#but maybe i should start going in people's inboxes again and interact with people talk to them in the tags do moodboard for mutuals

[backroadboy]

I should start being annoying again

#the thing is i always feel like i am acting in a way. even on here #which is super fucking weird because who the fuck cares yknow? #but idk i do tend to get a little too emotionally invested in relationships even online ones and i have a track record of friendships and #stuff not working out and i don't know how long i can do that for #so i kinda adapt and go with the flow and try to dial back the 'real' me whoever that idiot is tbh #but maybe i should start going in people's inboxes again and interact with people talk to them in the tags do moodboard for mutuals #and all that shit #txt.

[adventuringblind]

Don't Leave Us

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: With the mass amount of online hate and a relationship that's not public, it all gets too much.

Warnings: graphic depictions of self-harm, graphic depictions of suicide

Notes: I hope you're doing okay, Nonny! Maybe this will help you like it does me :)

side note: I am not above begging for interaction. Fill my inbox with feral driver thoughts! Interact with my posts! It feeds my praise kink and makes me giggle and kick my feet 🥰

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not like the toxicity of social media is a new thing. She's always known that it could happen. She just wasn't expecting it to be so... much.

Her relationship with Max and Charles isn't out for the public. There are dangers that come with opening that up for everyone to get a glimpse of. Reporters waiting to make snide remarks. Fans that want to bash on the drivers they dislike.

Plus, she's not famous. People don't notice her. At least - they didn't until recently.

Some WAG account had managed to get photos of her with either Max or Charles. Not the three of them together. Speculative fans determined she must be playing both of them.

Not all of them, some people defend her. Those comments make her cry out of relief that at least someone isn't trying to tear her down.

She doesn't bring it up to either of the boys. They have enough on their plates as is. Stress and sickness become her new best excuses to not go out in public.

Sure, she's isolating herself and not talking to anyone. Carmen and Lily keep trying. She's just not ready to show her face.

Nothing is sacred anymore. The rumors are too much. Even avoiding all social media isn't enough. She can't even leave her house without someone trying to discreetly take her photo.

Her skin burns with attention every time she steps out the door. She can't eat knowing people are always looking at her. She can't even go to the shop to get groceries or to her mailbox.

It gets worse by the day. Soon enough, someone figures out where she lives. Knowing she has a stalker makes every ounce of security she once had vanish.

It's miserable seeing her information leaked out for everyone to see. Privacy is now a luxury of the past. It's enough to send her spiraling.

When her safety is called into question, Max and Charles bring her to Monaco. They are willing to risk it for her. Their attempt at giving her some piece of mind by staying in the same apartment only makes her thoughts darker.

She's the reason there is so much negative publicity. The sharks are circling them, just waiting for one wrong move. Is she ready to be the catalyst for her lovers' downfall?

The thought sends her stomach up her throat. The thoughts swirl around her head, paralyzing her body into a perpetual state of fear. Stuck in a luxurious Monaco penthouse. Because people being toxic and stalking her is such a horrible problem to have. She should just suck it up; pretend everything is fine.

So then, why is it so hard? Why can't she just be alright?

One week. A plan in her head and a smile plastered on her face. The boys haven't asked about it. Their concern shows in the facial expressions, but they don't push. Maybe it would be better if they did. Send her already crumbling walls to the ground.

She deep cleans on Monday. She does her best to make sure the apartment isn't in disarray, that her own things are packed away, so they won't have much to deal with. The contrasting red and blue of Max and Charles' clothes are the only things left in the closet when she's done.

Speculations start again on Tuesday. Max and Charles spend all day in some PR meeting about it. It gives her time to sort out her affairs without them hearing her. She cooks them dinner to help ease the frustrations. Their teams don't want them to come out, but they do.

Wednesday, they leave to their next destination. She doesn't leave the hotel room despite the concerns of others. Carmen and Lily come around at some point. They eat in with her and kick out the boys. It feels normal for the first time in months. She almost breaks and tells them.

Thursday is media day. She feels for both boys as they get asked invasive questions about their love life. They look stressed. She gets hugged a little tighter that night. It calms the thoughts, but it's not enough. They hurt more every day. She's just wants it to stop.

Practice on Friday goes well for both. Max and Charles are in better spirits. She drags herself out to eat with them. the boys don't care who sees. She does. The anxiety nearly suffocates her. eyes crawling over her skin. Please, make it stop.

Saturday is a wreck. The qualifying is difficult for both her partners. Their relationship status is once again coming under fire. The speculating is becoming extreme, enough for the whispering of the paddock to become deafening to her ears. She spends her time hiding away, writing her last thoughts in messy scrawl.

Sunday, they turn the weekend around. The podium has always suited them. Smiling for everyone to see and dousing each other in champagne. She smiles too, even though it hurts.

They fly back to Monaco that night. Conversation turns to going public despite team wishes. They are willing to risk it for her. She can't bring herself to say yes. They worked hard to live their dreams; she won't ruin it for them.

Monday comes around again. The notes are laying out on the table. The boys are with their friends, some kind of brunch get together.

She leaves the bathroom door unlocked.

The bath filled, her clothes still on. Her thoughts finally still. Tears streak down her face.

The water is cold.

Then it's red.

~~~~~

"I worry about leaving her alone." Charles pulls the car back into its spot.

"Well, if we brough her along it wouldn't be much of a surprise, yes?" Max checks his watch again. "Plus, what could she have done in the fifteen minutes we were gone?"

They haul the ridiculous number of snacks to the front door. They decided last week they would see if they could coax the female out of her depressive state, just for a little while. Maybe get her to confide in them. If not, then at the very least a therapist.

The distance is damn near suffocating. She's so close physically, yet so far away mentally. Always staring at the walls with a distant look in her eyes.

The apartment is eerily quiet when they step inside. The kind that Charles despises after living in a chaotic house with two brothers and three busy schedules his Maman had to keep track of.

He drops the bags and peers around the entry way. Then searches the corridors until he finds one of the bathroom doors closed.

Charles knocks on the door but receives no response. "Cheri? Are you not feeling well?"

Charles almost dives out of the way when Max comes barreling down the hallway. The Dutch tries the doorknob, heavy breathing filling the odd silence.

Charles pales at the sight revealed to him. Paralyzed that this horrific scene could even be a possibility. Is he dreaming? He has to be - there isn't any way for this to be real... right?

"Charles!-" the Monegasque is dragged from his thoughts. Real or not, Max needs his help. Scratch that - she needs his help. "- Get an ambulance!"

Charles fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes the call. Max is desperate trying to stop the bleeding from the vertical slit traveling her forearm. "Is she...?" He can't finish the thought. Heart being through his chest at the possible answer.

"Pules is there but faint." Max sounds like he's desperately trying to hold back his tears. His mind working desperately to keep her alive.

Charles must space out. He doesn't remember opening the door or watching her be carried out by the swift paramedics. The car ride doesn't register, not until they are already in the waiting room.

Max hands him her notes. The paragraphs she wrote to them. A final goodbye in messy scrawl, but the tails of her letters still curled.

"She did it for us, Charlie, because she thought she was hurting us."

They both break down in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Charles violently sobbing. Neither of them respond to their messages. Phones buzzing with calls that go to voice-mail.

A doctor comes calling her name. Charles is only half listening. Specifically looking for either a confirmation of death or the relief of hearing that she's okay. Max seems to be paying attention. His shoulders sag, and there is a soft look on his face when they are left to their own devices.

"She's alive, Charlie."

He erupts until tears once more.

~~~~~

Everything hurts. Her thoughts are fuzzy. There is something soft beneath her.

The white ceiling is paired with the burning smell of alcohol. A sterile environment. Meaning-

Fuck. How did it go so wrong? How had they managed to keep her alive?

The beeping on the heart monitor picks up. A sign that she's definitely alive and in a hospital.

Her attempts at moving are futile. There is too much pain and exhaustion to do so. A pulsing behind her ears drowns out the thumping of her heart.

"Rest now, amour."

It takes a single stroke of Charles' fingers on her cheek to make her entire facade shatter into nothing.

She's mumbling incoherent words. It's a string of apologies, rants of anger and embarrassment, and confusion at why they are even here with her. They are continually reassuring her. They coo into her ear how they are so glad she's alive. That she doesn't have to fight whatever battle through hell this is alone.

Recovery is difficult. They have to put her on a suicide watch, but Max and Charles somehow manage to keep her out of the psychward. Mostly because they want to be with her at all hours of the day.

They miss a singular race for her. Then drag her to the next. Part of the deal they had made was that they won't sacrifice their careers for her.

They negotiated with the teams. Managed to wriggle around their soft spots and get them to approve going public. Max and Charles want to openly defend her. No more public executions. They'er pulling her out of the shark infested waters that is the media.

