#*reads own fanfic again*

[morally-earl-grey]

[verynonyideas]

[ohhamlet-art]

such things should never happen, but they do / beside a little box, a mother cries / the swallow seeks to build its nest anew / the oak tree lifts its branches to its eyes

for Piersanti's 21 Syllables, Chapter 9

[theokusgallery]

A bunch of fanart for @greenninjagal-blog's fics I either made during the weekend or never posted for some reason. Names of the fics for each image is in alt text -- in order, we have: 600 Pieces of Eight, Dead Men Break No Codes, Deja Vu (2 images), Details in Gold, and With an Enemy Like You (Who Needs a Lover?)

First image there is called "re-reading 600 Pieces of Eight". Because I'm normal about that fic and its Janus. Second picture is just there because I wanted to show off Virgil's face + I hate how Janus' body looks

And a very small Janus from A Cactus and Nothing More because I j. I just. love this fic so much. It's so cute and rmgjhlfkd.

[starmocha]

His love for you had always been true and steadfast. When you looked back on your years together, it seemed he was always there, always yours. The boy who was promised to you and you to him. An oath had been formed between two powerful families long before either of you came into the world, but perhaps it was always meant to be, because never once did either of you seemed to rebel against your destiny. You grew up alongside him on the grassland, running barefoot and riding horses across the endless green pasture under the sun. It was a rich childhood filled with laughter and smiles, skinned knees and clumsy first kisses, with the boy who had carried you on his small back home. With the boy who had promised to grow up and become the strongest warrior on the grassland. With the boy who had sworn he would always keep you safe and protected. The same boy, one day, had become a man, who had unwittingly stolen many young maidens’ hearts, but his own he had safeguarded and kept for you alone. The man who would always find his way back to you no matter how far his duties may take him. The man who would soon become your husband, the promise made so long ago between two families would now be honored. You tightened your hold on his hand, and he smiled down on you. That smile alone seemed to have banished any lingering insecurities you had. As you stared into his eyes, falling deeper and deeper, you knew nothing could ever sway him, could ever tear him from you. Likewise, there was no one else in your eyes and heart. It was always going to be him. — Elysium, Sylus/Reader. 16K words. Masterlist. AO3

[theotherbuckley]

Just a reminder that people can write whatever they like! If you don’t like it don’t read it! It’s so simple. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s bad. It’s fanFICTION. Which people do for free. If you don’t like it don’t interact. You can ever block or mute them!! But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. As long as they’re tagged correctly they’re giving you the tag you need to decide if you don’t want to read it.

[minisculecosmos]

please don’t tell me these two checkboxes that keep coming up on ao3 are some new legal thing we have to deal with

have we not suffered enough? was once not enough, cyber gods that be?

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warning; future chapters will include:

Graphic Violence, XXX content, Targcest, Spoilers, Canon depravity, death and war, troubling being afoot, menacing, mischief making, genocide, murder, blood, guts, dragons etc.

Word Count ~ 2k+

Index

i ●ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

Prelude ~

Princess Visenya Velaryon, had always been cited as a fair & bold creature. Born in 111AC, a smile that gleamed with mischief adorned her face, marking her most like her mother Rhaenyra. She was, indeed, the picture of a Valyrian Princess, the picture of her mother – with wide eyes and demure glances which hid the current of cunning beneath. She was a but harmless thing, playful at best, impish at worse; at least so far as her grandsire King Viserys thought. Proclaimed as the Laenor Velaryon’s only daughter – the Princess did not inherit her father’s deeper skin or the ringed seafoam shaded locks of Velaryon women. Visenya in fact, did not possess many of House Velaryon' traits, both of the body and mind she seemed of true Targaryen stock, and it was but her mother Rhaenyra who knew, the young princess indeed was just that. Visenya’s impish glares and taunts were alike to that of The Rouge Prince, and to the common Lord or Lady of the court, one might think she inherited such a trait from her mother’s uncle. However, other more insidious rumours deemed Visenya a bastard of Prince Daemon’s, conceived by her mother unknowingly, right before she had wed Ser Leanor. Such rumours would be deemed, most truthful.

i - 'Old Wounds'

123 AC ~

The Princess Visenya, having but defying her mothers’ orders found her way to the Dragonpits alone, once more. She snuck through the winding caverns the soft glow of firelight shading the stone walls, her crimson dress dragging along the volcanic sand below. It was a soothing place, she thought, the warmth of the air… the smell of dragonfire which would linger upon one’s flesh, the gentle growls, and mummers of stirring Dragons. A place in which only a Targaryen might feel at ease. However, it was not the mummers of waking dragons which echoed through the caves in which Visenya heard. Her head peaked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she heard stifled sobs. Wrathful sobs.

