.

As you lug him over your shoulder, a car pulls around the front in a mad dash. You lock eyes with Rudy, who’s smile slowly grows. “Hola, teniente,” he greets. “Qué tal, Rudy?” you respond. You walk the target over to the trunk of the car. Your arm pulls it open. You lean your shoulder over its empty so that the target lands gracefully. Closing the hatch, you hear Ghost ask, “Gaz, Alejandro - you at exfil?” You intently listen as you walk over to the front seat.

“Yes, LT, with target in hand,” Gaz answers. You pull yourself into the front seat. “Let’s wrap this up and get home,” you say sternly. All in hopes of closing the mission out before Ghost. How did your sole purpose in life become annoying this masked mystery? You watch as Rudy begins to laugh beside you. You can’t help but smirk as you mutter “Shut up” under your breath.

• qué tal: what's up?

Ghost stands in the corner of the room, his apparent favorite spot. His lurking tall mass blending in with the darkness. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. His presence is making interrogation so much harder for you. His continuous staring leaves you uncomfortable. You catch glimpses of his eyes through the swaying lamp that fills the room. They are always looking back at you.

Soap rests against the wall. His eyes solely focused on the target, which you greatly appreciated. He remains silent as you do your work. The group had brought Sidorov and the AQ contact to a US black site. Each room was lined with sound proofing, perfect for what you had in mind. Even the briefing room outside was lined with the proof, just to further ensure the intel received stayed with the right hands.

“Man, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. I really don't want to fuck up this suit," you say as you pull against the AQ target's blazer. "What’s your name?” you ask. You crouch in front of him as he sits upon an old chair with his hands tied tightly behind him. The man smiles, “Fuck you.” His accent thick with Russian descent. “Alright, ‘Fuck you.’ What is Sidorov moving?” you ask. That gets a chuckle out of Soap.

The man remains silent. His eyes tracking your every movement. With a sigh, you pull out your knife from your back waistline. “How’s this going to go?” you ask as you shine your knife towards him. “Fuck you,” he repeats without hesitation. You smile as you plunge your knife into the top of his thigh. The man’s screams radiate throughout the room. Music to your ears.

“Stand down,” Ghost announces as he walks from his darkened corner. You rise from your crouch to meet him head on. “Excuse me?” you ask. Did this asshole really tell you to stand down? As if he has any authority over you? After all his condescending shit tonight? Fuck that. You stand face to face with nostril’s flared and your fists clenched.

“Hey, hey, hey. Let’s take this outside, LT’s,” Soap suggests as he guides you both outside of the interrogation room. With a slight close of the door behind him, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “You two need to talk. I’ll keep pressing him,” he says as he walks back inside the interrogation room. The door makes a clear clicking sound when he locks it behind him. Making it impossible for you both to follow him.

Once Soap is gone, you turn to look at Ghost, who’s been staring at you the entire time. “The hell is your problem, Ghost?” you ask, rage filled through your voice. "You aren't needed here. You can leave," he states calmly. You scoff, trying to hold back your laughter. You lean in, closer to his stitched skulled mask. "I'm pretty sure the Captain decides that. Not you," you whisper.

"Back up," Ghost warns. His voice remaining cool, calm, and collected. You lean in closer to him. Your face right in front of his. You are practically begging for him to do something. You can see the anger building in his eyes as you show no fear, no authority, no respect. Finally, some emotion he cannot hide. "No," you retort.

Ghost quickly extends his arm to land a blow to your gut. You, just as quickly, block it and land a fist against his jaw. Hey, he started it. Your leg goes in for a kick, but he blocks it with his own. He lands a blow against your gut that time and another onto your nose. Blood trickles down from one of your nostrils as you increase the distance between you two.

The familiar itchy sensation as the blood pools atop your upper lip. You can't help but smile. You always enjoyed a good fight. Your nose bleeds for only a minute. His eyes remain hellbent on you, still filled with rage.

Through dipping and ducking, you manage to drop your fist onto his zygomatic bone. Guaranteeing a black eye that only he will see when he takes off his mask. As you reach in for another jab to his nose, he wraps your extended arm around your body. He tucks you close against his as he pins the arm across your chest. Your elbow digging deep within his stomach. He grunts as he rapidly adjusts his hand placements.

Before you knew it, your pinned arm was now being used against you and holding your chin against your left shoulder. Your other arm now held tightly at the side of his hip. He got you. Fuck.

As you both breathe heavily against each other in this tight hold, you continue to try and best your way out of it. With each of your movements, you begin to feel a growing firmed mass against your ass. You recognize exactly what it was. It was difficult to pull your focus back towards getting out Ghost's hold. It even left you wondering if you wanted to. Confusing thoughts flood your brain as your body continues to make attempts out of his grasp.

You finally are able to move your leg enough to land the heel of your foot against Ghost's toes. In his pain, you are able to snake your body away from him. You face him once again, but this time with your hands to your sides. His brown eyes watch you carefully, preparing for your next move.

As you often do when fighting, you allow your body to take control. You trust your instincts and where your body leads you. You raise one of your hands as your eyes remain on Ghost's. Your dominate hand slowly travels to the inner hem of his cargo pants. As he feels your gentle touch, he takes in a sharp surprising breath. His eyes remain on you and still filled with anger. But he wasn't stopping you as you place your palm upon the outline of his cock.

You press against him with more force. Your own mouth begins to hang as you pull closer to him. His bulge growing in your hands. Ghost releases a shaky breath as his chin raises. His eyes remaining on you. Before you can stop yourself, you whisper, "I want it." Another breath is released between the two of you. It is followed by a hesitant nod of Ghost's head.

With his agreement, your hands gradually travel to Ghost's belt. You unbuckle it while both your eyes continue to remain on each other. No one would dare break the gaze. As you unzip and lower his pants, you slowly descend onto your knees in front of him. The bulge is even more evident against his blacked out boxer briefs. Your mouth begins to water.

Ghost's breathing intensifies at the sight of you on your knees. Your eyes still fixed upon him. Slow again, you pull down his briefs. Your eye contact breaks only to reveal the large girthy red tipped cock that flips onto his toned stomach. You release a slow breath as you see a bead of precum emerging from his slit. Your mouth is drawn to him. It is undeniable.

You allow your body to take charge once more. Your hand slowly wraps around the base of his cock, firm against his groomed curls. Your mouth slightly opens as you are ready to take him in. Ghost's fingers curl underneath your chin. Your eyes land upon his once again. Those warm brown eyes watching you with hellish intent.

He softly instructs, "Eyes on me, Lieutenant." With a growing smile, you guide his cock towards your mouth. As your lips wrap his tip, you watch as he takes in a heavy breath. His eyelids slightly fluttering. You note that he is trying his best to keep his eyes on you as well.

Circling his reddened head, your tongue lathers Ghost's cock. The salted taste of his precum leaving you with an abundance of warmth within your chest. You hum against his dick as his girth feels fantastic in your mouth. He begrudgingly releases a short, low toned groan as you take more of him in your mouth. "Fuck," he murmurs as his hand moves towards the top of your head. As his body tightens, his hands grip onto several strands of your hair. You enjoy the tightening pull against your scalp as your tongue travels against the thick vein under his dick.

Ghost's moans fill the air. You grab tightly against the back of his thighs as you take more of him into your mouth. He fills your mouth so fucking good. The sounds he makes when your tongue explores his cock leave you so close to your own euphoria. You struggle to keep your eyes on him, but his are most definitely on yours. "Let me fuck that pretty face," he says as he gathers more of your hair. He ruts his hips against your chin and cheeks. His cock firmly pressed to the back of your throat. You gag on his length, which makes him thrust harder into you.

"God, you take me so well," Ghost whispers as his cock twitches against the roof of your mouth. You decide to take control and wrap your hand around his base once again. You begin to pump his dick as your mouth sucks tightly against his head. Your tongue lapping up anything that came from his pretty slit. He struggles to find his balance as you suck on his cock. He leans against a desk as your hands rest firmly against the tops of his thighs.

"Fuck. Get up," he demands with his hands now hooked under your arms. He lifts you up quickly, leaving a gasp escaping your lips. He spins himself around you so that your back is against his chest. Ghost lands a firm hand against the crook of your neck. With his strength, he pushes your chest down onto the desk. Your body feels on fire as he plans to use your ass however he pleases. You feel his hands harshly pulling your pants down.

As you lay bare assed in front of him, Ghost's breathing heavies. One of his hands lands upon your waist as the other guides his cock to your hole. You feel his saliva-soaked dick circle your entrance as you grip onto the desk. Any and all surroundings were gone from your field of vision. All you had was this desk and Ghost. You moan as you feel his cock twitch against you. You wanted him so badly in this moment. Nothing could take this away from you. Until you hear the popping of the door's lock.

You feel Ghost's hands push off of your back. You quickly raise from the desk and pull your pants up. You see Ghost doing the same in your peripherals. Pulling your shirt down, you look up to see Soap opening the door slowly. "Sidorov's got a stealth bomb drone. AQ's hoping to use it against Las Almas cartel and Los Vaqueros," he shares with concern. You answer with a clearing of your throat, "Two birds, one stone." Soap nods. "Let's see if Alejandro, Gaz, and Rudy got anything out of Sidorov," Ghost says as he quickly turns and leaves the briefing area. You turn to Soap to see if he might have anything to say from what he saw, but he fortunately did not seem phased. Maybe he didn't see anything. Fuck, you hope he didn't see anything. With a deep breath, you follow Soap into the hallway.

note: let me know if you want more! i think i want more tbh <3 reblogs if you enjoyed please!