It's slow. People ask about it sometimes; why Charles and Max had missed that race. None of them give an answer. They aren't obligated to.

"Why fight for me?" She asks. a year after the events.

"Because chéri, we love you enough to help you carry the burden."

"Honestly liefste, we fight for what we believe in. We believe in you and the love you have for us."

"Maybe it's selfish, but we want to share that with you. Keep you here with us to go on adventures and explore the different paths life offers."

"So don't leave us yet. You are worth every sacrifice."

#x reader #f1 fic #fanficion #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x charles leclerc #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv33 #mv1 #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc f1 #cl16 one shot #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #cl16 x you #ferrari #redbull racing #lestappen

[compacflt]

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father. 

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life. 

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots. 

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.” 

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.” 

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation. 

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.” 

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.” 

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is. 

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie. 

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm. 

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well. 

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady. 

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.” 

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.” 

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider. 

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens. 

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

#happy Father's Day! #some light discussion of religion in this one but u should be used to that with me #this one is long bc it hits a LOT of prompts sry it took a minute #going thru my inbox: for this anon obv #and FTAW (for the anon who) wanted more competitive icemav #for the FOUR anons who wanted ice and bradley to talk about queerness in the navy #FTAW wanted rooster to explain how hangster came to be #FTAW wanted more ice breaking the rules (‘management tier asshole’ lol) #for the THREE anons who wanted more soft 90s icemav #which is hard for me to write bc those years are kinda boring #it’s literally just: they wake up together. Go to work together. raise their kid together. eat dinner together. fall asleep in the same bed #occasionally fuck. Keep it a secret. don’t talk about it. #for 5 years. like… narratively speaking it’s v boring but yeah they’re happy :) #FTAW wanted more of ices prenavy backstory (this isn’t really much but…) #FTAW wanted icemav’s relationship with religion #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #top gun #icemav #top gun fanfiction #you guys sure love ur anonymity don’t u #i wanna know who’s sending in asks!!! my dms are open!!! Please come say hi!!! #there are some timeline issues wrt Carole in this one sorry. u can deal.

[rogerswifesblog]

my internet breaks again and I can't send it to your inbox😭

I hope this time WiFi works🙏🙏🙏

Thank you for requesting for/joining my 500 special <3

prompt; „Sweetheart, tears don’t work on me. You can cry as much as you want.“

I’ve never written anything ABO so I hope it’s okay? If there’s anything I should change let me know <3

Btw this was supposed to be Drabble.

It’s not. 3.5 k words, enjoy.

😩😆

I just had too much fun writing it.

Salty tears and sweet scents

Warinings: ABO, dark(-ish, but not really) Curtis, dub con but like not really reader’s just a bit scared (?), I think I can’t really write dark stuff but Idk, size difference/size kink, innocent reader (not dd/lg), , virginity loss, smut, p in v, mating/knotting, Curtis is hung😌😂😂

Let me know if I need to add anything!

Don’t forget to interact ❤️

You were a sweet omega, the youngest in your family and also the precious one-sweet, little thing, the beloved omega of your proud parents. They always wanted the best for you.

Which also meant a great mate. A perfect, big and strong alpha who would take care of you and your future pups.

They knew many wealthy alphas but none of them really seemed good. Nobody seemed to be enough.

When an alpha was strong, he was stupid, just a horny with his knot-thinking alpha. There was another one they liked, a beta but a really intelligent and strong one… even though they were scared it’d be hard to get many pups since some betas had problems with impregnating omegas. There were also some people not worth mentioning.

When there was finally someone they wanted you to meet, you didn’t like them and you often didn’t like their scents. No one was compatible with you.

Your parents slowly started losing hope.

And then he came.

Out of nowhere.

While you were shopping with your mom and decided to have a break -means you were eating ice cream on a bench in the park- a man approached you two.

You felt yourself getting excited, smelling his rich scent, something wood-ish but also a bit of smoke. Something that just screamed big strong alpha. You wanted to bury your nose into his neck, smell and lick him everywhere. Get a taste of this amazing smell. Did he taste as good? You scented the air trying to get more of the alphas scent and also showing him your own.

Curtis had smelled you when he walked past the park, needing to… he actually forgot what he had planned before. It probably wasn’t that important (he was actually supposed to pick up his friend… well…). He smelled you from a mile away. The sweet, sweet omega scent. Something fruity but also with a hint of chocolate? Some kind of sweets. He could already tell you had a sweet tooth- and he definitely wanted to bake you a chocolate cake, even though he had never baked before. Huh? Curtis had no idea who you were but he wanted to gift something meaningful to you. Would this be meaningful? Would you like it?

God he had to meet you first. He had to take you home with him. There was no other way he’d go back.

“Good morning” said the alpha in a deep voice, making your whole body tingle. Even your mother noticed the two of you had your eyes only for each other. The world around you didn't matter anymore.

He was an attractive and strong man. His hair was short, a buzz-cut, making him look slightly dangerous, but the sparkle in his blue eyes showed his good heart. He’d treat you right.

This was the right man. The right alpha.

A quiet gasp escaped your lips when you heard the man’s voice. It sounded so nice! Everything in you tingled. “Hello.” You smiled friendly, bowing your head slightly, unintentionally showing him your submission.

Curtis wanted to growl. Maybe he did, seeing how you squirmed for a second, watching him from under your eyelashes. He’s definitely taking you home.

Your mother talked with him for a moment, not needing a lot of convincing to give you over to him. But you didn’t mind that. You wanted to spend more time with the good smelling alpha. A voice in your head reminded you of how much you actually wanted to wear someone’s mark. This alphas mark. Being his. You’d wear it proudly on your neck, showing it off.

He took you out for a coffee. Even though you just ate ice cream, he ordered you some cake. Just as he had suspected you seemed very content with this decision, smiling at him warmly. Such a sweet, sweet omega. He couldn’t stop inhaling your scent. Didn’t your parents make you wear blockers? With such a scent it would be better to hide it. Making sure only one person would get to smell you. Your mate. Him.

Curtis felt his dick twitch at the thought of marking your unscarred, soft skin. You’d look so pretty with the imprint of his teeth.

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about marking you already, but how could he not? You were clearly scent compatible, like he had never been before with any other partner or hook up. He wanted you. And he wanted you to be his.

“So, sweet omega-” he said, making you bite your bottom lip to hide the smile. Normally you didn’t like being called omega but from his lips? He could say it all the time and it wouldn’t be enough. “-your mother told me you’re looking for a mate, huh?” It was a rhetorical question. He already knew the answer.

“I think I don’t have to look anymore” well, this answer he did not expect. The corners of his lips twitched to a smirk. “I guess you’re right,” Curtis put his palm over your smaller hand, squeezing gently. You felt your cheeks heat up, making you blush.

The next few days you’ve spent with Curtis -all the time. He didn’t let you go back home with your mother. Instead he wanted you to stay with him. Even though you wanted to sleep in the guest room. That’s not how he imagined living with you.

At first he accepted it -maybe you were shy and needed some time to adjust but after a week he started to be annoyed by that. Your parents already accepted him as your future mate. He wanted for it all to happen. ASAP.

The only thing you allowed him to do was kissing. Always gentle and sweet but he couldn’t stop thinking about more. About your lips against his neck, chest, knot… he wanted to kiss your whole body himself.

You were making him crazy.

Sometimes he could smell it on you too, your sweet scent turning even sweeter, your slick drenching your panties -he assumed you often had good dreams since he could smell your slick the strongest in the mornings. God, didn’t it make him hard as rocks. He would have a permanent boner if this keeps happening. He wanted to knot you so badly. Feel your slick walls stretch around him.

He wants you to have his scent all over you -and your own on him. He wanted his skin to smell like his sweet omega. Show the world what a perfect mate he has.

That night, after a romantic dinner, he took your hand and walked you to the bedroom where he had bought new blankets and pillows for you. (He hoped you’d make a nest but he wasn’t sure if you’d do it...)

He sat down on the bed with you, giving you a few gentle kisses on your scent glands on your neck. You smelled and tasted so, so sweet. Curtis couldn’t help himself from licking over your skin.

A quiet moan escaped your lips while you grabbed his arms and unintentionally pulled him in closer. Curtis growled into your neck, nibbling at your skin. He could smell your slick since you were only wearing a shirt and panties. Soaked panties. Fucking drenched.

He caressed your thigh, slowly stroking up to your core. When his fingers stroked over your wet underwear, you moaned quietly and grabbed his hand quickly, pushing it away. “Curtis, I’m-” “shh, Shh. I know, omega. I’ll take care of you, sweetheart… let your alpha make you feel good.” A whimper escaped your lips while you slowly nodded.

If you had to be honest you had no idea what he meant by that -your mom only told you the mating process was something that would feel good. Was Curtis talking about this? Would he put his knot in you? You’ve never talked about how it all would happen. Actually you don’t even know what a knot looked like. But it couldn’t be big, since it had to… well, fit in your hole.

