#but it was not

[hi-my-name-is-dotdotdot]

me: no I won’t be spooked staying by myself :)

also me: *has a heart attack at the sounds of a door to another apartment*

[thou-shall-fucketh-off]

the way I thought this was a hannigram manga

[zmbienoir]

ough.... slept for like 4 hours mmmm

[echoes-lighthouse]

Three Fun Facts About Interview With The Vampire And My Actual Life

1- When I told my mother that I wanted to buy "goth clothes" at the age of twelve, she sat me down and gave me a talk on goth subcultures, and how I should make sure to choose carefully. She was a gothabilly in the 1980s, and had friends who were really into the Anne Rice scene to the extent of fucking in graveyards and drinking each other's blood, so she warned me against vampire goths lmao

Anyways I was immediately like 'you can drink other people's blood???' and proceeded to start a small group of blood drinking 12 year olds :/ It was a really good attempt at good parenting but unfortunately I am unhinged. Thanks for trying, mom.

2- having the Francis Bacon paintings in the background of the TV show is one of the most unnerving things, because I had that same triptych on my wall for part of University, but in postcard form: I saw them in Liverpool in 2016 and literally fell in love with them, they were one of my favourite art pieces for a while. I can't put words to how obsessed with them I was. It was hard to focus on anything except for them when they were in the background of shots.

3- Last year, I watched two episodes of the first season, and then took a break to read the book: the TV show absolutely did not prepare me for the book content, and I was dumbfounded. So if anyone else watches the show and then intends to read the books, feel free to hit me up for content warnings, because the books are an entirely different level of fucked up.

Also, I read the first book and was like 'where the fuck does it go from here???' and then I picked up the second book and got absolutely hamstringed by the first paragraph. The tone shift from book one to book two is legendary and I was, once again, not prepared at all.

[all-thestories-aretrue]

I read happy place by emily henry as a follow up to beach read and 10/10 do recommend

If anyone has sad romance books to recommend plz share them

[blametheeditor]

Promise

Run Down: A case study of Scott and Vincent

Content Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of the afterlife and cheating death, mentions of dehumanization, existentialism

We Are Blaming The Editor

________________________

“What if I couldn’t save you?”

Scott feels almost frozen at the words. Looks up from his desk covered in miscellaneous papers, all needing to be finished by the morning at the latest, yet Vincent is almost demanding his attention. Not just with his words, but with intense look stating this is an important question. 

So Scott doesn’t hesitate to set the paper and highlighter he had been holding off to the side. Gives his best friend an attentive yet confused look. “Where did this come from?”

The purple man gives a thoughtful hum. A habit he’s always had, though memories of it being a full tune as they unwound springlocks reminds Scott that’s yet another thing that changed. That despite still being by each other’s sides, they have both gone through so much. 

Vincent hasn’t really been a person for a long time. Gave it up to be the perfect machine for Afton. Follows Scott when inspections need to be conducted, but usually due to an order he’s to assist while keeping certain stubborn employees ‘in line’. Seeming almost...content most of the time. Like everything he could ever want is his. 

This? Second guessing their past? It’s a little terrifying. 

Amber eyes look him over. Seem as if this will be waved away, his best friend vanishing once again for who knows how long. 

“If you had the chance, would you leave me?” 

Not Afton. Not this living hell. Vincent. But asking if he’d leave Vincent is asking if he would take the chance to finally escape. 

“No.” 

“I think you’re lying, Scotty,” the purple man accuses. Though with a playful tone. Scott won’t be punished for telling the truth. 

“No,” he repeats. “Because I could’ve saved you. And I failed.” 

They had been walking back to Afton’s office when Vincent suddenly stopped. Which meant Scott walked directly through his best friend, gasping for air he can never breathe at the feeling of his very essence being pulled. Clutches at his chest despite no longer possessing a beating heart at the sudden and unwelcomed reminder of what it felt like when he died. 

He whirls around to yell at his best friend. Feels his anger dissipate at the look aimed toward him. 