She walked with caution, following the solemn sound until she stumbled upon him. The silver haired boy with his knees to his chest, his fists tightly scrunched. She stopped, taking in the sight, a most startling one for the Princess. Aemond.

It was only but a few hours ago that she had heard of her half-brother’s marvellous prank, allying with their eldest Uncle, Prince Aegon; to give Prince Aemond a pig instead of a dragon, to lure and taunt him just to see his face fall from glee to humiliation. Visenya had coiled with hearty laughter as her brother’s recounted the story, she longed to have been there, to see the propitious Prince Aemond faulter. However, her joy was shortly curtailed as Aemond had stumbled upon the scene, the imprint of his stern furrow upon hearing Visenya’s laughter still within her mind. Indeed, the sight she saw before her now, was unlike his affectedly stern façade – it was weak, crumbling, hurt.

The young Princess approached him softly, her face washed with a slight uncertainty.

“Aemond?” Her voice echoed quietly.

Aemond lifted his chin. A thin veil of tears dampened his lashes, his eyes red, bloodshot, and heavy with sorrow. In response, the prince simply glanced down, his expression sullen.

"I’ve no interested in your gloating." He said.

The silver haired girl raised an eyebrow. Her mouth curved upwards in a bemused smirk. "Why would I gloat? It was a rather clever prank. Regardless, it was not I who did it."

The prince’s fists clenched. His knuckles turning white as he looked up at her, his grey eyes glaring. "Yet you snickered all the same, you all laughed at my expense! I cannot forget what you all did to me, how you all..." His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to his fists. When he looked back at her, there were fresh dampness under his cheeks as his expression turn bitter.

“Leave. I should not like you reporting back to your brothers the details of my misery.” His voice a low warning.

“I had no intention to.” Visenya raised her brow, her arms folded. As she looked upon the prince she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pity, his gaze so bitter… so wrathful. She sighed, coming down to sit beside him.

“It was a mere jest. Do not tear yourself to bits over it. Your thoughts are far harsher than the truth of it.” Her attempt at sympathy making her cringe.

“You know nothing of my thoughts!” Aemond snapped.

The air settled between them for a moment, the silence brutal as she looked to him, her hand hesitantly placing itself on his shoulder. Aemond snapped his head, his eyes narrowing as he brushed her hand away.

“I do not need your pity.” His tone curt.

The princess rose, scoffing as she extended her hand to him below. “Get up.” She spoke promptly.

His face coiled with both refusal and confusion. “What?” He snapped.

“I said, get up. If you do not need my pity, so be it. But I cannot stand to listen to your whining any longer. Come, I am visiting Silverwing, and you shall be my torch bearer.” She smiled mischievously, her hand lifting him up, then walking to another torch mounted on the stone walls, using it’s flame to set hers alight.

Visenya walked back, forcing the rough trunk of wood into his hand. “No- “His voice grating as she then shoved her hand upon his mouth. His eyes wide with shock as she crooned into his face.

“Enough of your sulking. Come. You wish for a Dragon, no? Then you ought to learn how to tend to one.”

She pulled him with her, further into the dark caverns of the Dragonpit until they came to Silverwing’s lair. “Silverwing, māzigon naejot nyke.” Visenya cooed.  Silverwing, come to me.

The sudden shake of the earth bellow accompanied the grumbling of the large beast, her silver scales gleaming by the flickering torch light. Visenya turned, glancing at Aemond, his eyes like moons boring into her dragon.

She watched as he stepped back, his neck tilting upwards, the breeze hitting his silver hair. A smug smile came to Visenya’s lips as she turned to Aemond. His face was still set in stone, his gaze hardening as he watched the great beast. "So," the princess prompted, "Are you going to pet her? Or shall you remain sulking?”