Curtis wanted to keep going, especially after he had felt how warm and wet you were.

But first he wanted you to make the nest, so you’d feel comfortable in the bed and during the mating process.

Because that’s what he wanted to happen. He wanted to mate with you tonight. You were perfect for him. He didn’t want anyone else.

Curtis put the blankets on the bed and sat down in the chair that stood next to the desk. “Come on omega, make it comfortable for us, hm?” You looked down at the blankets, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. You’ve never made a nest for anyone besides yourself.

You were nervous.

Slowly you grabbed the blanket and put them on the bed, rearranging them and the pillows Curtis had on his bed. They smelled nicely. Just like him. Oh and there was even his sleep shirt!

Just as Curtis wanted to take it from your hands, thinking you wouldn't like it you growled quietly, pulling the shirt closer to your chest.

Normally he wouldn’t allow you to growl at him but he knew this was because of the nest you were making. Him approaching it without asking was a mistake. Even if it was his bed. Maybe he should’ve let you do it in his walk-in closet? He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t change your mind anymore. Maybe later you’d want to make another, bigger nest when you’ll be having pups. A closet would make you feel safer, he thought, watching you bent over and smashing your face against his pillows.

He watched you slowly preparing the nest and also unknowingly to present for him. At least it looked like that from the way you arched your back. God, he felt his dick getting even harder than before.

Curtis could see your slick leaking around your panties along your thighs. Fuck, you were probably so wet. He could just sink into your tight virgin hole. He knew he was big but you’d take all of him. Just like the good omega you were.

A moan escaped his lips when he stroked his hard cock. He hadn't even noticed when he pulled his pants low enough to free his dick. For a moment he watched his tip leaking with pre-cum, while he pumped his fist over his huge dick. Even his palm didn’t fully close around his girth. His fingers didn’t touch.

God you’d struggle so much to fit him in your virgin pussy.

When he looked up, he saw you watching him with big eyes. Your gaze glued to his dick, making him smirk knowingly. Your big, surprised gaze and the slightly open mouth was a pretty good ego boost. He could even make out some tears filling your eyes and your scent showed you were slightly scared.

Slowly the alpha stood up, taking off his shirt. Just as he wanted to throw it to the floor you grabbed it from his hand, smelling it. You were still watching him -or more like his dick- while he took the rest of his clothes off. Then he stepped closer. His cock was heavy enough for it not to curve upwards, it just hung down, even in a completely erect state. Probably as thick as his wrist, with lots of veins showing and leaking pre-cum.

“Can I come into our nest, omega? It looks very comfortable” he whispered. “Yes Alpha.” You whispered but pulled your hand away when he wanted to grab it. Quickly you shook your head and buried yourself under the covers.

He chuckled darkly, pulling the covers away and taking your hand once again in his, slowly putting it against his knot. “Come on sweetheart, your alpha wants you to make him feel good” he whispered in your ear, making you nod slowly but you still tried to pull away from him.

Just then did he start kissing your throat, making you forget about the feeling of his hard cock against your palm, while he grinds against you. He smelled your slick and he couldn’t stop thinking about sinking his fingers in your dripping pussy.

His free hand slowly slid along your thigh before grabbing your drenched panties and ripping them off of you. Gasping you looked down at your naked core while his fingers grind along your folds, collecting the slick before licking it from his fingers. “Fuck, so good, my little Omega.”

You whined, spreading your legs a bit further while he did it again, making you moan when his fingers rubbed over your swollen clit. Normally you’d be embarrassed about how much slick you were leaking but it was good, right? You’ve heard alphas -especially mates- liked their omega’s slick.

Curtis wanted to finger you till you were loose enough to fit him in your pussy but some other part… told him to fuck you like this. Your tight virgin hole. Seeing it stretch around his knot…

He knew omegas normally don’t need much preparation but he knew exactly how big he was. Yet, he really wanted you to feel it -and he wanted to feel it himself. It should work with enough slick.

He secretly hoped you’d let the tears fall.

Rubbing your clit, he felt you already trembling, your thighs squeezing and shaking around his arm but he didn’t stop. “That’s it, omega. You’ll come for me just from that, huh? That’s it…” he whispered in your ear while his pinky finger rubbed your folds, slowly entering your tight pulsing channel. And -fuck, even around his finger you were so tight.

“My omega…” And these words were what you needed, from approaching your orgasm, to falling headfirst into it. The overwhelming pleasure made you go cross-eyed. You’ve never felt like this. From the way you were moaning, Curtis could tell that too.

He took his hand from your core, making you whine, having you already dumb on the feeling of your first orgasm.

“Shhh, shhh. Come on, omega… show me that pretty pussy…” he rumbled into your ear, wanting for you to present for him. Curtis wasn’t sure if you knew what he wanted from you but you seemed to understand -or at least the omega brain did. You took off your shirt, threw it on the bed and turned around.

For a moment you looked over your shoulder, back at Curtis. He sat back against the headboard, crossing his arms behind his head and watching you. His dick rested against his hip, twitching when you wiggled your hips a bit. A giggle escaped your lips while he stroked with one hand over the curve of your ass. “Such a pretty thing…” he whispered.

Then you bend down, showing him your dripping pussy.

The alpha bit his bottom lip while he stroked his throbbing neglanced dick. He could see your glistening folds, your hole so slick he’d slip right into you.

And he couldn’t wait anymore.

Within seconds he was over you, growling into your hair, grabbing your neck and squeezing, knowing it’d calm you a bit more, kissing your skin. “My omega -mine.” He growled animalistically before grabbing his heavy dick and rubbing over your wet folds.

You whined and tried to pull away when he tried to push the thick head of his cock into you but even with the amount of slick it didn’t work, especially with you writhing under him.

For a moment his tip sank into you, making the two of you gasp before you pulled away from him and turned around, watching him from under your wet eyelashes while the first tear rolled down your cheek.

You knew you had no chance against Curtis -he was so much bigger and stronger- but he wouldn’t hurt you. He knew what was best for you.

Didn’t mean you weren’t scared.

He was so big. He’d never fit! Even his tip was already too much.

Curtis grinned slightly, smelling your scared scent but the amount of slick betrayed you. You still enjoyed it. You may have been scared but you didn’t want him to stop. Not really.

Slowly he stalked over your body, watching you like you were his prey. A quiet gasp escaped your lips when you felt his dick rest against your hip. He felt so heavy against your skin.

“My little omega...” he whispered against your lips before kissing you urgently, dominating the kiss. Meanwhile he took his dick in hand, positioning it at your hole and slowly pushing the tip in. His other hand clasped around your throat, making you unable to move while he pushed halfway in, ignoring any resistance.

You whimpered unintentionally squeezing tighter around his dick. “Alpha-hurts-too much” you sobbed, trying to push him away but also grabbing and pulling him closer, not knowing what you wanted. You buried your nails in the skin of his shoulders, leaving red marks behind while squeezed your throat gently- but not enough to cut off your breath.

“Please, alpha-hurts-” you sobbed into his neck, trying to calm yourself by scenting him and hoping for the same -which he knew and did. He rubbed his face along your neck, kissing and licking where he was planning on leaving his mark.

You sobbed again, trying to squirm away when he pushed a bit more into you. “Curtis! Alpha-too much” you whined. Curtis growled into your neck, looking down at your tears covered face. Warmth spread in his chest seeing you cry because of how big he was. “Sweetheart, tears don’t work on me. You can cry as much as you want.” He mumbled against your cheek before kissing away the tears.

You wanted more. But it was so much…

He was stretching your hole so much. You’ve never felt this full before -not that you had anyone else before Curtis.

He pushed another inch into you and worked up a slow rhythm, using only half of his cock, wanting for you to get used to him. It seemed to work since you started to moan quietly.

His pleased rumble just makes you whimper, embarrassed but wanting more of everything he wanted to give you. You knew he’d make you feel good. He was your alpha, he was your -he wasn’t your mate yet! You immediately pushed his head closer to your neck, looking to the side and revealing your unmarked skin to him.

Curtis knew what you wanted.

And he wanted the same.

Fucking you slow as not to hurt you but making sure he goes as deep as he can.

Words are beyond you only repeating alpha or Curtis and he seemed very satisfied, his very pleased alpha purr makes you whine quietly, his scent turns even more smug and possessive. The more slick squelched out around him, the more he growled possessively while he pushed more of his dick into your hole with every thrust.

“Alpha…” you whisper-whined, your eyes fluttering closed and your mouth hung open as he finally started to fuck you faster, pushing his whole length into you. As his knot began to grow, you went cross-eyed all over again. “My sweet omega-I’m going to fill you up baby. Fill you with my seed. Make you full and round with my pups” he moaned into your ear.