• take me • part two •

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

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ultrasofts · 1 year

Note

any advice on how to get into indycar? i see more posting about it these days and it seems fun but i don't know anyone personally who watches it

Okay, I took like three weeks to reply to this because I am using it as an excuse to make the “Indycar 101 from the perspective of a new fan” post that I have been meaning to make for a while, because I would love for more people on here to watch it!! It’s extremely fun, close racing, with some great talent and interesting narratives. It’s a less polished product than F1, and sometimes upsettingly American, but it’s great and it genuinely brings me a lot of joy.

This primer is light on the history of the series, designed to answer the basic sorts of questions that will come up if you just put on a race and try to follow what’s going on. It’s also 100% targeted at people who watch F1, since, you know, that’s the corner of the internet we’re in.

There’s three basic sections, so feel free to jump around as is useful, because this turned into a probably unnecessarily long post.

Part 1: Basic series info

Part 2: How to follow a race weekend

Part 3: Who to root for

Big thank you to Fir @josefnewgaydengayden for their contributions <3

Part 1: Basic series info

Teams

I think the first thing to know is that there’s no teams championship which imo is a big part of why the teammate dynamic is quite different to F1. Team orders aren’t really a thing, and there’s not really any such thing as a “number one driver” in a comparatively meaningful way

Teams have varying numbers of cars. Anything from 1-4 is common (last year’s grid had that full spectrum). You can also have part time or shared entries - for example Marcus Armstrong and Takuma Sato are essentially sharing one of the Chip Ganassi cars this season, with Sato running the ovals and Armstrong running everything else

Currently, the two top teams are Penske (Power, Newgarden, McLaughlin) and Chip Ganassi (Dixon, Palou, Ericsson, and Armstrong/Sato). Last season the championship contenders at the back end of the season were Power (who ultimately won), Newgarden, Dixon, McLaughlin and Ericsson (yes there were five title contenders down to the finish)

The close competitors - teams what will almost certainly win at least one race this season (very possibly more) and could have their best drivers in title contention are Arrow McLaren (O’Ward, Rosenqvist, Rossi) and Andretti (Herta, Grosjean, Kirkwood, DeFrancesco)

There’s other teams that I will leave you to look up based on which drivers you’re interested in

Cars

The cars are mostly spec—they have the same chassis and aero package. There are two engine suppliers: Honda and Chevrolet, and the tyres are Firestone

Teams are allowed to build and develop some of their own parts, like the brake ducts and certain suspension parts

Overtake assist is Push to Pass rather than DRS — drivers get a set number of seconds per race where they can push a button to get a power boost. They can use it anywhere on track, offensively or defensively, but once it’s used up, it’s used up

Unlike F1, the cars have no power steering. That’s why Josef Newgarden looks like that (jk but also not)

The cars also don’t have anti-stall, so if a car stops on track, you’ll often see it have to be fired up to get going again

Tracks

Indycar races on street courses (street tracks in F1), road courses (equivalent to what just get called tracks in F1, like Barcelona or Bahrain), and ovals

I wasn’t 100% sure about the whole oval thing, but oval racing can be crazy exciting (and absolutely fucking terrifying). I would highly recommend this twitter thread as an intro to Indycar oval racing—and in general Cassie is a great follow for new fans!

The Indy 500 is its own beast and won’t get into it here. Really though, the main difference aside from the Stature and Importance is the qualifying format and the extra entries—in terms of the actual race, it’s conceptually similar to other oval races

Where do I watch it?

If you’re willing or able to pay, Indycar Live is a great deal—it’s only $3/month or $20 for a season pass. They also have individual race passes! You’ll have to use a VPN though, if your location is not on the access list (due to broadcast restrictions)

Otherwise, check whatever the way to access it in your jurisdiction is - in the US/Canada I believe you can get it with a Peacock streaming subscription, and in Australia it’s on Stan Sport (although it is so much cheaper to get a VPN + Indycar Live)

Alternatively, all your usual illegal streaming sites should have what you need!

Part 2: How to follow a race weekend

In broad strokes, it’s very similar to an F1 race weekend. Practice, qualifying and race sessions, although obviously some of the details differ…

These car liveries girl help 😭

This was probably the thing that I found hardest in terms of watching a race and understanding what the fuck was going on - teams don’t have the same liveries on all their cars (although sometimes, e.g. McLaren, they go for similar looks across them), and cars don’t necessarily have the same livery race-to-race

My advice is to just pick a few to learn and pay attention to throughout a race. The livery of your favourite 2-3 drivers, or ones that are really easy to pick out (because they’re bright colours, or just catch your eye, or whatever). Once you know a couple of livery + driver combos, that’s a useful anchor to the timing screen, so you can find who is in front/behind them. You’ll pick it up much faster than you think—and you really do not need to know every single one, I certainly still don’t!

I’ve put the spotters guide for the liveries for the St Pete race just gone below and circled a few I would generally recommend learning. The circled ones are all what those drivers are running this weekend in Texas, with the exception of Josef who has my fave livery of the weekend with the fruity PPG look

Liveries I’d recommend as good starting points: Scott Dixon’s PNC Bank because he doesn’t change much and tbh it always pays to know where he is in a race. Kyle Kirkwood is often in the hot pink Andretti. Josef’s Hitachi livery, and Will Power’s black and red Verizon are pretty easy to spot. McLaren are generally easy to spot if you’re used to looking for the papaya cars - I’ve circled Pato’s papaya and black livery below. Colton Herta’s yellow and black Gainbridge and RoGro’s DHL liveries are also pretty distinctive!

Practice

It’s free practice who gives a shit

Qualifying — Street/Road courses

In generally, it’s really similar to F1—there are 3 timed stages, with a cutoff position in Q1 and Q2. The main difference is that Q1 goes out in two groups, and the fastest 6 in each go through to Q2, and the 12 get whittled down to 6 for Q3

Qualifying — Ovals

For oval races, drivers go out one at a time, in reverse championship order. They get two warmup laps, and then two consecutive qualifying laps

Average speed across the two laps is the driver’s qualifying speed, and the fastest speed gets pole

As I said above, Indy 500 qualifying is its own beast, although it broadly follows the strokes outlined above

A word on the goddamn qualifying timing screen because this is the hill I will die on

Look, if you watch F1 quali, you’ll know enough to follow the basics of a street/road course quali session out of the box

However, the timing screen is not good and you just gotta live with it. The number on thing I wish we could bring over from F1 is the broadcast timing screen and some of the broadcast graphics

When drivers are on a lap, there’ll be a delta time next to their name, and the box with the time will either be green or red. Sometimes the delta time is to the cutoff (i.e. the delta to the person currently in P6) or to P1. Sometimes it’s clear from context which of the two it is, sometimes it’s not. Also because everyone is on the lap, just because someone is green, doesn’t mean they’re safe as everyone else below the cut could also be green, and unless you can do really fast math… no hope. The size of the delta will give you a sense of how safe or not someone is, and if you’re focusing on one driver it’s mostly manageable but it’s not ideal

In general, I would say qualifying matters less than in F1, as the cars are closer in performance and there is in general a lot more overtaking, so I can live with it

Race start

Indycar always has a rolling start — they do a formation lap, then the green flag goes and the race starts as they cross the line. Sometimes I miss the drama of a standing start — lights out in F1 is pretty fucking cool. That said, the Saudi GP of 2021 cured me of the need to ever see a standing start again in my life so it’s good, actually. The start is still exciting and stressful, just a notch or two less so

Pitstops

These really can be chaos personified. There is no such thing as a safe release. Pray to any god you believe in that your guy makes it out alive, especially if a ton of people are in at once on an oval

Stops are significantly longer than F1—the limiting factor is typically the refuelling time, so there’s less of a hustle on tyre changes (although they are obviously still very fast). 7-8 seconds is typical

Races will often have more stops than an F1 race, too—3-4 stops is not uncommon

Strategy

This often comes down to tyre strategy and fuel management

Similar to F1, everyone has to use both a hard tyre (called the blacks, or the primary tyre) and a soft tyre (called the reds, or alternate tyre. This season there’s actually a different alternate compound, with a green stripe, for street courses. So you might see commentators/drivers referring to “sticker reds” when a driver is quite clearly on a green-stripe tyre

Similar to F1, drivers have to use more than one compound; the rule is actually that drivers have to complete at least two laps on each tyre type. Drivers can start on whatever they want and use them in whatever order, but they have to use both

There’s a single type of wet tyre for rain, and also a specific tyre compound for ovals. (Note that oval races don’t run in the rain on account of how it would be extremely fucking dangerous)

Tyre deg management is conceptually similar to F1, and broadly the same strategy considerations apply

Fuel management is absolutely critical and fuel saving strats and ability can make all the difference. I feel like it’s especially critical on ovals although this might just be that it has been for the oval races that I’ve watched. If you start watching Indycar you will, inevitably, hear a commentator talk about how Scott Dixon is a master of fuel saving

Part 3: So who do I root for?