Aemond's lips parted, he was about to make a snide remark before sighing. "Of course not." He walked closer to the dragon, standing a few feet away from her. The beast was enormous, the sheer size of her body dominating the wide cave, her lithe yet robust frame looming over the two young Targaryen’s. Silverwing's grey head looked down at him, her eyes narrowing. The prince had not stopped to wonder how the dragon would react. Aemond grumbled under his breath, then took a hesitant step forward. He looked at the dragon, its shining silver scales glinting in the dim light, his breathing hitched. The Prince could not help his anxiety, he had never been so close to a dragon before… never felt its hot breath warm his skin. He moved closer, swallowing a ball in his throat.

Aemond had taken another step forward when Silverwing's body rattled with warning, her low growls causing his steps to falter, his hand tightening on the base of the torch. He would not allow himself to look away, he would not show fear, nor would he retreat. The torch cast a long shadow upon the cave walls, Silverwing’s breath rapidly increasing as he moved closer, her nostrils flaring with each exhale. The dragon's eyes did not stray from the young prince, studying his every movement as Visenya let out a soft chuckle, revelling in his rattled stance.

"She shall not bite you." An amused smirk curled upon her lips. "Silverwing, māzigon." she cooed. The dragon's head turned, her eyes focusing on the princess before she did so.

"There, you see?" Visenya asked, she looked over to him, a small part of her finding the utmost enjoyment in the nervous expression he wore. The dragon raised her chin, letting out a soft whisp of hot air from her nostrils.

Visenya’s amusement brought no pleasure to Aemond, his expression taut, his neck tilting up to look at the dragon approaching him. The dragon halted, lowering its head almost appearing as though it were sneering at the young prince. Aemond stilled, taking one step back as Silverwing’s jaw neared him. Visenya’s eyes wide with an intrigue as she watched her dragon interact with her uncle. Silverwing was indeed, sizing him out. Aemond’s chest rose, and with that he stepped back once more, folding his arm as though he were unimpressed with the beast’s size. Silverwing giving out a soft huff as she moved, her large head nudging against Visenya.

“She was Queen Alysanne’s dragon.” Aemond spoke matter-of-factly.

“You know of her histories?” The princess raised her brow.

“Unlike you, I have decidedly taken an interest in our House’s legacy. It apart of our duty.” Aemond replied, firmly.

Visenya scoffed, turning as she sauntered towards him, her arms folded as a smug smile appeared upon her lips. “I am far too busy actually flying and tending to my dragon to have time to reading of other Targaryen’s doing the same.” Her voice haughty.

“I have yet to see you do such a thing.” He furrowed his brow in disbelief.

Aemond watched as Visenya placed a gentle hand upon Silverwing, whispering a soft farewell before they exited her lair, the princess spoke smugly, “Yes, well I do not expect you to pay much attention to my doings. Regardless, I am already rather adapt, Daemon said I did not need a saddle so-“

“Daemon?” Aemond raised his brow, and Visenya shrugged, nonchalantly about the fact. “Yes.”

The young prince furrowed his brow in deep disapproval, his stern demeanour returning as he stopped, Visenya turning as he spoke.

“Uncle should know better than to allow such a thing.” He barked. Visenya stepped forward scoffing. “So? Those bloody Maesters- “

Aemond stepped closer, his voice overlapping hers. “Those Maesters are doing their duty in making sure you are equipped to ride properly. You ought not to be going on saddleless joyrides with Uncle Daemon.” The Prince stared sharply, unyielding.

“Are you to tell on me?” The princess gritted her teeth.

A disenfranchised look came to Aemond’s face, he spoke more like a father scolding his daughter than a boy of her own age “Daemon is not fit to minding you. You are a Princess of the Relam, if anything were to happen-“

Princess Visenya’s eyes widened in both panic and fury, she could not have the precious time she spent with her father ruined by Aemond’s incessant need to dob. “But nothing did happen! If you dare speak a word of this I shall tell my brothers that I had caught you sobbing and sulking in the Dragonpits all by yourself… like a helpless, pathetic babe whining for its mother.” She interrupted.

“Do not dare.” He sneered, his gaze lowering.

“Swear you shall not tell.” Her voice raised, stern. Silence fell between the two as their gazes pierced into each other, they stood opposed in the darkened space. “Swear it.” Her tone sharp.

He said nothing, the silence lingered as he felt his strength faulter. “Fine.”