Curtis felt his knot slowly swelling up, approaching his orgasm quickly. He looked down at you for a moment, gently cupping your face with his hand. “Bite me, omega. I want to wear your mark too.” He whispered against your lips before kissing you.

He knew this wasn’t common but he wanted everyone to know you two belong together, forever.

For a moment he wasn’t sure if you understood him, seeing how out you were, but you nodded frantically, pulling him closer against you.

A hot pleasure rolled over you when he sank his teeth into your skin, breaking it easily. You felt your brain turning into mush while sinking your own teeth into his neck. He used the moment of your orgasm to push his knot into your pussy, locking the two of you together while his knot swelled even more, so full of cum.

Moaning, he put a bit more weight over you, wanting to feel you close while he filled you with his cum.

He licked over your fresh wound and you did the same to his, even though you were exhausted but you felt content, feeling his warm body over you while he filled you with his seed. You knew you had made the right choice with him as your alpha.

His knot locked you together for a few minutes in which you two kissed and licked lazily around your bonding marks, just enjoying the post bliss of the mating.

Special -> pinned post or under the tag Veras 500 follower special

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Please leave some feedback and don’t forget to reblog ❤️

#veras 500 follower special #verasasks #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #curtis everett #smut #alpha curtis everett #abo #alpha beta omega #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans character x reader #chris evans #Chris Evans characters

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Hey M! Argh now that some time has passed since that crazy ass flirty jikook live I've come down from the high and I'm at a loss again. I don't understand them... On his latest live Jungkook seemed to not know that Jimin would perform at Yoongi's concert the next day, so much so that he asked if he could perform again. Also it was his day off today and he didn't go to the concert to see Like Crazy live for the first time. I really think those two aren't dating at all and something strange is going on between them. Maybe there's still some feelings/attraction between them, but it seems they don't want to take those anywhere. I would say Jimin is the most reserved and that perhaps even doesn't want to be shipped with Jungkook anymore. I don't know. I'm very confused by them.

I may be talking a bit differently about jikook now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to spiral into shipping mode completely, leaving my logic aside. I just can't, my brain doesn't allow it. So let me offer you an explanation that to me, sounds a bit closer to reality.

Do you really think Jungkook didn't know Jimin was going to perform the next day? Do you think this is some decision taken on a whim? Like Suga just had a thought, asked Jimin and kept it all a secret?

These things are decided in advance. There are meetings over meetings where every single detail is discussed. There is a producer who oversees how a concert is done from start to finish. You can find interviews about this exact thing about BTS concerts. Or just look up information on google. I'm sure there must be music documentaries that show the process.

Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi, a possible fourth person who might be a guest today and an entire staff group and other people involved must have met and had been part of meetings where details over the concerts were discussed. Then these people rehearsed their number at the company. You see where I'm going with this?

Of course Jungkook knew Jimin was going to perform the next day, just as they all know who is the guest for the last day. During the livestream, Jungkook was being his emo self and way too harsh about his performance and was trying to negotiate with Suga. But I thought it was obvious that he knew and Suga knew that this is just post performance talk, not an actual request. They know each other a lot more than we think we know them. Each night was set for one other BTS member to be on stage. It's as simple as that.

You and all the JM solos and some which found their way into my inbox could try and see the situation from this perspective which does not involve any malicious intent on anyone's part. Seeing Jungkook as some number one enemy who has an agenda of sabotaging Jimin is too absurd to even consider debating.

As to everything else you said, I don't see how you made all those connections? And why it's a big deal. How are we supposed to know what JK did for the entirety of his off work day? Why should I be concerned with something I don't know about? Which seems to be the biggest issue with so-called jikook shippers. No matter how much they get to witness coming directly from Jimin and Jungkook, it's not enough. It never is. There's some weird doubt settling in immediately. If actual interactions don't satisfy you, than what is the point of all this? What is the expectation? For both of them to be seen together all the time in official content? And to be seen out together daily, especially through cctv footage if possible? Add in some rumor for the package to be complete. Attached at the hip for public consumption. Is that what people get from confirmed couples all the time? Not really, because even them try to keep their private time private. And now this is the expectation from two people who are not even confirmed as a couple in a situation in which fans are merely been speculating for years and which might turn out to be nothing. Let's not even talk about the entire context of queer people in SK, cause that's a huge element that has been ignored so many times.

Going down the rabbit hole and having some specific type of expectations are the ways in which some shippers are setting themselves up. You can go with the flow and enjoy what is out there to enjoy. That can be enough if you want it.

Also, you have to understand something really basic that might offer you a different perspective. If today or in the future, it is revealed both of them have other partners, Jimin and Jungkook will still act with each other the same way they have been for years. Because they have a specific dynamic that is only applied to them. And it will also be an indication that they have had partners throughout all these years. And somehow we all still enjoyed whatever they had in their relationship with each other, regardless of its nature.

#m thoughts #jikook

[goffilolo]

Art burnout

The last few months kinda sucked. I put a lot of time and energy into some really demanding drawings for the asuyuno week, and even before that I was drawing non-stop for a good few weeks making those multi page comics for the simpweek collab, and the nacht comic sequel. And it’s not that I’m fed up with making art.

I’m fed up with how much my mood was dependent on whether or not the drawings I made garnered a lot of attention in the fandom, which I know we as artists are told time and time again shouldn’t be your priority, but it’s still hard. It’s especially hard when you’re part of a small fandom like black clover (at least on tumblr), which means that I only really interacted with like 3-4 people. And since the fandom is so small there was definitely a severe lack of the type of content I liked, which made me feel the push to keep making the stuff I wanted to see being made, which in turn made me feel even more burnt out, combined with low amount of interaction from people. It’s not so much about the number of notes, but the comments you know?

For a hot minute I was thinking to myself ‘maybe I should start posting my work on twitter’ but that was the devil talking. Instead I’m going to take a break from posting for a while. I’m not giving up on drawing or anything. In fact I do have plans to work on drawing just for the sake of making a drawing that is fun to create, and maybe spend some time on trying to improve. I’m just not going to be posting for a while.

My inbox is still open so I might occasionally pop in and answer a few asks if I vibe with them, and if anyone wants to just talk to me you can always DM me or add me on discord.

See ya

#gothic says shit #black clover

[66sharkteeth]

Hey there, 66! Hope you're doing great. I have been going through your account for the past few hours (this reminds me of that one time I stayed up till 2 am as I appreciated all the artworks on your Instagram) so I know you've heard this several times, but I wanted to say it myself too: your work is wonderful. Believe me, I absolutely love it!

I found City of Blank years ago, during its first season. I read it all, and was quite impressed with the concept, intrigued by the plot, and in love with the characters. But before the next season started, I dropped out of reading Webtoons completely, as far as I remember. Long story short, I revisited Webtoon recently, read a few episodes of City of Blank, and was hooked. Yep. I binge-read the entire rest of the episodes in... three to five days?

So I want to commend you on your amazing concept, beautiful and eye-catching art, plot that keeps me reading late into the night (and at the dining table, between my studies, every single chance I get), the characters (really, they're very well-written — please don't doubt that — and unique, with different stories and personalities, I just love them), and the themes too (incorporated nicely, and it does make me wonder what it means to be a human). The way you write grey characters is one of the best things in your story, I feel.

(I feel like I should give you specific examples of what I like, but I have a tendency of talking too much, as you can see, so this will get way too long, I think... and sorry about the already huge chunks of text. but I hope this make you feel happy somehow)

Alright, now onto my actual questions. They're actually not related to the webcomic itself, since I really can't think of anything interesting... But your story is really good, so here are some queries I have about writing in general.

Do you have any tips for thinking of ideas? About concepts, plot, whatever; how to really get your brain in that mode, you know.

How do you create such vibrant characters? My characters are so similar... there are at least three pairs of nearly-identical characters. And how do you make them flawed yet still so likable?

They are pretty general questions, my apologies. It's just that, you know, since I'm getting to interact with the creator of one of my current favourite stories, why not learn something from them? You can just answer with your personal processes or whatever, I just wished to know how you do it.

I'm really looking forward to the next episode (but take your time, I'm okay with waiting). Pretty sad that this is the last season though. I'll miss it. Could you maybe tell me the estimated date of return and how many more episodes we'll have? Just a rough idea will do too.

That's all. (At this point it'll come as a relief to you 😂) Have a wonderful week ahead, lots of love, and know that there are lots of people who genuinely enjoy your work, you adorable shark! ❤️

(also, don't know why I'm telling you, but this is my first ever interaction on Tumblr with literally anyone) (cool site, I like the easy formatting)

(If you've read this entire thing, thank you. Did I bother you too much? I hope not.)

Hey there! Gonna do my best to answer this since it's been in my inbox for a while, but apologies if it's not the most coherent as my head's still in a bit of a fog from a cold.