So I am a firm believer that you don’t pick your fave—your fave picks you. But that said, here are some of the narratives for some of my faves, fave-adjacents and popular picks that may or may not be of interest to you. Listen to your heart…

Scott McLaughlin, aka Scotty Mac. Kiwi driver, came across to Indycar from Australia’s V8 Supercars series in 2021 (as a three time champ in that series) and took to single seaters like he was born for it, scoring a P2 in his third ever race (and first oval) and winning rookie of the year. He had a breakout season last year, with three wins and admittedly a bit of a midseason slump. Super fast, super racey. Genuinely a title contender, but there’s a lot of that going round in Indycar. For me the narrative this season is whether he can build on last year and be a proper front runner, and build some of the consistency that was lacking last season

Josef Newgarden, America’s Boyfriend. Handsome in a corn-fed, broad-shouldered, pure American beef kind of way. Two-time title winner, with a hattrick of runners-up trophies. Number one Scott McLaughlin fan. I think the narrative for him this season is if he can find his happy place every single week. He had a frustrating year last year—true win or bin. He won more races than anyone else, but had quite a lot of DNFs too, often not of his own making. Changes to his crew and team meant that things weren’t exactly seamless, and I think it was really clear that it was a frustrating year for him. I really hope he can find some goddamn luck this year, to go with the mountains of talent and hard work

Scott Dixon, the GOAT. He’s won six championships, and has been a contender in almost every season he’s run. He won his first title in 2003, and his most recent one in 2020. Fuel saving king. Nothing in life is as certain as death, taxes, and Scott Dixon being in the title fight. Literally does not matter where he starts a race, you’d be silly to ever assume he’s not going to find his way to the front. Root for this guy if you love a capital w Winner. (And if you’re a FE fan, his WAG is the man who finished 33rd in the 2008 Daytona 500, Dario Franchitti.) Narrative-wise, there’s a few records he’s chasing, and a seventh title would obviously be a huge deal, but his Big Thing is that for a driver with as much success as he’s had, he’s only had one Indy 500 win. It was all lined up to be his last year, but I’m too traumatised to talk about it but a 1 mph pit lane speeding violation scuppered his chances

Will Power, yes that's his real name. Imo Will wrapped up his Compelling Narrative last season, when he won his second title with one of the biggest mindset and energy shift a professional athlete has ever pulled off? Historically a big hothead, he won the title in 2014, but was never able to get it across the line a second time. Last year he came in with a totally different attitude—he was zen as hell, so much so that it clearly freaked out and bemused the commentators because it was a talking point literally ever race. He was Mr Consistency, always always maximising his points and staying out of trouble, and it won him the title. This season it’ll be interesting to see if he can deliver the same kind of energy and performance - signs from race one point to yes

Colton Herta, he’s just a funky little guy! Front man of garage punk band The Zibs moonlighting as a racing driver. You've probably heard of him in some way or another if you're following the McLaren-Ganassi Saga last season, and the subsequent superlicense eligibility back and forth that followed. He's highly rated for a reason: he's IndyCar's youngest race winner, and since his debut in 2019, only three other drivers have won more races than him (Colton won 7, 2 of them in his debut season in a non-clear front runner car). He's still rough around the edges especially when it comes to patience, but you can't deny his blistering pace, car control skills, and racecraft. With Alexander Rossi moving to McLaren, as the most "senior" member of the Andretti Autosport organization this might be the year he's expected to step up. Fights alt right trolls on Twitter from time to time

Romain Grosjean, the ex-F1 driver (there’s a bit of that going round in Indycar). If you’re coming from F1, you obviously know the backstory here. He had a great first year, but a frustrating second one when he moved to Andretti. He’s had two poles, and been close to race wins, but hasn’t closed the deal yet. (Personally I think the man should not try it around the outside of turn 4 at St Pete but maybe that’s just me.) I do think him getting a win is very likely, either this season or next—I don’t know if he’s title contender material yet, but the thing about Indycar is you kind of never fucking know

Pato O’Ward, no. 2 entry on Zak Brown’s list of twinks under contract. I understand why people tend to sort of compare him to Lando, but I personally don’t really see it? He’s a bit of a shit stirrer and trouble maker, but he’s extremely funny about it—he’s annoying (affectionate). Multiple race winner, and general consensus is that he has what it takes to be a champion, but can McLaren Get It Together. He lost out on what should have been a win at St Pete due to an electrical (?) issue and he was incredibly pissed off about it in a way that made me like him enormously. The other potential interesting narrative is the light potential for a McLaren Civil War between him and Alex Rossi which isn’t something that’s expected to happen so much as something I am desperately hoping for

I’ll leave it there otherwise it’ll end up covering half the field because, well… There’s hard-done-by F2 drivers who didn’t have the money or connections or whatever to make it to F1 (Callum Ilott beloved, and Marcus Armstrong), there’s the good-but-never-quite-delivered-on-his-promise Alexander Rossi driving for a new team (McLaren) for the first time in his Indycar career, a 33-year old rookie in Augustín Canapino who’s only ever raced tin tops but has no fear of god or the english language and is doing a full program, including ovals, this year, Florida Man Kyle Kirkwood, a man whose actual name on his actual birth certificate is Sting Ray Robb… the list goes on and on.

So...now what?

Indycar is back this weekend in Texas for an oval race (which had a crazy exciting finish last year) and then in two weeks at the Long Beach street course. I can’t recommend giving it a go enough, and my inbox is always open for questions, and my DMs for in-race screaming (and also questions.) I’m still pretty new to the series myself and almost certainly won’t know the answer but I will do my best and point you to someone who can answer you if I can’t.

If you’ve made it to the end, thanks for reading and pls watch Indycar <3

#this is too long sorry i got carried away #also if i did your fave dirty (sorry marcus ericsson fans he deserves more than this) pls feel free to add your one paragraph #on why someone should root for them #indycar #asks #anonymous

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finelinevogue · 1 year

Text

thank God for mistletoe

summary - you and harry are left alone just before Christmas

pairing: uni!harry x uni!reader (UNIverse)

word count: +1.3k

‘It was a week before Christmas and you were still at uni.

Your mum couldn't find the time to get off work and come collect you yet and you didn't want to catch a train due to how much stuff you'd have to carry back with you.

So here you were, still at university. Rob, Mikey, Sophia and Alanna had already all gone home. Harry's excuse was that his mum didn't have time to collect him either, too, but everyone knew that was such a lie and that he really just wanted to spend time with you. Plus, he didn't want you to be all alone in a flat this close to Christmas.

The week had gone by fast, you and Harry having spent every day together doing different activities.

"That's cheating!" You gasped, watching as Harry moved the ball with his golf club rather than hitting it.

"No it's not. You clearly don't know the rules of crazy golf, Y/N." He had replied, watching as his golf ball went in the hole perfectly.

"Are you gaslighting me?" You said with fake hurt.

Harry had decided on mini-golf, it having started with a bet that he could beat you at it. Harry played professional golf every so often with his dad and friends, but little did he know that mini-golf was where you thrived. You were a master at it, having played so much with your mum at the arcades on a weekend.

He quickly figured out that you were actually very good and was now resorting to cheating methods in order to win.

"If you have to ask then maybe you don't deserve to win." He raised his eyebrows playfully, taking the ball out of the hole.

"You're such a dick." You pouted, before lining yourself up to take your final swings.

You ended up winning and Harry was so sore over his loss that he watched mini-golfing videos later on that evening so he was better prepared for next time.

Another day, you'd been to the planetarium.

The stars up in space circled above your head and you watched as an asteroid or a satellite would pass by.

You were both laying down next to each other on the beanbag, so close yet still with some space in between. The room wasn't too cold but they'd still offered blankets, which you and Harry were now snuggled underneath.

"How many stars do you think there are out there?" You asked him, barely at a whisper since the room was very quiet apart from some celestial music playing.

"Billions of trillions." He replied.

"And we account for one of them. Makes you feel insignificant doesn't it?" You turned away from the screen above and over to look at Harry, his head tilting to see you too.

"Nothing about you is insignificant, Y/N." He replied, reaching for your hand beneath the blanket and interlocking his fingers with yours. His hand was warmth against yours and you couldn't help but overtly smile at the homely feeling of his skin against yours - his hand held in yours.

You'd especially liked the trip you two took to the Christmas market.

Harry passed you your hot chocolate that he'd just bought for the two of you. His was a mint-Aero hot chocolate and yours was an Oreo hot chocolate.

He took a sip and you looked at him expectantly, "Good?" You asked.

"Mm."

"Thank you for this." You motioned towards the cup of hot chocolate. It was very kind of him to have bought it for you, considering he too was a broke student with little pennies left.

"Y'can buy me a cinnamon roll later." He nudged you.

"How about we share?" You counter offered, knowing the food here would cost half a days wages.

"Even better."

As you were walking around, taking in all the warm coloured lights hanging off various stall, you couldn't help but feel more at home here with Harry than you had ever felt before. He, in your mind, had progressed beyond a friend level but you had no idea whether you could tell him that without ruining everything.

The hand holding from the other day played on your mind so often. Your hand had never felt so cold and alone since he had dropped your hand after the Planetarium.

Until now, when he reached for your hand again. His hand slipped perfectly into yours again and you smiled all over again, it feeling like a silly high-school crush. Your cheeks burnt as hot as the fire where people were roasting their marshmallows. He even gave your hand a squeeze that time, guiding you around the Christmas market so you didn't miss a single stall or a single twinkling light.

Now, sat in your bedroom after face-timing your mum you heard Harry knocking on your bedroom door.

You got out of bed and opened the door for him.

“Hey.” You smiled.

