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#as in by chapter 10 i hope

maaxverstappen · 2 months

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help me hold onto you | T | 5/12

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man– Charles, Max assumes– sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

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luthordamnvers · 3 months

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Hell was the journey (but it brought me heaven)

Chapter 10 - Magic

Kara wasn’t entirely sure about Lena’s plan. She trusted her girlfriend, of course, she had saved Kara and the world several times. She just wasn’t sure if this plan would work. She looked as Lena explained her entire strategy to J’onn and Brainy because they were crucial to actually pulling the entire thing off. Or so Lena had tried to explain to Kara earlier. Kara had no doubts about Lena’s proficiency with science, but her magic was fickle and new, and tied to emotions, though she had improved so much in the few months since discovering her powers. But at the present, emotions were all over the place. She looked at her girlfriend, who was typing something on her tablet, while quietly talking with Brainy, who kept rubbing his chin in deep thought. “It could work, my calculations are… positive.” He declared after a few minutes. Kara frowned, there was usually a number attached to Brainy’s calculations. “What’s the projected percentage of success?” Kara couldn’t help herself but ask aloud. He shared a look with Lena before answering. “43.7%, if I’m optimistic.” “Brainy, that’s…” Kara started, but Lena didn’t let her continue. “That’s plenty over it definitely not working. It’s enough to give hope, and my girlfriend, it’s all about hope, isn’t she?” Lena smiled. And Rao, Kara really wanted to say yes, to believe Lena’s positivism, and have faith in Brainy’s 43.7%. “The alternative is doing nothing, Kara,” the Coluan observed. “Just deal with it. But I know you enough to know you will do whatever it takes to fix the problem. We lose nothing by trying.” “We will fix this, darling. Whatever it takes.” Lena then passed her a notepad and a pen. “For now I need you to make a list of all the people who knew your identity before this… controversy.”

Continue Reading on AO3 || From the start

[Completed]

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp fic #supercorptober #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #sc fic #fic writing #supercorptober 2023 #nicnic writes #[10]#i'm finally done besties. I'm not even sure what i wrote in this chapter anymore it was done weeks ago. but I hope is somewhat satisfying

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canadianlucifer · 3 months

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While I was reading Blue Exorcist I didn't fully register just how dark the Illuminati arc was, but watching it animated... holy shit.

I could not imagine going through what Izumo has and is going through. And being in the place of any of the other students? Dealing with unkillable regenerating zombies speaking to me in broken up bits saying they want to go home? Having so much pressure to do things most adults wouldn't be able to do? AT 15 YEARS OLD??

I feel like this is the turning point for the series bc it goes from "heehoo funny with epic fights and some character bonding" to "everyone you love is going to die if you don't fight right now. This world is bleak and horrifying under the thin veil we have created and the fate of it rests on your shoulders, all of you."

#pspspsps tokyo ghoul mutuals if ya like half human protags dealing with the horrors of what it means to be their other half #and deep philosophical thoughts and violence and the eternal struggle of good vs evil where there is so much grey #then blue exorcist is for you #10/10 highly recommend #anime or manga they're both really good tbh #though the anime is non canon after season 1 episode 17. The rest of the episodes don't make sense with season 2 or 3 #season 2 and 3 follow the manga very accurately if a bit rushed #I really really hope that since it appears like the manga is getting close to the end that we'll get more seasons sooner than every 5 years #I need to see chapters 120 and 126 animated!!#anyways I'm gonna go draw that pink bastard lmao #blue exorcist #ao no exorcist

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akatsukitrash · 19 days

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Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Tsunade (Naruto) & Original Female Character(s), Kakuzu (Naruto)/Original Female Character(s), Uchiha Mikoto/Uzumaki Kushina, Hoshigaki Kisame & Original Female Character(s), Shizune & Tsunade (Naruto), Terumi Mei/Original Character(s) Characters: Original Senju Character(s), Original Uzumaki Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Akatsuki (Naruto) - Character, Tsunade (Naruto), Kakuzu (Naruto), Hoshigaki Kisame, Uchiha Mikoto, Uzumaki Kushina, Terumi Mei Additional Tags: Senju Clan-centric, Worldbuilding, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Child Soldiers, Mokuton, Shinobi Politics (Naruto), Kirigakure | Hidden Mist Village, Missing-Nin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst and Humor, Platonic Relationships, Slow Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Adoptive Siblings, Grief/Mourning, Bonding Series: Part 3 of Drag My Dark Into the Dawn Summary:

It’s not possible, she thinks, trying to hold onto her logic and her breath. It’s not possible, Hashirama Senju is dead. This shouldn’t happen, and yet…

There is only one explanation. The Mokuton has been awakened again.

#tsunade #shizune #kirigakure #naruto fic #ao3 #naruto #yagura karatachi #senju clan #uzumaki clan #and so the kiri arc begins!!!!!!!!#i hope u guys like chapter 10!!!#i hope failing my finals will be worth it #<- a joke dw i was suffering regardless of my hyperfixation on my own au

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jtl-fics · 7 months

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okay, so.. I wanna know more about pretty boy..

Maybe you can use this line? "You collect scars as proof that you're paying off on the sins you believe you've committed"

WIP Wednesday 10/18/23 (Closed) | Dealer's Choice: Pretty Boy

"I like lookin' at you." Neil says and Andrew hates Neil's honesty almost as much as he hates Neil.