First off, thank you for the kind words. I remember they made my day when I first got this ask, but they made it again as I'm waking up w/ a throbbing head ache and coughing my lungs out from the NYCC 2023 Con Crud™.

Anyway, gonna answer your questions the best I can, especially because I'm not entirely sure what the best way to answer these kinds of questions are-

Do you have any tips for thinking of ideas? About concepts, plot, whatever; how to really get your brain in that mode, you know.

I think one thing I like to shape a lot of my concepts around is making something unordinary ordinary. I've talked about it before, but one of the inspirations behind blanks is shadow people, like the ghosts. They're so horrifying and creepy to me, and I thought it would be neat if I made a world where the most creepy and scary thing to me was just...super ordinary and mundane. Like a world where you go into your living room and you're like "Man, that shadow person is still standing in front of my tv. How obnoxious."

A lot of my upcoming ideas kind of focus around this concept too. What if we lived in a world where demons were just every day citizens that went to work and school with us? What if we lived in a world where nobody feared death and was excited for it? What if we lived in a world where half the population was in prison? I can't say every single story idea I have falls into this, but I'd say a lot of them do and I find it's often a kick off point for a lot of my ideas.

How do you create such vibrant characters? My characters are so similar... there are at least three pairs of nearly-identical characters. And how do you make them flawed yet still so likable?

Do I make them likable? Sometimes I can't tell when I look at characters like Lyss haha. Because I think she's a victim of how I write characters, which is just... I dunno, write them like they're real people. Everybody is mad at the decisions Lyss made but... I'm sorry. I'll forever die on the hill that everyone are hypocrites and 90% of people would have done the same thing in her shoes. Only a flawless, benevolent, and frankly kind of stupid, person would have just...let Rex go in those circumstances, evil other half be damned. He was still a danger who proved he couldn't control himself, and the same way you'd probably report your best friend who was driving raving drunk after he just smashed into someone, she reported a dangerous person. Even if people hate her for it, I wrote what any person would have done in that situation. And that's how I try to write all my characters, for better or for worse. A lot of Rex's stupid decisions are dictated by his anxiety and depression, and I know from firsthand experience how being in that state of mind can influence your decisions and overall outlook on life and the people who love you, despite what you may think. I guess my advice is just to give them human flaws. A lot of people don't like Nia because she's manipulative, but I write her as a character who 100% practices what she preaches. Yeah, she "gas lit" Rex into joining Blan Corp, but she also 1000% believed it was the best thing for him.

Desmond probably comes off as the more "flawless" characters, but his own self-loathing and... catholic blank guilt is a big part of what pushed Rex away. In the time when Rex was questioning and hating himself for being a blank, why would he ever go the one person who hates himself for being a blank more than him? When he could go to the person (Nia) who celebrates him being a blank, and reminds him he can be loved for being one.

Anyway, that's enough rambling for now. Hopefully that gives you some to chew on.

#city of blank #rex #desmond #lyss #nia

[amischiefofmuses]

♪

For every ♪ in my inbox I'll post a song I listen to for character inspiration. || Accepting always

I'll do three hellaverse nerds >:3c

Stepdad - Parrot

Most often, I stay level-headed. As they say, I'm on the ball. Sometimes, my mind wanders, and I don't know where he'll end up at all. Then I feel like a pet store parrot, ever spouting words. And when I've had a few too many, I get quite excited, I start talking very loudly and this is when- I've said a fair share of stupid things that I can't hide My wonderful friends just roll their eyes, stay by my side

This song just gives me such FIZZ energy. It's this delicate balance between being himself and being a people pleaser than he feels he never quite manages, always a touch too abrasive, too silly to the point of being annoying, yet those who care about him still stick around.

GHOST - The chattering lack of common sense

Moving along, dancing along, playing along - I am Waiting for it, preparing it, looking for it - I am Feeling around, messing around, looking around - I am Laughing a lot, losing a lot, looking at you - I am And what the hell should I do? I've been feeling out of order. I've been sorta noticing. Fallacies and things that see me. Surely, you've always known, I'm a little out of sorts. First impressions reborn. This is what I've come to be (This is what I shouldn't be). This is what I wanna be.

Not only is the music itself the right kind of unhinged (with a touch of canned laughter that fits Al so very well) but the song itself talks about masking things with smiles, planning interactions, it all just screams manipulator but perhaps one desperately grasping for control. Also that last line fits my Al so well because he LOVES who he is in hell, loves the power that comes with being the Radio Demon and would never want to go back to just being a man.

My Chemical Romance - Heaven help us

I'm at this old hotel, but can't tell if I've been breathing or sleeping or screaming or waiting for the man to call, and maybe all of the above. 'Cause mostly I've been sprawled on these cathedral steps, while spitting out the blood and screaming - Someone save us Heaven help us now, Come crashing down. We'll hear the sound, as you're falling down. And will you pray for me? Or make a saint of me? And will you lay for me? Or make saint...? 'Cause I'll give you all the nails you need, cover me in gasoline, wipe away those tears of blood again, and the punchline to the joke is asking - Someone save us

I can literally picture this being after episode 5, where Luci is just pleading to the heavens - figuratively - that nothing bad happens to Charlie. That maybe, just maybe, Heaven will listen but he doesn't have high hopes and he's so fucking terrified she's going to get hurt. He'd rather sacrifice himself that allow that to happen. I legit have a full animatic in my brain that I definitely don't have the focus to make but it'd have little flashbacks to his fall or moments afterwards and just aH. SO GOOD.

#helluva boss cw #hazbin hotel cw #tbt #ooc || the birb speaks #long post cw #hazbinned

[egg-emperor]

You're very right in the tags of that one post. Toxic positivity is just as bad as toxic negativity, sometimes worse due to the handling of constructive criticism because of can-do-no-wrong attitude that stifles growth and creativity.

That ever-growing toxicity combined with this weird form of puritanism that has people harassing and dogpiling on others if they dare have an independent thought outside the hivemind is what's forcing me away from the Sonic fandom and never returning again, despite how much I love Eggman. I've already stopped reblogging Sonic art on my main blog and interacting with the fandom at large outside of a close circle of trusted friends across social media, they're the only thing even keeping that dying flame for this series stoked. I'm almost ready to delete it all and revamp my main blog theme to distance myself further. It hurts to know I'm no longer welcome in something that has been a major part of my life since I started gaming, something I've seen grow from literally nothing as I grew.

I still enjoy so many things about this series, and I had so much fun with everything up until this point, but being pushed out and treated like you're worse than trash for disagreeing with one thing feels like a knife being twisted in my heart. I don't want to go, but at this point I feel I have no choice to leave it all behind.

I'm sorry to sound whiny with this all, but I guess I just needed somewhere to vent. Should I consider this my goodbye letter to the Sonic series? Maybe so.

Thanks, Julian. Again, sorry for the vent.

Nah don't apologize, that's exactly how I've been feeling too. There's a big problem with both toxic positivity and negativity in this fandom and I'd say the former has been a much bigger one lately. I wouldn't say any of my criticisms of the latest media I'm not a fan of has been that harsh, aside from the occasional rants where I've been especially worked up and upset.

Most of the time it was just calm criticism that I was being asked to talk about in my inbox, it's not like I was going onto other people's posts and inboxes trying to be negative. But it's just blown up out of proportion because people take offense merely being something they don't want to see, because I see it as anything less than perfect and amazing. And that's where the toxic positivity comes in.

What I do always comes from a place of deep passion and my boldness in expressing true feelings is dismissed as nothing but hatred. Just because again, it's not highly positive endless praise without question or criticism. There's a lot of toxic positivity and also puritanism especially when it comes to my views and creations of Eggman compared to what people would prefer I think and do instead.

I've stepped away from fandom massively too because there isn't much out there that appeals to me anymore. It's a hivemind where you're not allowed to voice different opinions or even state facts as it's immediately taken as an attack. It's full of high praise of everything and intolerance towards people that don't feel the same, they accuse me of being horrible and hateful and trying to attack specific people with things I make on my own blog.

I don't think I'm ever really going to come back either beyond interaction with the small amount of people I still follow that aren't with that crowd and their mindset and either feel the same or accept I feel differently, like I can with them as long as they respect me too. I don't seek out content from anywhere else aside from heavily filtered Tumblr search. I'll never search Eggman on Twitter again for the sake of my sanity lol

While it does help me feel better to not surround myself with things that make me uncomfortable and avoid it as well as I can, it does hurt to leave almost everything behind and not feel welcome amongst the masses just because we can't agree on everything and are open with criticism, no matter how sensible and calm we are about it. I'm going to miss out on the small amount of stuff out there I would like as a result which is sad too.