“Hi.” He smiled back, looking nervous.

“You alright?”

He unfroze himself and answered rushed, “Um, yeah. Uh, this is for you.” He handed you a red envelope that looked like a Christmas card.

“Can I open it now?” You asked and he nodded.

You let go of the door to open the card and Harry kept it open for you, needing to watch your reaction as you opened up the contents of it. His heart started to race at the thought of screwing everything up within the next minute of his life.

You pulled out the card and your lips parted as you looked at the design of the card. There was a beautiful watercolour picture of some mistletoe and then underneath, written in pretty calligraphy, was the phrase; ‘For the one I want this Christmas’.

“Harry...”

“Just read the card, please.” He shushed you, needing you to read the inside of the card too.

You nodded and opened the card to see some mistletoe inside. You eyes welled up a little as you took in his words on the inside of the card. It was hard to believe that this moment was happening and that it was happening to you.

Dear Y/N,

Merry Christmas.

It’s the one time of year we justify kissing someone just because of a plant on the ceiling. You’re my kiss under the mistletoe (consent permitted of course).

Yours, Harry xx

You looked up at Harry and saw that he had a small, timid, smile adorning his face. He raised his eyebrows expectantly and you didn’t have to say anything, the small nod of your head and few trickling tears was enough for the both of you to understand that you wanted him under the mistletoe too.

“Hold that up then please.” Harry laughed, pointing towards the mistletoe he’d put inside the card.

“I’m not tall enough to hold it above you.” You sniffled some tears away.

“Stop making excuses. Just c’mere and let me kiss you.” He pulled you in by your waist, holding the mistletoe up in the process.

Before you knew it his lips were on yours. Your stomach burst with a billion trillion sparks, burning up just like all the stars in space. Your hands slowly made their way up to his cheeks, to direct the kiss more. He hummed into the kiss and moved his lips so softly against yours, but left bruises in their wake.

He pulled away all too soon, wanting to have a look at you before continuing.

“If it wasn’t obvious already, I really fucking like you and I hope you feel the same way too. This isn’t just a mistletoe kiss for me.” He admitted and you smiled so brightly, because you felt exactly the same way.

“Nor me. I, just.. I’m new to all this, though.” You reminded him that he had just been your first kiss and he would be the first person you’ve dated. As much as that scared you, it excited you so much more. You were absolutely ready to be with Harry.

“That’s okay. We’ll take it slow, okay? We’ll go at our own pace.”

“But I still get to kiss you, right?”

He cutely laughed at you, stroking a thumb over your blush-filled cheeks. “Yes, ‘course you can kiss me.”

All you could think of after that was, thank God for mistletoe.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles blurbs #harry styles finelinevogue #christmas!harry #finelinevogue christmas fic #harry styles christmas #harry styles christmas fic #harry x reader #thank god for mistletoe

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whipplefilter · 10 months

Note

What do you think McQueen's first race was like?

Unmemorable. Set-up was off, never really found the track--he doesn't have a crew chief; the last one walked off and Rusty and Dusty are still throwing darts at resumes--and he wrecked out before the end. Nothing major, but he hit the wall trying to take the high line, out of the groove and into the marbles, busted a toe link. Hit some other stuff on the way down to the apron.

Rusty and Dusty have been told to expect growing pains. Rookie racecar on a first-year team? That's a hard game to play. Don't let it get you down.

Lightning, on the other hand, is told he cannot crash again.

"Racecars crash," Lightning replies churlishly. He's embarrassed. Upset he didn't get to run all the laps. This gig feels like it has more sitting than racing--one day? Out of the week?--and he had to watch all those other guys still racing, still flying, out there without him. Stupid infield "care" center. He hates seeing his name at the bottom of the leaderboard. 2 points. He's already over 40 behind the leader. By the time this season ends, they could have over 2000.

He'll have over 2000. He'll get there. If it weren't for the toe link, he could have won this. (He'd been running 17th all day, minus pit cycling. Whatever.)

This BMW guy doesn't understand, because he is not a racecar.

"Yeahhhhh. Racecars crash. You don't, though. Not on this team, you don't."

Racing's only good as long as the money holds out, the BMW explains. Rusty and Dusty? They're playing pro ball with Mexican league money.

Lightning's brow furrows.

"That's baseball," says the BMW.

"I know," says Lightning. (He doesn't.)

But he does know this: If the money runs out before the championship, he will not race at all. He won't be watching from the infield care center. He won't be watching from the track. He'll be back in Charlotte, watching on TV like he's no racecar at all.

Racecars crash, but lightning strikes.

The BMW--Harv, his name is Harv--laughs when Lightning says this, says, "Sure, kiddo. Whatever you gotta tell yourself," but Lightning takes this at face value. And it is what he tells himself.

By the end of the West Coast swing, people are talking. Rookie racecar will run the roughest, rookie 20 laps. But then things start changing. Then he's racing the King's lines, he's passing even when the aero's saying don't, only an idiot would-- From green to checkered it's like he's racing seasons and not laps. He's learning fast. Kid races like every lap's the last one. Not good race strategy, running your suff that hard every lap, not thinking at all about tire wear or pit strategies or building a race over time. But maybe it doesn't matter, whatever world he's living in. It's working for him. If you're first every lap, then when the checkered flag comes you won't be seeing taillights (they are stickers--).

He's not first. Not yet. But he doesn't crash.

On RSN they're talking about what they think they'll see out of him next year, with more races under his timing belt, when the circuit comes back to sunny, busy California. ("You mean when the circus comes back?" "Haha, oh Darrell--")

"Heck, I wouldn't wait for next year!" Darrell says, after the patter's moved on and the topic is racing again. Real racing. "Look out for that kid now! Our should I say 'take cover'? Get it, lightning?"

They get it.

Next week at Bristol, Lightning flashes his sticker for the cameras, says "kachow" for the very first time (at least, where anyone could hear him. He talks a lot in his hauler, alone. He says a lot of things).

This time, the high line works. And he does not crash.

#lightning mcqueen #pixar cars #cars fandom #asks #harv #my man harv #the world's greatest agent #h a r v

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happybirthday-unusannus · 9 months

Note

could you doodle a hedgehog for me? or anything else you want it'll be cool regardless

I. Cannot say I’ve ever drawn a hedgehog before but hopefully this little guy suffices!! He’s just a little guy!!

#ask reply #not happy birthday #aero and Lennie poll bribery #invisible-brandy

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topsyturvy-turtely · 1 year

Text

Fluffbruary with turtely

(missed days edition)

Day 18

[day 17] [day 19]

prompts: recovery | flight | film by @fluffbruary

fandom: BBC Sherlock

will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!

A/N: this is more hurt/comfort than fluff i hope that's okay. entirely inspired by this post. also: this is long! be prepared!

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

John Watson, the flight attendant on the aircraft from LHR, United Kingdom to PAR, France, noticed the nervous passenger at first glance. Sweat damping curly dark brown hair, fingers twitching, eyes already looking for emergency exit signs.

John greeted him with a friendly smile and directed him down the aisle where he could find his seat.

As soon as the passenger sat in his seat (21D), his legs started bouncing. John memorized the seat number just in case.

And the case was as soon as they had taken off. The passenger's face had turned extremely pale and his breathing became faster and faster. His knuckles turning white, because he gripped the seatrests so tightly.

John couldn't take it anymore. He walked over to the man. "Good morning, sir. May I ask if this is your first time flying?", he questioned.

The man barely gave him a look, stared straight ahead and shook his head tightly. "Don't like planes much. Please don't lecture me how 'the risk of dying in a car crash is far higher than in a flight crash', I know that." The passenger grumbled through his teeth. "People just seem to neglect the fact that IN CASE you crash with an aero plane, you fall from the sky, approximately from around 33.000 to 42.000 feet. The impact this would cause to a human body is-"

"Alright. You seem pretty damn smart for having half a panic attack there.", John said, something about the man letting him drop the mask of politeness he usually wore as a steward.

"It's called aviatophobia."

John smiled. "They say calling the fear by its name takes away its scariness."

"I wouldn't necessarily agree." The passenger argued, his legs still bouncing and his eyes still haunted.

John bandied looks with Sarah, his co-worker, who gave him a thumbs up. So John crossed his legs and let himself glide to the floor. He held out his hand. "Haven't introduced myself yet, have I? John Watson. What's your name, if I may ask?"

"Sherlock Holmes.", the man replied, taking John's hand in his own. Finally he looked, no - studied - John's person. The anxious passenger had an incredible face. Unique. Eyes changing colors every time he laid them on another object of interest. High cheekbones. Lips, perfectly shaped. It was an angular face, not fitting into any beauty standards and yet remarkably gorgeous. Briefly John wondered what those lips would taste like, but he quickly pushed this thought away. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

The passenger still held his hand in his and looked intensely into his eyes. "Sherlock will do."

John nodded, "Alright, Sherlock." The flight attendant liked how that name on the one hand rolled off his tongue but on the other hand had a hard ending. In some way, it suited the man in front of him. "What are you doing in Paris, at this time of year?", It was the middle of the winter, but the snow seemed to refuse to agree with that and stayed in the comfort of the clouds.

"Sightseeing.", Sherlock simply replied, and looked away.

John scoffed, "Yeah, right", he said.

The passenger's head whipped around. "Why are you laughing?"