Vincent suddenly can’t meet his eyes, looking everywhere but at Scott. Something so uncharacteristic, and yet so familiar. Making the ghost yet again think back to when they were sitting in parts and service. Both of them terrified one would reject the other. 

“What if I could’ve saved you?” 

Scott almost wants to ask they don’t talk about this. Because they can’t change the past, and he would much rather not think about ‘what ifs’ surrounding his own death. Not when even after twenty years, he still isn’t completely used to the fact he can only spectate the world around him. Can never greet an old friend if they came into town, or tell his sons how much he loves them. He can’t even erase the damn tapes that caused his death. Not even Afton knows he accompanies Vincent wherever the purple man goes. 

“What do you mean?” he asks instead. 

“I mean, if I got there in time, if I had saved you, would you still be by my side?” 

Scott stares at his best friend. Someone who most people see as a monster, and some days he’ll admit he thinks that too. Who also looks like the world might fall to the ground before shattering into a million pieces. That despite everything is still the same person who flashed a lopsided grin before declaring they won’t be leaving each other’s side anytime soon. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Vincent gives him a piercing stare. “Because it was the least I could’ve done. They wouldn’t have killed you if it wasn’t for me.” 

Scott clenches his fists to try and ground himself, to not be thrown into the horrific memory of just what Vincent’s actions caused all over again. Feels something akin to regret for having agreed to a friendship. Because they both know it’s true, that he would be alive if not for the man in front of him. 

“I could just leave, you know,” Scott murmurs. “I...I felt it. The option to stay here or go. And I won’t lie, I wanted to go. But I saw you, Vince, and I decided to stay.” 

Because they are in this mess together. The other ‘what if’ that always comes to mind is if Scott failed Vincent. That he could’ve kept the purple man from going down the road that ended with them standing here, on a winter afternoon that can only be told by the calendar and the trees missing their leaves, one dead with the other held together by an endoskeleton and sheer will. That if he reached out, maybe they could’ve had a happy ending. 

“I don’t know if I earned that choice, Scotty.” 

“Then earn it. Give me a reason to stay.” 

There’s a reason Scott was given the official job of staying in parts and service whenever Vincent had to do the full-scale annual maintenance on the animatronics. He’s Fazbear’s head mechanic and knew each and every model inside and out, has even proven multiple times he can take apart an endoskeleton to rebuild essentially from scratch without needing any blueprints. The only issue is the long haired man can’t be trusted to remember to take care of himself during that grueling week. 

Case and point, Scott had been gone five minutes to get them lunch, and he comes back to Vincent tightening a screw while ignoring an alarmingly long gash on his arm. 

His entrance hadn’t even been noticed going based upon the surprised look as he yanks Vincent away from the table in order to have a proper look at it. Grumbles under his breath as he grabs the first aid kit to make sure his idiot of a best friend doesn’t die from infection. Thank God tinnitus shots are mandatory. 

“What would I do without you?” 

“Bleed out somewhere,” the shorter snaps. “Honestly, Vince, I was gone for five minutes. What the hell even happened!” 

“...I tried to lift Freddy up.” 

Vincent sputters as the nearest rag used to clean his hands of oil is thrown at his face, Scott not even having to pause his work on cleaning the wound to accomplish it. Teach the taller to try and lift the endoskeleton three times his weight without help. No, that rule of never doing such a dangerous task alone is apparently only for Scott. Despite the fact that it’s been proven time and time again to be a bad idea considering both the gash and the fact Freddy doesn’t look like he shifted so much as an inch. 

“You owe me.” 

Vincent leans over to rest his elbow on the table, fist propping his head up to watch Scott finish patching him up. Don’t think he doesn’t notice that’s the Toreador March being hummed. “What? The honor of making sure I don’t keel over isn’t enough?” 

Scott shows no remorse grabbing the shell to Freddy’s head and lobbing it at Vincent’s chest, turning away from his best friend’s fearful cry as the momentum sends his chair falling backwards, both man and head crashing onto the floor. “Nope.” 

“Scotty,” is wheezed from out of sight, said traitor happily eating his portion of pizza. “What the fuck. You’re supposed to save me, not stab me and leave me to die.” 