The two Targaryen’s did not speak again as they walked up out from the Pit’s entrance. Visenya’s eyes expanding in a deep trepidation as she was met with the folded arms of her mother, Rhaneyra’s face stern. “It may please you to know that you’ve had every guard and servant forced to abandon their duties so they may search for you.” Rhaneyra’s voice echoed at the carven entrance, her head tilted downwards as she gazed into the calculatedly soft eyes of her daughter.

“I had told you where I wished to go.” Visenya lowered her gaze in sweet self-admittance as her mother shook her head.

Rhaenyra spoke firmly to remind the young Princess her mother was indeed, well aware of her charmed tongue, often used to evade trouble. "And I had told you no more leisure trips to the Dragonpits without an escort.” Rhaneyra’s doubled down as the young Princess protested. “But mother- “

Rhaneyra’s tone softens as she steps forward, placing a hand upon her daughter's shoulder. “Visenya, I worry for you.”

Visenya turned her head, gesturing to the seemly meek Aemond which stood behind her “But I was not alone. Prince Aemond had accompanied me.” Visenya gave the young prince a narrowing gaze, subliminally signalling for him to nod; he did. The future Queen could not help but tilt her head, a small warmth in her chest as finally, it seemed there may be hope for some level of kinship between her own and Alicent’s children.

Rhaenyra regained focused once more, her voice almost lenient, “Aemond is but a year your prior and the King’s young son no less, tis not his duty to protect you. And while I am glad of the peace the two of you have forged...” Rhaenyra sighed softly, and shook her head a little, clearly unimpressed. “I will not have my only daughter risking her life to get to the Dragonpits, without a proper escort. The streets are most unpredictable, my girl.” She shuddered.

“I did not take the streets.” Visenya protested, a small smile upon her face as though the news would be pleasing to her.

Rhaenyra frowned, stepping forward to Aemond as her concern reignited as she gazed at them both, “You took the passages?" She leaned towards her daughter, her voice hushed so that her half-brother would not hear. "I ought to have the mind to bar you in your chambers until the moon turns!” Rhaneyra's tone hardened once more.

Visenya looked down, her gaze ruminating on the floor as her mother’s tone grew stern, there was a pause; she felt embarrassment coil within her, why must mother do this in front of him, she thought. Rhaenyra sighed as she noted her daughter’s meek demeanour she let her frustration dissipate, she did not dare scold her own child in front of her half-brother.  Aemond noticed the tension ease between them, he remained still, his arms held behind his back as he watched Visenya. Satisfaction bloomed within him; he’d never seen her so… passive.  

Rhaenyra yielded, her tone softening, “You must take an escort, sweet girl. I’ve little desire to strip you of your freedoms, so do not force me to do so.” Visenya looked up, her pale violet eyes meeting those of her mother, Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand upon her daughter’s head, stroking her silver hair.

Visenya gave a small and conceded, “Yes, mother…”

As the moment came to an end, Rhaneyra’s gaze came to the young green prince before her, Alicent’s son… her father’s son… her younger brother.

Aemond shuffled under his sister’s gaze, they had hardly ever spoken all he knew was that she bore bastards, that she was the King’s favoured child. Rhaenyra spoke again, clearing her throat. “Come, the both of you. I fear the Queen, has sent for your whereabouts, Aemond.”

With that, the three Targaryen's took to exit the Dragonpits, not another word was uttered.

○ii○

[comatosebunny09]

“He would never say that.”

It’s fanfiction.

“He would never do that.”

It’s fanfiction.

“I can’t stand when people write him as—”

Fanfiction.

“Can y’all please stop mischaracterizing—”

Altogether, now: fanfiction.

[deathonthe]

kill for me one day? | 1633

pairing: charles/max

rating: explicit

word count: ~20,000

tags: mafia boss charles leclerc, unsafe sex, blowjobs, riding, choking, oblivious max verstappen

summary:

“Of course, I know you are not a criminal.” Max quickly reassures Charles. “Oh,” Charles finally says with a nonchalant roll of his shoulders. “But it’s true, though? I am a mafioso. It’s not exactly a secret. I thought you knew. The whole of Monaco knows.” Huh, Max thinks. “Huh?” Max says. “Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh,” Max says again.

no notes because i'm sick and tired of this fic ruining my life. also i don't think i had a single thought forming in my head while writing it. i don't remember any of it.

[frozenfrogz]

I’m feeling tempted to go back to my mha phase. Primarily bkdk because I never stopped loving them. So, if anyone has any, fic recommendations are highly appreciated.