"A bloke like you sightseeing? You are wearing too expensive of a suit for that. And why would you take the plane if you clearly have a fear of flying? The train connects pretty conveniently nowadays. It doesn't make sense. It has to be something urgent."

Sherlock's intense eyes glared at him again, and John felt a bit hot. This guy had some effect on him... if he wasn't in this situation of him being a flight attendant trying to prevent a passenger from panicking, and they were in a pub or something... John would probably even take his chances.

"Not as stupid as I thought you'd be.", the other man stated.

John laughed at the directness of his conversational partner. "Well, I'd hope they wouldn't give a doctor's degree to complete idiots."

Sherlock cocked his head slightly, the initial anxiousness obviously slowly fading. "What does a man with a doctor degree do on board of an airplane?"

"Oh, it's a long story..."

"Elaborate. I insist."

The two man continued talking like this. Sherlock in his seat, John on the floor, their hands intertwined. Sherlock occasionally gripping John's hand tighter when turbulences occurred, John casually explaining how it came to those. Sherlock seemed to know most of it already, but apparently John's voice seemed to calm him down. After a while, John had to walk through with a cart to offer beverages to all passengers. When he was done, John had hoped Sherlock would have kept the calm from their conversation, but apparently the fear had come to the surface again.

John didn't think for long; He grabbed two cups of coffee and headed back to his problem child, who was his favorite passenger at the same time. Together they drank their coffees, Sherlock holding on to John for dear life and they shared more about their life, anecdotes and thoughts. John felt bad about it, but he was almost glad Sherlock suffered from aviatophobia, because otherwise, he probably would never have gotten to exchange words with the fascinating man.

When 1 hour and 15 minutes have passed, they finally landed. Reluctantly, John had to take a seat away from Sherlock and the other passengers to stay safe. He kept clenching his fist, when suddenly a voice caught his attention. "He'll be alright. Stop worrying." It was Sarah.

"I know. But I am... worried.", John said, embarrassed about already feeling attached to the almost-stranger.

"You know what I think you should do?", Sarah asked. John opened his mouth but was interrupted, "Give him your number. And don't give me your 'But I am not gay' bullshit, either. We both know that's not quite true. Trust me. I know that look on your face. Give. him. your. number. Or I will.", She casually said but John knew she was right.

For a minute he sat there in awkward silence but finally his heart won over his head and he frantically searched for a piece of paper and pen.

Before the seat belt sign turned off, John used the opportunity to slip Sherlock his little note. He already walked away when he turned around and saw Sherlock's confusion in his face. The man pointed at himself and mouthed 'Me?'

John nodded enthusiastically and mouthed, 'Yes, of course. You.' back. To make sure there was no doubt he made fist, stuck his pinky and thumb out and shook his hand close to his ear, 'Call me'.

When everyone had left the plane, John's phone dinged.

John? SH

Attendant. JW

Did you seriously think I addressed anyone other but you with my note? JW

Funny. SH

Needed to be sure. SH

Well, be assured then ;) JW

Call me. Hopefully we'll get to know each other in a more comfortable atmosphere. JW

Wouldn't want to miss it. SH

Good. Me neither. JW

Call you later? SH

Oh, god. Yes. JW

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: endings are hard :( feedback is so so precious to me! please don't hesitate to give constructive criticism or anything else, as a matter of fact. love you! thanks for reading! *throws badly cut out paper hearts at you*

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence

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thatonewatching · 11 months

Text

Masky/Tim head canons and scenarios

Head canons and scenarios for each! CW: Self-hate and swearing,

Stubborn: "Tim, oh my fucking God. Can you just admit you were wrong? You do not know where we're fucking going!" Brian yelled, slumping back against his car seat. "I do fucking know! I just made a wrong turn!" Tim retorted. "Sure," Brian muttered, rolling his hazel eyes underneath his black mask. "Quit being a stubborn asshole."

Chubby: As his eyes grazed over the parts of his body, a kind of shame washed over him. Grabbing at his tummy, a sickness fell over him, complete disgust lacing his sullen features. "Tim, your body is fine," you assured, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "It's perfect to me, okay?"

Dad bod: His arms raised, and he flexed his gained muscle. "Dad bod energy!" Brian cheered. Tim's eyes fell onto the brunette man a foot or two away. "Up yours!" Tim joked.

Not very touchy: You extended your arms, waiting. "What?" he asked, flicking the ashes of his small cigarette onto the concrete. You moved your arms, giving him a look. "You want a hug?" Tim scoffed, taking a long drag of his nicotine stick. (Lmao idfk) "Tough luck, kid."

Bad hygiene: As Tim stared in the dusty mirror, the smell of sweat overwhelming, he peeled off his clothes, dropping them into the hamper, he stepped back into his bedroom, walking to the closet. He grabbed some clothes, slipped them on exhaustedly, and fell into bed, falling asleep as he hit the pillow.

Hairy motherfucker: Your fingers brushed along the revealed skin of his, hand being tickled. "Damn, you hairy motherfucker." you joked. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes ruefully. "You still love me."

Intimidating: Tim's figure towered over the smaller boy, casting a dark shadow over his cowardly features. "Who are you talking to?" he snapped. "I'm sorry," the boy apologized. "Who the fuck are you talking to?" he repeated. "I'm sorry, sir."

Doesn't like sugary things: "How do you want your coffee?" you asked, peeking your head from the kitchen to watch Tim's eyes flicker to yours before his answer. "Black," his eyes flicked back to the book he was reading, eyes moving slightly with every word he consumed. "Like your soul?"

Doesn't like cheesecake (y'all ruined it): "Want a slice of cheesecake?" you questioned, slipping a piece of the sugary treat onto Brian's plate. "No?" he said, yet his answer sounded almost questioning, as if he were confused by your inquiry. "What?" you replied, noticing his foreign tone. "I don't like cheesecake anymore," he said, eyes refusing to leave his distraction. "Why?" you pressed. "Brian."

Black coffee: "What can I get you to drink?" the waitress asked. "Coffee," Tim answered. The waitress' eyes turned to you, waiting. "And you?" she pressed. "I'll have (f/d)," you answered. She nodded, walking off. Returning a moment later, she placed your drinks down, sliding packets of sugar to Tim's side. "Milk?" she asked. He shook his head. "I like my coffee black; thank you, though,"

Favorite food is prob grilled cheese with tomato soup: As your eyes fluttered open, the scent of food filled your nose. Toddling into the kitchen, you watched as Tim put the last grilled cheese onto his plate. "Whatcha eatin'?" you asked. "Grilled cheese and soup,"

Basic bitch: Opening his closet, flannels, jeans, and hoodies hung. "Red flannel, red flannel, or red flannel?" you teased. "I think I'll go with the red flannel," he joked. "Good choice,"

Listens to classic rock (like AC/DC or something): Climbing into the car, Tim flicked on the radio, scowling and sighing as some hip-hop song began to play. "Hand me that CD, would you, (y/n)?" he requested. Handing him the flat piece of plastic, he took it gratefully. Inserting it, he pressed play, and AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' began to play. After a few minutes of the song playing, he sang along the entire time. "I'm on a highway to hell!"

Aero sexual: "What's your sexual preference?" you asked, glancing over at Tim, his eyes red. "None of the above,"

Needs time to himself: "Tim, can't you just tell me what's wrong?" you whined, following behind the towering man. "Nothing's wrong, (y/n), I just need some time to myself. "Are you sure?" you pressed. "I'm sure!" he slammed the door behind him, making you stop in your tracks. "God damnit, Tim."

Smokes all the fucking time: You clambered out of the bed, the smell of smoke slightly preset. "Tim?" you muttered, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the room. He hummed slightly, torso pressed against the windowsill, hand and head out of the window with his other cupping his hand's elbow. "Why the fuck am I in your bed?"

Brian forces him to drink tea 'cause it helps smokers: "Timothy, you smoke excessively. Just drink some tea," Brian said, placing the steaming cup in his friends' reach. "Fuck you, Brian," he snarled. "Well, I'm not going to let my friend die from black lungs!"

Good at math: You groaned loudly, eyes snapping shut in anger and frustration, as your hands pressed against your cheeks. "Oh my fucking God," you whined, tears pricking at your eyes, but you couldn't tell from what emotion. "What?" Tim asked. "Nothing," you lied. Eyes scanning over the paper once again, for the millionth time, perhaps, you sighed. A shadow cast over your figures, making you struggle to read the other equations. The paper lifted as Tim took the paper from your desk. "Are you kidding? The answer is negative sixty-seven,"

Hates math: "Thanks, Tim," you muttered. "No problem," he sighed. "What?" you inquired, writing down the answer. "I have to help you write out the equation, don't I?" he mumbled. Looking back down at the question once more, you concluded that the answer was yes. "Yes..." you answered. "I fucking hate math,"

Petty: "Tim, where's my slice of pie?" you asked, closing the fridge and standing to your full height. "My stomach," he replied. "Why?" you hissed. "Because you drank the last beer,"

Strongly opinionated: "Tim, oh my fucking God..." you pinched the bridge of your nose, holding your eyes closed angrily. "I'm sorry, is Brian not dirty blonde?" he hissed. "He's fucking brunette!" you yelled. "He's fucking dirty blonde!"

Hard to convince he's not right: "Tim, coffee is/isn't better than tea," you argued. "Lying asshole!"

Bad at reading: "Tim, what's the order say?" Brian asked, glancing at his friend. "It says that we have to," he stopped, squinting his eyes. "Kill a guy names Duke Aubertine."