But then when I'm at my worst after all recent events, I've contemplated deleting everything and leaving because even though there are a few reasons I have to stick around and it's not all bad, it still feels like I don't belong and do everything wrong in some people's eyes and am hated by many and it just makes me miserable with all the constant reminders. It hurts that something that's been so special and important to me almost all my life is now attached to this pain.

It was fun up until this point for me too but now I feel pushed out because of how many places I've been kicked out of and how many I've been blocked by. It really does hurt a lot, how it feels like everything can go wrong just for being yourself and being open and honest about how you feel. It does stifle growth and creativity a lot when different perspectives and ideas are immediately shunned and looked down upon and responded to aggressively.

I don't really want to go either but I've accepted I need to take a step back, as big of a part of my life it was for so long. And I've been considering that I might have to leave official media behind soon as it just feels like there might not be anything for me anymore. Even before shit really hit the fan fandom wise, I started pondering it. Leaving that will hurt even more but I'm trying not to hold on to what hurts or discomforts me and just doesn't bring me the happiness it did before.

If I do have to leave both fandom and official media behind entirely, it will hurt a lot but I still appreciate for the people I still follow, old official content, and sharing my analysis, headcanons, fics, gushing, etc. I'm still passionate as ever about Eggman and love to create from it and share it, that's why I care so much and have such strong opinions and bold ways of expressing it in the first place. It's sad that it had to come to this but I appreciate the good times and memories and I won't let all this stop me from doing what I love.

But yeah you're not alone in this, I feel exactly the same way and I'm saying my goodbye to most of the fandom too and possibly the entire series itself soon with the way things might be going from here.

You're welcome and no need to be sorry 💜

#asks

[teaveetamer]

genuinely, do you think maybe you should step back and take some time and think on what this whole situation has become, what should’ve just been standing up to harassment and telling people to block and move on has become a vitriolic and toxic space. since this whole thing started ive seen people use the antisemitic lizard rhetoric to make jokes, ive seen people imply edelgard and the empire is comparable to nazism, make ignorant comments on japan, and people compare real world events and problems to this game, all within the community you interact with or interacts with you. maybe you should reassess what you and people around you have been saying and if you want to continue this whole thing or maybe let it end.

you should step back and take some time and think on what this whole situation has become

Friend, I didn't make the situation anything. I called out harassment, and now I'm back to doing what I have always done: talking about Fire Emblem and other media. Frankly, this situation wouldn't exist at all if certain individuals in this fandom didn't feel empowered to come and bully and harass. Most of us have done basically everything in our power to avoid having people see our content, even going so far as to come up with custom tags and censor character names, and still we've literally had these people come here, take screenshots of our blogs, and repost them to their blogs or spread them around on other social media platforms for months to point and laugh and mock and encourage harassment. Many of my mutuals have been getting harassing messages in their inboxes for months. Harassers have been stalking our blogs looking for things to get angry about and bring back to their friends. And we've been very kindly ignoring it and hoping it goes away. But it's very clear that it hasn't stopped and that it's getting worse. And it's not even just the "bad" takes they're going after. They're going after people expressing the most milquetoast stuff, like saying having character flaws makes a character more interesting.

So what do you want me to do, exactly? Because I've honestly tried. I didn't tag any of my posts for years (I do now, specifically so if people don't want to see the discourse they can blacklist it). I block and mute or simply don't engage with people who are getting on my nerves, except in some very specific exception cases like calling out the harassment that has already, again, been going on for months. So what's the next logical step? Stop talking about a game series I love? Stop having opinions that other people don't agree with, no matter how mild? Do you really think that's a reasonable solution?

ive seen people use the antisemitic lizard rhetoric to make jokes, ive seen people imply edelgard and the empire is comparable to nazism, make ignorant comments on japan, and people compare real world events and problems to this game, all within the community you interact with or interacts with you.

Not sure who you're referencing here specifically, since I haven't seen anyone I follow say this kind of stuff as of this moment in time. Don't you think it might be a bit more effective to take your grievances directly to them instead of hiding behind anon on a blog two steps removed from anything being said? Firstly, because I honestly believe that people deserve the opportunity to look at their own behavior and decide for themselves if they need or want to apologize or make corrections. Secondly, because what, exactly, do you want me to do about what other people are saying? If there's a specific post of mine that seemed to trigger this kind of discussion then you haven't pointed it out. If there's something I've said specifically that you find objectionable then you didn't share it. You haven't even given me the names of the people saying these things so I can investigate for myself whether or not anything I've said might have influenced them, or ask for clarification, or talk to them about the things they've said (or even know if what they've said is as bad as you're implying). There's nothing actually actionable here.

Anyway anon, I'm sorry you're upset about the fandom situation. I understand how it feels to log in and see horrible things being said. I mean, I also don't browse the general FE tag or even some character tags because there are also people going around saying stuff like "Abyss is a concentration camp", "Dimitri is delusional and needs to be put down", people making fun of "those nasty fujos", calling Dimitri "manpain Biden", comparing Dimitri to right wing zealots or "blue lives matter" or homophobes or whatever other BS. Just do your best to curate your experience. Blacklist, block, and use tags properly.

#Edelgard discourse

[aces-to-apples]

Damn I’m disappointed you’re falling in the camp of going from threatening an abuse victim with a lawyer and telling them to shut up, I had hoped with stance on other fandom harassment you would empathize.

............hey remember when I first got into Star Wars fandom and ended up following and being pseudo-friends with goddamn clonehub of all the fucking people and participated in a fucking smear campaign against several other artists for such "crimes" as "drawing icky art that made me, personally, uncomfortable"? Can you even imagine how fucking embarrassing that is to recall as a actual adult rn?? I literally want to tear my skin off sometimes remembering that I was absolutely certain that my personal discomfort and fucking ignorance was more important than other peoples' right to just fucking exist and vibe in their corner of fandom and I think we should all take a minute to contemplate how much more of a goddamn nightmare my loud obnoxious ass would be if I'd actually ended up full-on puriteen..... Fucking harrowing, isn't it?

And you know what? Maybe I'll end up having backed the wrong metaphorical horse this time as well and find out that I once again am running in the same circles and happily interacting with yet another goddamn bully. Shit's fucking embarrassing, if nothing else, lemme tell you. (God remember that bitchy little "ah shucks weren't you and clonehub friends once?? What happened???" anon ask a while back? Talk about harrowing lmao.)

But I've been running in the same circles as Jer for years, I'm friends with several people who've been Friends-friends with her for years and even decades who vouch for her, and I've witnessed several hate and harassment campaigns run against her already. And I don't know any of these people crawling out of the woodwork to start shit so idk. I'm going with my gut here. Maybe it'll work out like shit again. Or maybe I'll dodge the bullet this time and not participate in a vindictive smear campaign against people who make the "wrong art" or whatever the fuck.

And like.

Hey, Anonymous Goddamn Citizen, you ever considered that I'm fucking tired? That I'm tired to my goddamn bones of how every reactionary bitch on this planet with an internet connection can and will just make heinous shit up about random fucking people that they don't like and convince enough people to jump on the dogpile to the point where the truth doesn't even matter anymore?? Do you how many times I've witnessed this in the last three years alone??? I'm fucking tired man! I'm tired!!

So like. Idk. Maybe fuck your snotty ham-fisted attempt at a guilt-trip? And fuck your manipulative, performative bullshit "disappointment" with Internet Rando #7014?? Maybe even fuck you personally???

I mean, I don't know you, because if I did then you wouldn't be on anon, you'd be in my DMs actually trying to talk to me instead of, in all likelihood, hunting through Flamethrower's posts and copy-pasting this shit into the inbox of everyone who reblogs her posts or whatever. Like that's usually how I see this shit go. And believe me, I have seen this shit go. If we were friends, and therefore someone whose opinion I care about, you wouldn't be hiding behind an anonymous function, taking advantage of the observable fact that I am fundamentally incapable of not having both an opinion and the last word.

Yet here you are.

And here I am, answering the bait, as is my custom. But hey, I extra super deluxe mega promise that if I end up on the wrong side of history here, I'll do the whole YouTuber Apology song and dance and you'll get to smugly say I fuckin told you so. I'm sure that'll make you very happy.

'Til then, just as an unnecessary bit of extra snotty pedantry to sign off: I'm actually hypoempathetic, so feel free to hold your breath waiting for me to empathize with literally anything. Funnily enough, I'm actually trying not to let my personal knee-jerk reactions dictate my sense of morality and ethics these days. Just as a fun change from Anti-Lite Apples of 2017-2019ish??