“Stop being dramatic.” 

Vincent ‘claws’ at the counter in order to lift himself off the ground, glaring up at the smug expression when he only succeeds in getting one arm up. “Not dramatic. That fucking hurt, asshole.” 

He’ll admit he’s being a little childish. Though it’s hard not to when you’re used to entertaining the hoards of children that come to the restaurants daily. But he’d rather have Vincent get the breath knocked out of him from falling out of a chair instead of possibly getting himself killed. Teach him this works both ways. Jayden and Brayden love their uncle too much just for him to disappear all because he couldn’t wait five minutes for help. 

And Scott could never imagine life without him. “I think it was well deserved.” 

There’s a dramatic fall before Vincent slowly stands back up. Looks at Scott with an unreadable expression. 

“Do you think we always find each other?” 

He didn’t know how long he waited to be freed from what could only be described as hell on earth. Trapped in the dark for almost twenty years, only able to tell how much time passed based on the muffled sounds from beyond the four walls he had been sealed inside. Left to rot away. Never letting himself contemplate death as being an option. 

Scott nearly gave in. The same day he heard a hammer pounding away at what had once been a door to the room for only employees and became the boarded entrance to his tomb. He was so far gone he hadn’t realized the stale air was trying to escape through an opening. One that was being blocked by a tall figure. 

“I can’t believe I finally found you.” 

Scott hears that. The voice of someone he had killed for. Died for. Opens his eyes to see Vincent looking him up and down with a mixture of despair and longing. 

He can’t hold himself back. Faintly remembers he doesn’t look like himself anymore, locked inside of Spring Bonnie. But Vincent is here, and he’s not going to let him go, ever. 

The long haired man looks confused as Scott moves, watches as terror appears, mouth opening to say something. Whatever it was, it becomes nothing more than a strangled noise as he gently grabs his best friend. Pulls the struggling form acting as if death itself is dragging him to hell into a protective hug. 

“Vince, you came.” 

There’s a long moment of silence. Vincent’s panicked breathing gradually slowing down. 

“Sc-Scotty?” 

He’ll admit he hadn’t realized there was confusion on who Vincent found. Now the reaction makes a little more sense. “Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Scott feels a hand gently pushing against his chest. He obliges the request, opening his arms so the trembling figure can take a proper look at him. Chuckles at the fact he’s actually taller than Vincent now. Feels his heart drop at the sight of tears. 

“I thought you were dead! You left me! What- how did this-?” 

That’s all that could be said before arms are wrapping around him. Clinging. Scott unable to do anything but hold Vincent close as he sobs. 

“I won’t leave you again.” 

There wasn’t a single entity that would be able to answer how Scott managed to get paired up with something like Vincent. There has to be a reason. Because if there isn’t then he’s nothing more than a plaything. But at this point he’s unsure if even God would know the truth. 

And yet, he can’t imagine being anywhere else. 

“Would it have been better if we never met?” 

That was the same question as if it would be better if they were never born. 

Scott looks up to see Vincent staring out at nothing before tilting his head until their eyes meet. “If we hadn’t, you’d be dead, Vince.” 

No one else wanted to wear the Fredbear suit. Vincent would’ve been completely alone in the back room when Spring Bonnie started to unwind. Scott had barely managed to crank them back in on time. One second more, and the few scars where the springlocks had drew blood wouldn’t be reminders of the danger, but where fatal spokes would’ve been driven home. 

“...maybe that would’ve been for the best, Scotty.” 

Those words make it feel as if he’s being impaled by the very springlocks they’ve faced together. Every performance, well aware one wrong move could be the end for them. Make a pact that they’ll stay by each other’s sides come hell or highwater. 

He looks away. “And I would’ve been right behind you.” 

What they have, it’s not ‘friendship’. It’s too toxic to be good for either of them. For God’s sake, Scott is nothing more than a pet to the purple man. But the one thing Vincent did was give him a purpose. 

His best friend makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t think your life would’ve been better without me in it?” 

It’s not an accusatory question, yet Scott despises it. 