[flickeringquip]

(1) You've always been a little wary of the Magnate.

(pt. 1 | feat. @thedolmainblog's Aiden — I promise this will go somewhere more exciting in the next part askfhbaf)

From the moment you'd been close enough to actually watch them interact with others, something had pinged in your hind-brain, warning you away.

Then, it had been easy to listen to. Your work for Landry didn't really necessitate you interacting with them much at all, beyond a nod or two in passing. You weren't much for meetings — for all that you played a large part in intel-gathering, you left the more administrative work to your other co-workers.

You could do it in a pinch, but why would you with more capable hands there and at the ready?

(1) Now, however. . .

Things are more complicated, now that you're dating Blythe. The good kind of complicated, obviously, but definitely an adjustment.

Like right now, for example.

You'd mentioned off-hand watching a movie that it'd be fun to bring him lunch some time, and the way his entire countenance had brightened had had you silently committing to the idea even as he assured you that you didn't have to bother.

For all that he's your boyfriend, you don't always understand Blythe — for someone so willing to re-arrange his entire living room overnight because of a furniture piece you'd admired in passing, he struggled to fathom you might wanna do nice things for him too.

(1) Mostly, this just made you want to do more nice things for him. Like you could somehow out-spoil his attempts to spoil you.

And so you find yourself in the lobby of the town's biggest office building, lunch*-turned-care-package in hand and trying not to feel wildly out of place in your jeans and long-sleeved crop-top.

(*Bought, and not made, because you'd tried that once and discovered hours later that you'd given Blythe what was definitely food poisoning, despite how he tried to convince you otherwise. You would just lie if he asked.)

It takes a little bit before you can grab the receptionist's attention because you'd inadvertently seemed to come at a bit of a rush, sequestering yourself off to the side more out of habit than necessity — people seemed to very, very rarely bump into you these days, but old habits and all that.

(1) You do end up coming up a bit short when they ask you what your business is.

You'd been pretty sure Blythe had mentioned being around the office today, but it dawns on you only then that maybe you should've texted him before you came for some sort of confirmation — but it's not much of surprise if he knows you're coming, now is it?

But you also don't think he has an office to speak of, for the same reason you've never needed one at the Bar.

(1) So you. . . Improvise?

"Can you tell me which floor I can find Aiden's office?" You lift the paper bag in your hand by way of explanation, "I brought lunch."

The man's face twists like he's bitten into a lemon as he stares between you and the bag like either of you could explode at any moment.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Oh, no, but I'm not here to—"

"The CEO is a very business individual; you need an appointment, even for. . . social calls."

Rude. No need to say it like that.

"I mean, yeah, of course they are? But if you'd just listen, I'm actually here to see B—"

(1) A sharp ding from the receptionist's computer steals both of your attention, and you watch the man's face contort even further in confusion as he steals yet more glances between you and your carefully-selected lunch.

"You. . . can go ahead," You think you should maybe be a little offended by their blatant shock at this turn of events, but mostly you're still a little baffled, "Top floor, just go straight— and behave yourself!"

Did jeans really make you look like some kind of ruffian, or have your years of criminal work started to affect your countenance?

You continue mulling over that thought all the way up, a little fascinated that you're not stopped even once along the way despite how many floors you pass.

You arrive, greeted by a set of double doors at the end of a short hallway — and spectacular views to either side of you, glass replacing much of the walls for a bird's eye view of most of the city. You admire the sights for only a moment before turning to the doors, hovering for a moment as you're once again reminded that you don't actually know if Blythe is even in the building at the moment.

(1) You. . knock?

You rap your knuckles against the solid wood, and wait just long enough to start second guessing yourself before you hear an electronic lock open, and take that as your cue to open the door.

The first thing you notice is that the space is immaculate — straight out of some rookie secretary's dream office, or at least what you imagine someone's dream office to look like.

The next is Aiden — obviously, this was their office (building) — smiling at you from their desk as they give a little wave of their fingers.

And, last but certainly not least— No Blythe.

(1) . . .Well, shit.

"Aster, what a pleasant surprise."

Tension snakes up your spine before you shove it back down, determined to at least seem at ease with your boyfriend's boss as you turn your attention to them. It's strange to hear them say your name, though you suppose it's not that weird for them to know it, between your connection to Blythe and length of time you've been working for Landry.