Needs glasses but refuses to get them: "Dude, you can't even read the fucking cover!" you teased. Tim's eyes squinted. "Fuck you,"

Anger issues: "Tim, you've got something on your shirt," you said, pointing to a spot in the center of his chest. He looked down, and you flicked his nose up. He grunted, pushing you away lightly, as he stormed off.

Okay cook: Your door creaked open, and you spun around to see the towering man in your doorway, holding a plate. "Made you some spaghetti," he said, placing the glass on your desk. "Thanks, Tim."

(NOT PROOFREAD; I'M SORRY IT'S BAD)

#hoodie #marble hornets #timothy wright #brian thomas #creepypasta #scenario #headcanons #head canons #SFW

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skitariiposting · 8 months

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Dear Skit,

I'm currently playing AdMech in a Crusade at my FLGS and I wanted to ask some advice.

(Two losses and one win so far, but I'm managing to pull out in time before anything gains a battle scar. Plus I reclaimed some relics[bits] from some Orks!)

Currently my army has three female characters, two male, and two gender-unspecified. Is that a good enough ratio? I'm worried that there's too much gender in my metal.

Also after doing that transkit, I wanna do more pride flag rad-troops - already got bi-skit and rainbow penciled in, assuming I can get the paints to look right, any suggestions for more?

Thank you for hearing me out,

A humble servant of the Machine God

Dearest Kannaar,

I'm sorry about the late reply. I had a busy day yesterday that's carried over into today, so I haven't had a chance to check tumblr until now.

Congrats on the win! Way to bring in a W for the mechanicus! I hope you had a great rest of the night!

To weigh in on your first bit: My headcannon (and a couple others on here I think) is that Admech is inherently a very androgynous/gender lackadaisical faction. Its restrictions on members are likely less gender restrictive than the empire's, and its proclivity for modification of the body, either biologically or mechanically, tends to leave the concepts of gender all over the place.

So, as far as gender distribution ratio goes, yeah, you're certainly on the right track👍So long as there's a nice variety and it doesn't feel too heavily weighted in either direction, I think that fits a nice ratio, at least in my personal opinion.

Second, getting a bi-flag skit would be epic, I would love to see it when you finish it! As far as recommendations go, I'd say getting some Ace and Aero flag ones would be cool as well. I'm sure they'd appreciate some appreciation, too :)

Jerry, representative of the Skitarii Union, and also humble servant of the Machine God

#ask-itarii #skitposting #admech #skitarii #warhammer 40k #adeptus mechanicus #warhammer #warhammer 40000 #40k

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jomiddlemarch · 5 months

Text

Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense

“I’m worried about Matthew,” Mary said, having set down the coffee-pot, every Wedgewood cup filled. The meal might have ended with port or brandy for the men in a household aspiring to be fashionable, but to Jed’s eternal amusement, Mary held fast to her New Hampshirewoman’s disapproval of anything she thought was more for show than purpose and though she was not deeply involved with the temperance movement, she saw limited appeal in spirits, which unlike coffee or even tea, never enlivened the enervated nor hastened industry. Jed spent a good deal of his time trying to impress upon her the value of leisure, but admitted it was a Sisyphean task. She applied her considerable efforts, fussing he called it, to the well-being of those she called friends, so he could not be surprised at her declaration.

“I’m sure you needn’t,” Emma said. This only caused Mary to purse her lips in a manner Jed found adorably kissable, but which indicated she felt Emma was not taking seriously what she deemed a serious matter indeed.

“Why are you worried?” Henry asked. “He’s not written often since he went to New York. At least not to me. Perhaps you’ve heard more from him?”

“If she hasn’t, it’s not for lack of trying,” Jed remarked. “At this rate, we may send Daniel out West to earn his Harvard tuition as his mother’s spent it on postage—”

“It won’t work, Jed, Emma and Henry already know you for a fabulist. You ought to confine your exaggeration to your waistcoats,” Mary replied, sounding very much as she had when they’d first met in Alexandria, all asperity and wit. She turned to face Henry, whose earnestness still matched her own. “It’s not so much what he says as what he omits and there are times I almost feel he’s written me a sermon instead of a letter to a friend.”

“I thought it would be easy enough for him, in New York. They’re not known for their propriety as Boston is,” Emma said. She had found it more difficult than she expected to gain acceptance, even as Mrs. Reverend Hopkins, her soft drawl a lesser issue than the myriad small faux pas she made, which she discovered only through a raised eyebrow or a short, barely audible sniff. When Mary’s efforts at consolation had proven ineffective, she’d brought Emma to Margaret Brook and then to the Bhaers’ exercise in utopia. She’d left with a hand-printed program of “The Pirate’s Fearsome Revenge and Also, His Parrot Makes a Freind” as a talisman against disappointment. “No Lowells, no Cabots, it might as well be a children’s garden party at Plumfield.”

“Evidently the von Rhijns and the Astors would make the Cabots and Lowells quail,” Mary said. “There’s a brazenness in New York society that’s frowned upon in Boston and Matthew mentioned that some of the newer families, the Russells in particular, are rather given to excess, even though that is reflected in their charitable giving as well as their millinery.”

“You are concerned Matthew will be caught up in the battles between old and new money?” Henry asked. “That he may be diverted from his ministry and his neediest parishioners?”

“The man survived five holiday bazaars, including the one the former Miss Hastings attended,” Jed said. “Have some faith—”

“He was at home then,” Mary said. “He knew the players and he knew who he might call upon as allies, should he need them.”

“You make it all sound quite cut-throat,” Jed said. “Not that I don’t think Anne brought a Bowie knife to that sewing bee you hosted. I expect she spiked the punch from her trusty flask as well.”

“No one serves punch at a sewing bee,” Emma said.

“I’m afraid Matthew’s affections are becoming improperly engaged,” Mary interrupted. Henry frowned but Jed let out a low whistle, one his sons had all learned to replicate. He was teaching the girls in secret.

“Improperly engaged! Given the source of such an assessment, I can only assume our esteemed Reverend Forte is enamored of a circus performer or perhaps his inamorata is a lady aeronaut,” Jed said, making little effort to restrain himself. He was, after all, among friends.

“Do be serious,” Emma said, an exhortation Mary knew better than to ever bother with. Henry, uxuoriousness undimmed by nearly twenty years of marriage, patted his wife’s hand. Mary rolled her eyes, but Jed could tell she was equally amused by his playfulness and Emma’s exasperation. There was little latitude granted to a minister’s wife in Massachusetts and Emma’s thirsts for gossip and the latest fashion were generally unquenched.

“Not a widow of means, then?” Henry said.

“He writes almost effusively about a Miss Brook and no, Jedediah, there is little chance she’s any relation to Mrs. John Brook, the surname is common enough,” Mary said.

“What makes an engagement an improper one then, Molly?” Jed asked.

“As her title suggests, she is unmarried, but not fresh from the schoolroom. She is a lady of some years—”

“An elderly spinster,” Jed remarked. “Probably poor as a church mouse, though I’d defer to Henry to explain why all the mice who make churches their residence are doomed to being impoverished. Not much opportunity for cheese, I suppose—"

“Hush!” Mary exclaimed. “She is of middle years and unmarried but what makes the engagement risky—”

“Not risqué,” Jed muttered under his breath, low enough Henry could claim he hadn’t heard but loud enough he’d grinned.

“Is her connection to the van Rhijn family,” Mary went on.

“Is she a second cousin? A cadet branch? A companion?” Emma asked, speaking the word companion as she might say harlot.

“She is Mrs. van Rhijn’s only sister,” Mary said. “He was invited to luncheon at the van Rhijn house. They had New England clam chowder. Miss Brook admitted amidst the guests that she’d had it specially prepared to remind him of home.”

Emma looked aghast.

Henry looked as surprised as he had when his eldest daughter Lydia had announced her intention of studying Ancient Greek at Wellesley College the day after the school’s charter was announced. She had been five at the time and was already halfway through Cicero.

Mary looked concerned and also divinely self-satisfied, largely due to the expressions on the faces of both Hopkins and the near-absolute silence that had descended on the sitting room. Jed could only barely make out the sound of the boys arguing, Rebecca wheedling cakes from Mrs. Hudson for Beatrice and the Hopkins girls. They were dear to him, these three, and though he could not share in the apprehension over Matthew Forte’s affections and reputation, he was fond of the minister in his own way.

“As it’s evident the three of you believe Reverend Forte shortly to be torn limb from limb, either figuratively or literally, with the likelihood of a new iteration of New England chowder featuring a man of God, his frock coat, and quantity of diced potatoes doused in cream soon to be presented at the van Rhijn table, I would suggest a course of action,” Jed said, allowing himself to wax, if not rhapsodic, then comedically melodramatic. Mary might take him to task later, but they were all so earnest and Emma, in particular, needed to be reminded there was life outside the parlor and parish hall, life she had once lived, most threatening with her swinging hoopskirt. It was always fraught, to refer to the War, each of them carrying their own burdens, each of them managing in the best way they knew how, but they had once attended or performed in the dramas of the Mansion House Players and given the clear desire to make a tragedy out of a few lines in Matthew’s letter, their previous experience would be well to be evoked.