#if i'm wrong then i'm wrong and i'm sure i'll feel very embarrassed #fortunately i'm literally nobody and nothing and not a goddamn person is basing THEIR opinions on whatever dumb shit I say #anon asks #answered asks #by apples #fandom slapfight #fandom harassment #gee apples how come you're more inclined to believe people that you know and like instead of these randos you've never even seen before??? #golly i don't know that's a tough one why AREN'T i just tossing over a years-old relationship #with someone who has been targeted over and over by hate and harassment campaigns run by insufferable gremlins #for actual goddamn years in favor of literal strangers whose word means absolutely nothing to me?? that's a doozy. #maybe you better grab an abacus and sit down to do THAT math idk #long post

[shadyteacup]

Hi, I really have no clue how to puts words on my thoughts so ig I shall start by apologising I kinda have nobody to talk, I've read your writings for a while now and I always love them so it kinda ended up like a safe place even if that may sounds weird? I've been feeling really down, idk since when maybe 5 or 6 months or even more I don't really realise. My mind has been sm of a mess I don't know how to deal with it anymore I worry over deaths of beloved, insecurities, weird dreams or disturbing thoughts, studies, future and relationships or just interaction with others. I've always had to bottle up those feeling and this issues bc my parents(I'm a minor) always said seeing a psy was for weak or crazy people (ngl I wanted to punch them) so I didn't get any help. The only thing I'm holding to stay sain all seem to fly away, I can't get rid of the past and I'm scared of the future, where everyone would be deconnected and nothing would be real anymore. I know that's dumb and childish to worry over such things and it's like I keep walking to a wall my mind created and then one day I'll crash into it, lost the person I love the most, I will be all alone forever and nothing could fill me. Idk how to talk to other too, I end up cracking some jokes and make fun of what scares me bc i'm afraid of their reaction, they're gonna laugh at me and distanciate from me and I'll be all alone bc socialising with other hard .I've seriously asked myself if I should end my days, thinking it would be the only way to put my mind at ease, to fully relax and don't worry over a single thing. I want to see again those I've loved and still love. If I care for the whole world why don't anybody look up for me? I'm a coward so I can't even handle this by myself and take a decision alone but I acknowledge that so I'm not even ashamed anymore. There again I sincerely apologise for venting to u about my whole issues and on heavy subjects with a poor English and sm mistakes that I would feel ashamed to read what I just wrote.

At least I wish you a good day/night, that everything goes well for u and by the occasion I wanted to tell you how i love your writings and your blog is really amazing for me <3

Hi

I know I took long to answer this, and by now you've probably given up any hopes of getting an answer back

But it took so long because I was going through this too, and every time I tried answering, it ended up triggering me.

There was a time when I was suicidal myself.. idk if I should call it that, because I never acted on it, but yes, constant thoughts of wanting to off myself did flood my mind back then.

In fact, I felt that way exactly during the time period of receiving this ask, making it rlly hard for me to help u..

uk, in Hinduism, there's a saying that goes, "if you want to help others with something, practise it yourself first"

There's a whole story about how this God, who loved eating malai/makhan (sort of like cream, made from milk- but that's not the point), was approached by a mother, who asked him to help her son quit his own malai addiction. She wanted him to do something about her son's addiction. So He asked her to give him 10 days to solve the problem.

After said time, He came back to the duo, and simply said, "Stop eating so much malai, son, its not good for your health." to the son.

You know why He took 10 days? He tried to end his own addiction, first. Because in order to help others, you must help yourself first.

And, unfortunately, my 10 days aren't over yet. But every time I come across your ask in my inbox, I yearn to be able to do something about it. Because I want to help you, but im not qualified to do so.

Just remember that there are other people going through what you have gone through/ are going through, and that you are not alone.

Yes, maybe talking to a therapist might help you, but if your parents aren't allowing you to do so (ik, adults can be dumb about such things), search for therapists online. Im sure there are free consultations available online. Or even better, if your educational institute provides a student section, you can talk to them. I'm pretty sure most of the institutes today have a psy available for students to talk to. Make the most of it!

As for the suicidal thoughts, remember how valuable you are. Your life isn't a fickle thing to give up on so easily. In the end, you are your own strength and best friend. Talk to yourself, be kind to yourself, and most importantly, be truthful.

Wanna know how I overcame my intrusive thoughts? I talked to myself. Literally, I sat in front of a mirror and talked. At first, it felt a little weird, but you know, after a while, I found comfort in that. I became my own therapist, and helped myself out of it. This was tough, since due to the pandemic, everyone from my family was home, but I still managed to lock myself away in my room for some time. And I used to whisper, or talk softly so as to not let anyone know what im doing.

u n I were going through the same thing, but I hope its all in the past for you<3

again, im truly sorry that I couldn't muster up the courage to answer this earlier, and I hope this helps you.

and remember, I care about you, n so do your parents. they might say no to a therapist, but they care about you, and love you. You never know, maybe they themselves went though something similar earlier in their lives, but didn't know how to vent it out. Parent are sometimes grown ups who don't know how to perfectly handle a situation, so they do/say what they have been taught to do/say in such situations. Society can make seeking therapy a taboo, or a big deal, and maybe they don't know how to see beyond that. Don't hate them for it, but do remember to never make the same mistake when you grow up... I really do care for u, n truly love you, so pls, take care of urself

#shadyteacup #shady☕ #mental health #mental health awareness #you are valuable

[sincerely-krp]

yall be on here talking bout missing oc rps on this platform but when an oc rp opens up yall ghost it? peep at glorytv's blogroll… admin gave yall an event yet there ain't nobody writing in there // thats likely because whether it was deleted or not at this point, this blog (sincerely-krp) let someone link it with risehq and was just going to be okay with posting that accusation until I said something in their inbox about linking rps to drama/toxicity without proof. so it could be DoA due to that. /

i'm just going to point this out, i don't think glorytv is doing well because the premise is not really what the majority of au krpers are looking for. it sounds like au krpers joined the place then got bored, which isn't the krp's fault it's just a byproduct of fast food krp. i think it's probably more likely to consider that as opposed to sincerely's blog having that much weight. especially seeing that they had a valid reason to post and then stop the conversation that had nothing to do with anything public on the blog. it's a sticky slope because we have to trust that sincerely is being honest about people dming them, but the last two times we questioned them not only did they blatantly prove the people accusing them wrong, they managed to give themselves more credibility for curbing toxicity that the admins or community tried to propogate which is not... ideal, idk.

we have proof they're honest, we can check them, as i think we should, every now and then to make sure they're continuing to be honest, but this defaulting to sincerely's blog being why au krps shut down before considering the other logical threads feels tired.

we keep running into issues like this where we assume something on this blog is baseless so it's why bad things happen or they're censoring people's opinions but time and time again the admins have been able to point out that they made their decision because of what privately was brought to them. this isn't me saying we shouldn't question them, only that maybe we shouldn't default to assuming this blog is operating on a 'oops we got caught so we fixed it!' basis, and maybe start considering that it's the fact that they listen to feedback that matters.

i'm also not saying to trust the shit on this blog, like fr PLEASE don't, and use your judgement. i'm specifically talking about the assumption that a couple bad things about a krp on sincerely is enough to shut a whole krp down, without the krp having a significant hand in it. because if a krp is gonna interact with sincerely they can just get the incorrect asks taken down, and if they can't disprove the ask, then it's probably generic enough people will overlook it.

this did happen with rise, the only ask about rise was taken down from the blog less than 24 hours later, and then like a whole week out of nowhere there was a shit ton of tea because rise mentioned sincerely on their admin blog. they had like so many people talking to sincerely but we, the audience, saw none of that until they pushed sincerely to discuss it. that too to take the heat off of someone they knew the admin knew was innocent, and they could tangibly see, in their inbox, was being shit on due to the admin's post. when people didn't take sincerely's word for it they had to post censored versions of horrible things being said about that one person, which is proof that they try to keep private things... well, private.

rise, in contrast to the rupes issue, where it was obvious an insidigm person was around, but once sincerely shut them down we didn't see any influx of toxic paradigm asks out in the open. they also only posted that proof because someone questioned them, and now private stuff about a member of rupes is out here for everyone to see. i personally think both this situation and the rise situation caused harm to the victims because we pressed sincerely. i do think they were necessary, because in both situations sincerely operated the way they told us they do, but the rp community itself was extremely active in one issue, and in the other, they weren't even here. we all saw how that reflected on the blog; the situation with insidigm and rupes passed super easily without issue or toxicity that was unnecessary, even THOUGH sincerely said no insidigm or rupes members reached out to them. meanwhile, the rise issue dominated the blog only because the admin tried to blame sincerely, and then parts of their community continued to fight on this blog (which, if everyone recalls, resulted in them basically posting the shit on the ask they asked sincerely to take down that sincerely continued to censor themselves).

and now with glorytv there was an assumption that the admins just passed whatever to be posted on the blog and then took it down willy nilly when there was a reason why. i've noticed asks from the mp situation gone but my default isn't to think SINCERELY HAS AN AGENDA AGAINST ME AND FOR MP it's to assume an mp mun talked to sincerely and sincerely removed the asks accordingly.