"Hi Aiden," You cringe a little at your own informality, but give them a tentative half-smile and lift the paper bag in your hand, their gaze brightening in understanding, "Is Blythe around?"

"He was, but I just sent him on a bit of errand — I'm afraid he won't be back for a couple of hours."

You nod but don't ask any questions — you're still pretty twitchy about potential conflicts of interest. It's about the only thing in your relationship that still gives you anxiety, not that you've breathed a word of it to Blythe. With all that he does for you already, you really don't want to put anything more on his plate.

You don't know what you'd do if Landry asked you to steal Intel from Aiden, but so far you're really just banking on your boss not deciding to give you what is basically a suicide mission any time soon.

(1) You give a hum in response, lips twisting as you glance down at the bag. You'd sooner surprise him with dinner and do lunch another day than give him old leftovers, but you're not really hungry yourself—

You glance back up at Aiden, who is still watching you with the same genial smile they've always given you, halo glittering above their head. Something about them still unnerves you, but the feeling weakens the longer you study them.

. . . The worst thing they could say is no, right?

"Are you hungry?" You venture closer to the desk, still feeling a little skittish but committed to offering, "No sense letting it go to waste."

For a half-second, you think maybe you've surprised them — and then they're smiling again, expression a little bit warmer, halo a little brighter.

"I suppose I could squeeze in a break," They stand, and for once you find the usual alarm bells silent as they feature to a small seating area near the windows, "—If you'll join me for tea in exchange?"

And, well.

Maybe you'd put a little too much stock into what was just an assumption? Wouldn't it be nice if you got along with Blythe's boss? Maybe it'd even help with some of your lingering anxiety?

Maybe you were just being paranoid?

(1) And thus began the beginning of the end your friendship(?) with Aiden.

[weltato]

A Complaint - AO3

I have a question for the AO3 readers: why is interaction so hard for you? I never normally see this much of a drought, my goodness.

I will admit, the bookmarks are very nice, thank you to those people, but this is kinda sad. Normally I'm not bothered, but it's just- can't even say hi? You just read a fic and leave? You don't wanna take a second of your time to hit kudos? I understand some of the hits might be "shit I didn't want to click on that one" and some will be "eh, I tried it, but didn't like it" but I just can't believe that over one hundred people have done that. And true, maybe there's the rare few that have been coming back to read the fics and that's bumped the count up, but I have ONE (1) comment saying anything. Just one. I know it says two there but that's my own reply and I'm not counting it. These are my two most recent fics btw, this is a recent issue for me, my older fics haven't been this dreadful.

Genuinely, that second image bothers me more than the first one. At least that one got a comment and people have bookmarked it, ok then. That one is fine actually, that's not a problem for me. But the second one is just..."wow" is really all I can say.

That, and a resigned sigh that this is the fate of the internet right now. Tumblr posts are getting less interaction than they used to thanks to the widespread like-culture bleeding through from other apps and AO3 readers are putting the authors on such a pedestal that they're afraid to even leave a comment or a kudos anymore.

I'll admit, I only recently started leaving comments more often and that I used to be part of this problem, and I'll also admit that these two fic stats are for a fandom that is pretty much dead thanks to the show killing itself at the end (TUA S4 look what you've done), but even my niche fics - Red Dwarf, Wind in the Willows, VHS Christmas Carols - have got relatively balanced stats in comparison.

Either it's the fanbase being dead (probably the cause), users not interacting anymore (still a problem), or my writing is just going down the toilet at the moment (I don't actually think it is but everyone has different tastes in writing style) but this is something that's irking me right now and I had to complain somewhere.

I'm not usually bothered by numbers and statistics, I know it not gonna benefit me in the slightest, but sometimes I look at things and wonder why the interaction on it is so shit. This is one of those times. You read the top, right? You know this is a complaint, it doesn't necessarily need to make sense.

I'm gonna shut up now.

[woodlandstarz13]

the rabbit usually misgenders silas, and it made me very happy to see that the proper version of the word ‘blond’ was used to describe silas, especially since it’s from his own perspective. it’s random but it made my little genderqueer artist heart happy :)

[andypx]

working and a wip that i LOVE just got updated, somebody please kill me now

[einschlunz]

haha no way yamato brainrot in 2025? it's more likely than you think