“Well, out with it,” Mary said. “You’re overdoing the dramatic pause, Jedediah. If Timothy and John were with us, you wouldn’t escape so lightly—”

He nodded. The two younger boys had his same taste for mockery and were only slightly reined in by Daniel’s steadiness, so like his mother’s, and Bea’s innocence. Rebecca would only egg them on. Mary could quell them all with a glance but only if she chose.

“Matthew needs an ally. Reinforcements. The introduction of an unexpected character from the wings, kitted out with a shield and sword. And flask,” Jed said. Henry and Emma still had blank expressions but a light came into Mary’s dark eyes as he spoke and he loved her for it. “Mrs. Frederick Morris—”

“Nurse Hastings?”

“Anne?”

“I may quibble with your approach, but I must admit, this is a pretty solution. A surgeon’s intervention,” Mary said. “No one can deny Anne has the acuity and aim of a scalpel. She’s impervious to shame, while being well-aware of its impact on those around her. And she has the resources to allow her to make a splash in New York society, though her money’s old enough she will merit some respect. I shall write her in the morning.”

“And if she does not succeed?” Emma said.

“I suppose Dr. Foster may find it necessary to visit Mrs. Manson Mingott and make sure she has been taking her tonics as prescribed,” Mary said, smiling. “Or then, Newport is lovely in the summer and we’d be happy to have you and the girls come to stay for a few weeks, Emma. Henry, if you can’t get away, you needn’t fret. We shall have it all well in hand and Mrs. Brook and Mrs. Laurence will make sure you don’t expire while living as a bachelor.”

“I notice you don’t leave Henry to Jo Bhaer’s tender mercies,” Jed remarked.

“I shouldn’t think he’d survive the theatricals at Plumfield,” Mary said. “And she has quite a heavy hand with caraway, which I know makes Henry dyspeptic.”

“Shouldn’t we just send you to Matthew’s side? Within a week, you’d have wedding bells rung for the lovesick couple and Mrs. van Rhijn ringing them herself as well as all the receipts for Delmonico’s menu for Mrs. Hudson to improve upon,” Jed said.

Henry nodded.

Emma smiled.

“I’m far too busy here at the moment,” Mary said. “And Anne is likely in need of some diversion.”

“Heaven help Mrs. van Rhijn,” Jed said.

“I believe Matthew must be trying his best in that regard,” Henry said.

“Unless she has already dispatched him for chowder,” Emma added, making them all laugh.

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shadowqueen402 · 6 months

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Ooh! Ooh! Saw that TADC×BWW. I love it! How about a Fic of the Circus Gang(TADC) meeting the Costume Representatives.

Example

Dusk Butterfly, Dynamic Dolphin, Tornado Wolf

Ooh! That would be pretty interesting. To make it better, each individual member will meet a certain Representative Costume.

[With Pomni 🎈]

Pomni cautiously looked around Fiona's stage. "H-Hello?" She called out. "Is anyone here?"

"Are you lost, new Visitor?" A female's voice grabbed Pomni's attention, causing her to jump. Pomni cautiously turned to the source of the voice and stopped.

Standing there was a dolphin-shaped being. "W-Who are you?" Pomni asked.

"I am Dynamic Dolphin," The being explained. "I am what Visitors call a costume."

Pomni seemed to calm down a bit. "A…costume?"

"There are plenty of costumes for you to wear in all of Wonderworld." Dynamic Dolphin smiled. "I happen to be a specific costume called a Representative Costume. These types of costumes represent the Inhabitant that resides in the stages. But, like all costumes, I grant the wearer a certain ability."

"What ability will you grant me if I wore you?" Pomni's fear almost disappeared completely. She was now mostly curious.

"I can allow you to swim in those water pillars." Dynamic Dolphin pointed to the pillars that were made entirely out of water. "Now, some costumes can grant you two abilities. Jellyjolt can not only let you swim in these pillars, but she'll allow you to surround yourself in electricity in order to deflect electric-based attacks."

"Would it hurt?" Pomni was a bit unsure.

"Of course not," Dynamic Dolphin replied. "Shall I introduce you to the other costumes? I'm sure that they'll like you."

[With Jax 🐇]

"Alright, I've had enough of this," Jax said, glaring at the snow. It was the fifth time that he'd almost slipped on the icy paths.

"I wasn't aware that we were having company." A female's voice spoke, grabbing Jax's attention. He looked over and saw a creature with light blue fur and deer antlers staring at him.

"Who are you, snowball?" Jax asked, smirking at the being's frown.

"I am Frost Fairy," The being said, not amused with the nickname Jax gave her. "I am what you would call a costume. Basically, when you wear me, I will grant you an ability to use. But I'm no ordinary costume. I'm a Representative Costume as I represent the Inhabitant of this stage."

"Cool." There was sarcasm in Jax's tone. "Anyways, where can I meet this Inhabitant?"

"She's not here at this moment," Frost Fairy said. "So you're going to have to wait until she comes here."

"Aww, don't be such an icicle, snow fox," Jax teased Frost Fairy. But suddenly, a snowball was thrown at him which caused Jax to be temporarily frozen into a 6'2 ice block.

"Something tells me that Iben won't like this guy," Frost Giant said, frowning at the frozen Jax.

[With Gangle 🎭]

While she enjoyed the view of Haoyu's stage, Gangle was not fond of the strong winds that blew from the fans. Unfortunately for Gangle, a strong gust of wind blew off her comedy mask, causing it to fall to the ground and break in half.

"My comedy mask is broken," Gangle said, immediately sobbing. While she was sobbing, she didn't notice a being approach her while holding her broken comedy mask.

"Excuse me, but is this mask yours?" A male's voice caused the crying Gangle to look up. It was a being with bat-like wings and was dressed as though he was ready to fly an airplane.

Gangle sniffled. "Yeah. The wind from the fan blew it off and it broke. And Balan had just fixed it."

"Oh, don't worry," The being comforted Gangle. "It was an honest accident. But strong winds are a downside to this stage. I'm Aero Acrobat, a costume of Haoyu's stage. A Representative Costume, to be exact."

"A costume?" Gangle asked.

"Basically, we give Visitors a certain ability if they wear us," Aero Acrobat explained. "I allow the wearer to land direct hits on targets while in midair. I'll have to demonstrate it to you some other time. But right now, let's worry about your mask. Haoyu has some glue that he can use to fix it. I know where he is."

"Okay…" Gangle sniffed. "Thank you."

[With Zooble 🪅]

"Out of all the possible themes, why did this stage have to be fire?" Zooble asked, looking around. There was lava in the majority of the stage.

Which meant Zooble had to be careful when walking. She was not risking having her parts being burnt.

"Coming through!" A male's voice shouted as he rushed past Zooble. He was a being that resembled a fire hydrant where a firefighter's uniform. He approached the lava and started shooting water at it, creating a temporary path. Then, he looked at Zooble.

"You might as well walk on it while you have the chance!" He said to her. "It's not going to last long!"

With a shrug, Zooble rushed over to the path and made it to the other side. And it was just in time as the path started to fade away into the lava.

"How did you do that?" Zooble asked the being.

"It's a gift," The being said. "I'm Water Blaster. I'm a being known as a costume. As you can see, when you wear me, I give you the ability to blast out water in order to help you safely cross lava without getting burnt. But unlike other costumes here, I'm a Representative Costume."

"The difference being?" Zooble raised a brow.

"Representative Costumes represent the Inhabitant of the stage they're in," Water Blaster said. "In this case, I represent Eis Glover, a real-life firefighter. The rest of the Inhabitants even have one of their own."

"Interesting," Zooble said. "I'm still getting used to this Wonderworld that Balan introduced me and the others to. Frankly, I hope Jax doesn't cause trouble…"

"Is this Jax a friend of yours?" Water Blaster asked.

"Something like that," Zooble replied. "Word of advice; if he asks you if you like pranks, walk away."

[With Ragatha 🩵]

"Wow, this is a really beautiful world!" Ragatha looked around Jose's stage. "There is a lot of vegetables, though." She took a closer look at the farming tools. "How long have they been lounging there?"

"Hard to say," A male's voice replied, startling Ragatha. "But don't worry, Jose still uses them."

Ragatha turned and slightly gasped. In front of her was a being that looked exactly like a wolf with red fur. "A-A wolf?" She was shocked.

"Not just any wolf," The being replied with a proud smile. "I'm Tornado Wolf. I'm a costume that will grant the wearer the ability to create tornadoes, hence my name."

"Costumes can do that?" Ragatha was now even more curious.

"In Wonderworld? Yes." Tornado Wolf smiled. "However, unlike the rest of the costumes, I'm known as a Representative Costume. These types of costumes represent the Inhabitants. I represent Jose Gallard."

"Who is this Jose?" Ragatha asked. "Does he tend vegetables?"

"He does," Tornado Wolf replied. "He's a farmer. So it would be his job to tend crops."

"Since you've mentioned that there are more costumes, could you show me them?" Ragatha gave Tornado Wolf a hopeful stare.

"I sure can do so," Tornado Wolf responded. "Follow me!"

[With Kinger ♟️]

"What is this place?" Kinger asked, gazing at the medieval-themed world that was Cal's stage. "Is there an insect collection here?" Kinger decided to walk and see what he could find.

"Excuse me, I didn't know that there was another white king chess piece," A male's voice said. Kinger turned and yelped at the small being that stood a few inches away.

"Sorry if I startled you." The being, which resembled a white king chess piece with four cannons, bowed to Kinger. "I noticed you came by so I decided to see what was going on."