like if they really aren't in the krps themselves, i'm willing to cut them some slack on what they post as long as they're swift about taking them down when shown proof. i also think that while the systems are flawed they're working on them, and they pretty much do whatever us, the community, agrees to do when presented with decisions on what to allow or not allow on the blog.

as far as vent blogs go, i think we should just start considering the facts that we, as critical thinkers can see. as long as we maintain a healthy level of skepticism, we can probably be more productive. they've been clear they don't actually care, they do what they need to for their own blog, which means they're inherently toxic because they know they leave things on this blog that are untrue but couldn't be proven so, and i think that itself is helpful to consider because it makes it easier to understand what we'll be seeing on this blog. there are clear instances of this blog helping people and not hurting them, which makes things more difficult to assign moral value.

bottom line: this blog is only as toxic as the muns in the communities being discussed. it's not always on sincerely for allowing something to be posted, it's more on the people behind the scenes communicating with them. we should exhaust those options first before confronting this blog so we can hold the right parties accountable. we can ask sincerely if someone approached them maybe, it sounds like every time they have consent to show proof shared to them they do, so we can ask for what proof was sent, or we can privately dm them if we really need to know about something and see where that gets us.

admin note: we're fine with the things mentioned in the last paragraph! if consent is given to us we have no issues sharing proof given to us either.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

Hi, so I'm the anonymous ask lol, which feels silly in hindsight so if we can ignore that lol, I'd appreciate it :D

Idk, I basically just started getting back into writing post-graduation since I actually had mental space for it, and I've really enjoyed the interactions I've had with people in the community on AO3, but I'm not great at those interactions either I guess? Or maybe I just feel silly haha, but I'm trying to do better at reaching out and joining community spaces :)

That's really helpful, though! I'm trying to do better at just letting myself exist without feeling weird/hyper-critical about what I post, which is why my Tumblr/AO3/Discord aren't linked to my irl social handles, but sometimes the public-ness of AO3 is hard for me to overcome, if that makes sense? I always feel bad for not responding to people as much or reaching out, but I'm doing my best :)

Anyway, I really appreciate this! It's helpful to hear for sure. You're genuinely one of my favorite writers in the community, so the encouragement means a lot.

it's not silly!!! but obligingly, i pull out a forgetinator and blast myself in the face with it. ignore what? what were we talking about?

anyway, OMG HI!!!!!!! hi hi hello hi hello hello hi!!! imagine just a million heart emojis everywhere because HI!!!!! your fics are. SO good oh my god. genuinely just so fuckin good. and now you're in my inbox. WOw. flapping my hands like a demented seal.

im glad!!! im gonna graduate soon (undergrad/uni for me) and i can understand how the relief might make a better headspace for writing--although i'm going straight to grad school so we'll see if i get anywhere on that front. sigh.

but oh my god i totally get what you mean. i have no idea how to make social interaction on purpose, i generally just let people come to me. i used to joke i don't start conversations but end them (by prolonging them for so long the other person runs away, rip). but hey!!! look!!! it's working!!! you've stumbled into my TRAP!!! (the trap is social interaction with me) (i mean this so light heartedly i swear) ANYWAY my point being i'm also not great at interactions, i think, and i feel very silly trying. i feel silly even messaging in the discord, and i actually know some people there!

also, yeah, ao3 does feel so public, i get not wanting to feel self conscious--also oh my god please don't connect your irl accounts to ao3/tumblr. i mean i wouldn't judge anyone who does but holy shit i'd explode. also it seems like a recipe for disaster probably, esp bc the internet and people knowing your irl info and etc. but like, if anyone i know irl, or like, employers or something, saw my silly gay porn, or worse, the memes, i think i'd just have to turn into bats. pack it up boys we're bats now (<- my braincells). god forbid they find out about gertson. (that's an inside joke that's not even from this blog don't worry about it.) ANYWAY i also like. mmm i should respond to comments more but i have so little energy (uni...) that i usually don't unless they specifically ask me something or need a response for some reason. i get the struggle.

i'm glad it could be helpful at all!!! also i need you to know i read that and did the Autism Full Body Wiggle Of Happiness. i do not know how to take compliments but i sure can try. especially, again, coming from YOU, one of MY favorite authors in the fandom,

#THE MOST RECENT FIC! #THE DICHOTOMY SERIES! #I KNOW THAT'S ALL OF THEM BUT THEY'RE ALL SO GOOD! #askbox #i think i literally sent the most recent one to the discord like EVERYONE READ THIS NOW

[phoenixrising0308]

Long post

Word count: 440 *excuse any typo's or errors*

Reading time 1 minute

This is related to my experience with hate nonny and my experience only. In no shape or from does this realate to any past or current discourse. But still after a year I still thought it was a statement that rang true to me so I am transitioning it over. Below is the date it was actually written on.  

After the dust settled, I wanted to write something about what happened Monday, but it wasn't just Monday; it's been happening for a while. I was the recipient of hate nonny for months; it scared me and frankly took a toll on me in more ways than one. I dreaded my inbox; it was filled with hate about me as a person, my profession, and it took a few jabs at my writing and its themes. English isn't my first language, and I've come a long way. It takes guts to write in English and on a virtual platform when English is not your dominant language, and I won't get into detail as to why my close friends know why. Tumblr was my escape a place to enjoy stories and write my own. But that was space comprised for motives I will never understand. Writers have their own stories, maybe they use this space to tell it. I've overcome a lot, and I didn't want Nonny to create any other life problem area for me, so I  switched a handle that had 323 followers on for a fresh start and found my joy again, but monday, someone attempted to take it from me again with a morning filled with hate...but this time, I decided to answer and got my power back.

If you are reading this and sending HATE Nonny to ME or ANYONE... STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE. Just cut the shit out, Nonny, seriously. You can create 20 profiles, but you are the same person, and maybe you don't like yourself enough, so you hurt others PRETTY SAD BUT ALSO A DICK MOVE. Go to someone in your life, talk this shit out, and figure out why you feel the need to do this. Nonny, we are all human beings deserving of respect. The world is unkind enough.

If fandom can get behind one thing, it should not be tolerating bullying and harassment. Don't like someone's work; ignore it, hate a storyline, skip it, have an issue with someone address it directly, don't terrorize them, hoping they leave. Also, there is always that block.

*I want to thank those joining the fight against bullying; whether we interact or not, this is a joint fight for us all. But silence can speak volumes; this is not a problem for a few people; it is everyone's problem. One way to fight the good fight is checking with fandom friends but all so supporting posts that spell out we have had enough of this bullying bullshit and reblog the shit out of them and if you're up to it say fuck hate nonny and or just hashtag fckhatenonny*

Yours truly

-J

Originally published on 2.23.21 and transitioned to this URL on 10.20.22 by the original author. -J

[writingquestionsanswered]

(Hello! After following this blog for a bit, I've decided to send in an ask!)

So, my current WIP is an isekai/wuxia inspired fantasy. The thing is, despite those aspects, I want to focus more on character relationships and growth as the narrative progresses.

I was wondering, how can I do this without making it boring or tedious for readers expecting a fast-paced story? It'll still contain magic, but I'm worried people will drop it before it gets to that point, as I intend to ease the reader into it.

I hope this makes sense, but thanks in advance!

Balancing Character Relationships with Action/Magic

I don't know about Asian fantasy, but in Western fantasy it's not that uncommon for character relationships to evolve and take on increasingly greater importance within the story. However, that obviously doesn't mean chucking the plot out the window. You still need to have a plot, and your characters still need to be focused on achieving their goals. It's just that parallel to those events, and often part of them, character relationships will be playing out.

So, the first thing you want to do is make sure you have a plot. What is the conflict at the heart of the story? How and why are the characters trying to resolve it? What is their ultimate goal? And what is each character's role in reaching this goal? Once you know that, you can plot out the events that need to happen (obstacles they must overcome, put in their path by the antagonist/antagonistic force that stands between them and their goal), and each character's role in those specific events. From there, you can start to look at specific character relationships and plot their trajectory through the story, as they coincide with each event. This way, you make sure the events are still playing out, even if they fall into the background somewhat.

As for keeping it generally fast-paced, I would avoid dedicating entire scenes to only character relationship development. Instead, plot ways for the characters to interact and bond in association with plot events that are already happening. For example, instead of having a scene where two characters sit and talk by a river while camped out on their journey, figure out what else can happen in relation to the story. For example, maybe you need the antagonist's group to ambush them on this journey, so why not have the ambush take place at the end of this conversation. They're sitting there bonding by the river, and their bond strengthens, and just as they're blushingly agreeing they should get back to camp, they hear a twig snap and are immediately on guard, moments before an arrow sails into the clearing hitting one of them in the shoulder before they flee to the camp, shouting warnings to their companions. Now, this scene that was a little slower, a little lower-key, suddenly becomes fast and tense again.

I hope that helps!

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