Andrew brings his hand up to the jagged stitches pulling Neil's face back together. "You need to find a different thing to collect." he says running his fingers along the rough texture of it.

"Better than Kev." Neil says and Andrew doesn't understand why Neil is so determined to martyr himself. As if he was collecting scars to pay off some imagined sins.

< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >

#I couldn't quite find a way to use the full line but I hope I kept the spirit of it odd!!#It was so poetic and lovely #FIC: Pretty Boy #AFTG #AFTG Fic #Andreil #10-18-23 WIP Wednesday #WIP Wednesday Ask Game #47 #Pretty Boy - Chapter 1 - 21

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queenlucythevaliant · 2 months

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Northern Lights

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!”

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it?

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern.

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious.

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise.

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything.

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over.

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood!

She thought of grief. Of freedom.

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him.

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison.

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t.

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked.

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end.

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely.

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters.

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two.

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth.

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest.

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above.

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance.

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks.

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave.

So perish the old Gods!

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute.

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.”

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured.

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

#okayyyy so #i've been down the tolkien/lewis/norse mythology rabbit hole lately #it's a lot #but i've been picking at this piece in my head for a while now #which is more a rhapsody than anything else #but another for my narnia/classic lit sequence of pieces #the quotes are mostly pulled from Longfellow's Tegners Drapa translation #which Jack discusses in Surprised by Joy as one of the works that inspired feelings of joy and 'Northernness' in his boyhood #there's also a Weight of Glory quote in there #(paraphrased)#and one from the intro to Joy Gresham's book on the 10 Commandments that Jack wrote #(that's that last passage in italics)#i'm not really sure i was trying to make a point with this so much as just. explore that feeling of northernness #bc really northernness is two things #it's joy and exhileration brought on by beauty #and it's that beautiful hopeless courage when faced with unwinnable battles #and i love how intertwined those two things are for lewis #and let's be honest for me too #so that's what this is #hope it holds together okay #narnia #chapter one #night under narnia #dying of thirst #pontifications and creations #leah stories

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serasfanfiction · 2 months

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon), Hazbin Hotel (Web Series) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alastor/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Niffty (Hazbin Hotel) Additional Tags: Background Charlie Morningstar/Vaggie, hints of Angel Dust/Husk, Blood Drinking, mentions of gore, Alastor is a serial killer, Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Non Sex-Repulsed Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor has no clue he's ace, Inspired by Twitter, there's a tag I never thought I'd use, occasional appearance of deer!Lucifer, Alastor has a (literal) taste for Venison, Depressed Lucifer Magne | Morningstar

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #deer lucifer fic #chapter two is live for everyone who prefers ao3 #i hope to have part 10 up on tumblr later today

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cowboyhorsegirl · 1 year

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Favourite sineala fanfic

🔫🔪🔫🔪🔫🔪cruel and unusual to try and make me pick just one so here's five six (in no particular order)

Mercy in You

When Tony comes back from a very bad D/s date, in pain and abandoned by his dom, Steve offers to help Tony out and give him all the aftercare he so desperately needs.

How to Date a Robot

How do you date a robot? Even the twenty-first century doesn't have the answers to every question. Steve will have to figure this one out for himself -- after he politely rebuffs Mr. Stark's interest, of course. Sure, Mr. Stark is handsome, but Steve would rather be with his bodyguard. So when Iron Man agrees to go on a date with Steve, Steve couldn't be happier. He loves Iron Man with all of his heart, and their relationship rapidly grows serious. But why does Mr. Stark hate Iron Man so much? And why in the world is Mr. Stark trying to tear Steve and Iron Man apart?

Not So Secret Anymore

When Steve's laptop isn't working right, Tony offers to fix it for him, and he quickly discovers the problem: computer viruses. He also discovers a fairly large amount of porn. Gay porn. But that can't be Steve's gay porn, surely. Captain America doesn't have hundreds of gigabytes of gay porn. A virus must have put it there. Clearly the best thing to do is to delete all of this gay porn that doesn't belong on Steve's computer and then they'll never have to have a conversation about it and Steve will definitely never find out about the massive crush Tony has on him. Good idea. This plan is perfect. Right up until Tony gets an email from Steve, asking if he could please have his collection of homosexual pornography back now.

Never Too Late for Love

Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one. Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in. And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark.

Thrust Issues (specifically chapter 8) ((more specifically the last half of chapter 8))

A battle gone wrong leads Tony to the unexpected and pleasant discovery that Steve is much more well-endowed than he could ever have imagined. But when Tony learns that Steve has never actually been able to sleep with anyone because of his size, Tony does what any good friend would do: he offers to relieve Steve of his virginity. Personally. Tony's determined, Tony's methodical, and Tony has a plan. He's going to get Steve laid. Tony just needs to make sure Steve never finds out that Tony's in love with him.

Man is a Wolf to Man (that's right it's capwolf time!!)

When Antonius is falsely accused and convicted of murdering an ambassador, he is condemned to death by the wild beasts of the arena. But the wolf sent to kill him is something rather more than he ever expected.

#who am i kidding though every time i wanna just read chapter 8 of thrust issues i end up reading chapters 9 & 10 too #this should be an ask meme though. like send me a fic author and i'll send you a list of my fave works from them #that would be fun if i wasn't god awful at answering things in a timely manner (i'm sorry!)#fic!#stevetony #signed sealed delivered #yanderefreud #btw i hope u know you are legally obligated to tell me your fave sine fics now🔫🔪

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