Kinger breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, as a royal figure, I can assure you that you are forgiven. Could you tell me who you are? And what this place in Wonderworld is?"

"You're in Cal's stage," The being said. "I am Quad Cannon; Representative Costume of Cal Suresh. When people wear me, I give them the ability to shoot out cannonballs from all four sides."

"Costumes can have abilities?" Kinger asked.

"Yes," Quad Cannon said. "Every costume in Wonderworld will give the wearer certain abilities. This is to protect you from any threats."

"I must tell Caine about this," Kinger said.

"Who is Caine?" Quad Cannon asked. Kinger looked at the costume and yelped, causing the costume to sigh.

[With Caine 🎪]

"Well, this world is not like any I've seen!" Caine said. "Wonderworld is surely full of surprises!" He flew around Yuri's stage, taking in the scenery. Though it was a bit dark, there were some glowing mushrooms that helped Caine see.

Suddenly, Caine noticed a purple butterfly-like creature fly by. "Why, what an interesting creature!" He exclaimed.

His voice caught the creature's attention. "Oh, hi!" She greeted Caine. "I honestly thought Yuri came back today. But I haven't seen you before! Who might you be?"

"I am Caine, ringmaster of The Amazing Digital Circus!" Caine introduced. "And what might your name be?"

"I'm Dusk Butterfly," Dusk Butterfly said. "I'm a costume. When you wear me, you'll receive the ability to fly. But only in dark spaces. My power weakens in bright spaces. However, I'm a Representative Costume."

"What are Representative Costumes?" Caine asked. "Do tell, my friend!"

"Representative Costumes are beings that represent the Inhabitants!" Dusk Butterfly explained. "I represent Yuri Brand. Every Inhabitant has their own Representative Costume!"

"How marvelous," Caine replied, sounding impressed. "Too bad the circus doesn't have this! Wonderworld really is full of surprises."

#balan wonderworld #fanfic #the amazing digital circus #bww costumes #jax #pomni #ragatha #zooble #gangle #kinger #caine

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honnojis · 7 months

Note

OK Sowwy About the MBTI asks this is the last one promise I reveal every MC personality: Aevis💚intp. Aevia🩷esfj. Ariana❤️enfp. Axel🩶esfp. Aero🧡istp. Alain🤍istj.

LMAO i'm sorry for not replying either i've been so busy

honestly i haven't bothered w/ MBTI types in a long ass time so i only half know what these mean again but i think this sounds about right from what i remember

#zumi answers #Anonymous #pokemon rejuvenation

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azurewishing · 2 months

Text

Awakening

Part 3 of the Resonance AU. This is in air epic wub's perspective

A little shorter than the previous two entries

Aero- Air epic wub

Eva- Plant epic wub

Nevi- Cold epic wub

~~~

It was only some months after the conundras began, and already two of the epic wubboxes have resonated.

Eva and Nevi… the two who didn’t really like their colossals, turning into warped versions of themselves.

It worried Aero. It was worried about them and worried if it too will face that same fate.

It was scared. Very scared.

“Um, so, Zeffree…” Aero begins.

Unlike the rest of its family, Aero has a positive relationship with its colossal. Zeffree is easy to talk to, and quite kind. They’re sure to understand.

“Recently, Eva and Nevi had something scary happen to them. They’re not like how they used to be… it’s like a demon possessed them!”

“A demon? Those still exist?” Zeffree asked. “No, not literally… just a figure of speech,” Aero replied.

The epic wubbox continued onwards. “I think their colossals did something to them. And I’m not saying you all have done something bad, dear heavens no! But I can’t help but wonder if Lord Grennitch and Lord Frigil took things a bit too far…”

“Those two always take things too far! You don’t have to worry about your wellbeing, cuz I’ll never force you to be someone you’re not,” the colossal reassured it.

Aero smiled at that. “Yeah, you wouldn’t…”

“Come on kid, how about some training to get your mind off of it?”

“Alright, Zeffree.”

The two smiled. Such great friends.

With a swift pull of the bowstring…

BAM!

The targets were smashed to pieces in an instant.

“Wow!! Great job, little one!!” Zeffree praised Aero enthusiastically.

“I told you not to call me little… but thank you, Lord Zeffree.” Aero humbly said, catching its breath.

“And I told you to not to use honorifics on me. We’re both monsters after all,” the colossal replied.

“Right… I apologize.”

Aero jumped up into the air again, with more targets being manifested using its power.

As Aero continues to shoot them down, its mind began to wander.

It began to think about Eva and Nevi, about what happened to them. It still scared Aero. What if Zeffree does that to it?

‘Now that I think about it, Zeffree seems less satisfied with my performance… What if they…’

Thoughts like that swirled in its head. It shot harder and faster. It wasn’t processing anything, just the anxiety in its heart. It bubbles and bubbles…

“Aero, calm down! You shot all the targets; for what reason are you still shooting?!”

“Huh…?”

The epic wubbox passes out.

“Aero, are you okay?”

An unfamiliar room. It was wooden, but strangely cozy. It could see a desk with a bunch of sciency-looking things on it. Is this…

“Wubbox, is this your room?”

“Mhm. I found you on the ground, so I brought you to my room so you can rest up,” the scientist replied.

“On the ground…? What happe…”

Aero was confused for a moment, but then it remembered.

Anxiety and fear.

“…Wubbox,” Aero began, “can I tell you something that’s been on my mind…?”

“Oh, of course! What is it?” Wubbox tilted its head.

“…You know what happened to Eva and Nevi? I’m scared that the same thing will happen to me. I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to lose my identity. I want to be happy with Lord Zeffree, not become their plaything.”

“Oh… right, Eva…”

Wubbox was as well affected by the resonance of its older sibling. Just thinking about it made it upset. But right now, Aero has the right to be terrified, not it.

Wubbox thought about what to say for a moment. “Well, Zeffree likes you, right? Maybe that resonance phenomenon only happens when you guys have negative thoughts about your colossals.”

“Well, Eva and Nevi did dislike their colossals… Maybe there’s nothing to fear after all. We both like eachother, so maybe I’ll be fine. And even if I did resonate, maybe there’s a way to reverse it that hasn’t been found yet!”

“That’s the spirit! Think happy things, like that,” Wubbox patted Aero’s shoulder.

“Yeah… yeah! Thank you a lot, Wubbox. I feel a bit better now.”

“Better enough that you can get up?”

“Well, not physically… I need to rest a bit more.”

“Go ahead, I’ll let you rest for a bit,” the scientist said.

Perhaps Wubbox’s help was a bit misguided.

“Zefree, I have a question to ask of you,” Aero said.

Aero built a lot of confidence over the past days following its passing out. It wanted to know something important.

“Hmm? What is it, Aero?”

“Have you been satisfied with my performance as of late?”

“Well, if I had to be honest… Not really. I was concerned on how you seemed to be forcing yourself to perform more. Why is that, by the way?”

“Admittedly, I have been overexerting myself, and I apologize for my lackluster performance because of it. However I do express some anxiety over this resonance phenomenon. I’m afraid that you’ll do that to me as well.”

There wasn’t a response from Zeffree for a little while. Then…

“Well, it’s not resonance perse, but I have been toying with the idea of giving you a better body.”

“What do you mean by that?” Aero slightly snapped.

“Now calm down, Aero, I’m not gonna replace your ideals or whatever, I just want to modify you to better suit your current performance. See?”

The colossal conjoured up an illusion of this new Aero. Antennae, metal wings resembling a beetle, nimble legs…

And a yellow-green eye.

“No… this is just like what happened to them…”

“It isn’t, so stop worrying-”

The connection stopped there.

Aero is sitting on the floor, next to its bed. It’s sobbing, slightly.

It’s been like that for a few hours now.

No one was there to console it. And even if there was, Aero wouldn’t listen.

It’s best to leave it alone for now,

A few days pass.

Apparently in a week, Zefree will awaken.

‘How grand,’ Aero thought sarcastically.

Ever since that day, Aero didn’t care for its colossal anymore. Whatever they were planning, it’ll lead to it being mind controlled, so what better to do than not listen anymore?

A puddle. Aero looked down at it, and took its hat off to see its eye,

There was a bit of green in them now.

It could be a trick of the light, or a genuine sign that resonance was occuring.

It was the latter, as Zeffree was around here somewhere.

Aero couldn’t tell where, but it could hear them.

“See Aero? This is what I meant by modifications. Slight things like that. It makes you see better. Here, try it out.”

Gear-shaped targets appear out of nowhere. Aero decides to play along with Zeffree, and summons its bow.

Aim… Fire!

The arrow hit dead center in all of them.

“Great job! Do you get it now?” the colossal enthusiastically asked.

“… Yeah,” the epic wubbox said, tired.

As the days went on, new features were added onto Aero’s body.

Long antennae that can sense fainter, more spiritual things. Wings that resemble a beetle’s that can flap under 100 times per second for faster movement. Things like that, in the same aesthetic as its home.

In the same aesthetic as Zeffree themself.

As each new modification was made, a thought rose in its head.

‘Isn’t this nice, Aero? Zeffree is making you into something better, more wonderful. A beautiful amalgam of metal and organicness. How beautiful is that?’

It got stronger and stronger until the day of the colossal’s awakening.

Tell me. If all pieces of a machine are replaced with new ones, is it still the same machine? Or is it something new?

#msm #my singing monsters #resonance au #my writing #msm au #epic wubbox #air epic wubbox

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