“It wasn’t worth living before I met you.” His eyes burn as he hears rather than sees the taller sit down beside him. Doesn’t move away as he’s leaned against for silent support. “We all make mistakes. Apparently, you and I tend to always make the worst ones. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t there.” 

‘This far’ is far from a good life. Far from a happy one. It’s filled with terror, and desperation, and more than enough regrets. 

Vincent isn’t one of them. Letting his best friend stumble and fall to where they are right now is, but Vincent himself isn’t. Not the man who taught him that he was worth more than he originally thought. 

“And I clearly wouldn’t have without you.”

“Then tell me you’ll always be there,” Scott growls. Turns his head so they look each other in the eyes. “In every life, no matter what, we’re a team until the very end.”

For the first time in a long time, Vincent smiles. “I promise.” 

[beautifulinternetwhispers]

stars : Alex Essoe, Georgie Daburas and Tawny West

director : Lux (2018)

score: 0 out of 4

This one was just plain awful to watch. both the leads were awful and I just really wanted them but to die horribly within 5 mins of the film starting.

[cconfusedkat]

i took a five hour nap. most insane thing ever

[rachlou86]

Wdym you don’t think that’s the karma video? What do you think the karma video should be? I just don’t get what would be different about the video

I mean the video she filmed in Liverpool? What was it? Where is it?

[trashbaby1996]

I wasn't sure what to expect but I really like 'Tales From the Hood'

[tahitiwoke]

five times kissed Or Else please 🥰

ONE | NOV. 2017.

you stare too much. she says as she fixes her earring; there is a glance over at him as he tucks his shirt back into his pants, watching indulgently as he buckles his belt, the trace of annoyance in the cut of her jaw easing. she tells him he stares as if it's supposed to cower him, as if he's supposed to prostrate and worry about it, as if he's supposed to give a single fuck about what jane davis may or may not think she's seen.

there must have been something in his scoff because she drops her hands and pivots on a heel to face him fully, the click of a heel meeting the concrete floor. i have neither the time nor the inclination to play negotiator with jane - so reel it in.

her tone is serious enough that he acquiesces. as he finishes the loop of his tie, she stops her ascent of the spiral metal staircase to lean down over the railing, a hand dropping to grip his tie and tug him to her in a deep, rare kiss that smacks of good boy.

TWO | APRIL. 2018.

it's easter sunday and he doesn't come into the office right away, instead choosing to attend the mass at the cathedral of matthew the apostle. he attends confession too, but it's only short and he talks about sin and liars and whether he is trading his soul for a comfortable life. the father assures him it's relative and not for the first time in his life, he zones out.

( he's thinking about a woman, not god, and he does try so hard to be present when in a place of worship; on the way out he makes the sign of the cross and thinks if jesus really was fucking mary magdalene, maybe he'll forgive phil for thinking about any other than the resurrection. the guilt haunts over his shoulder the long walk back to the west wing and he says a hail mary along the way just to be sure he at least makes some sort of effort. )

when he arrives, however, it's not the office he finds himself drawn to on the quiet sunday like he'd planned, it's to the residency. he takes the stairs slowly and quietly and finds her in the kitchen. where have you been she asks and he answers honestly, " in confession. " she laughs at the answer, clearly not believing him, and smirks through a derisive you don't strike me as a man of god. he shrugs. lets it go. she is not the first to make the assumption, it will not be the last time.

as she crosses back around the island, he notices she's wearing a sweater -- soft, cashmere at a glance, the sort that wraps around you like a hug and her skirt is one he hasn't seen before. dark navy. no shoes. she looks... content. armorless. she moves to walk past him and he cannot resist catching her by the waist and tugging her close, a hand slipping to the back of her neck, kissing her as easily as melting into a warm bath.

THREE | OCT. 2018.

there's a bite at his shoulder and another at his side and another on the inside of his thigh, matching the angry purple love bite she'd sucked into the column of his throat that is going to be painfully obvious. frankly, he's marked from head to fucking toe. the smug, self-satisfied look on her face tells him she's done all of it on purpose and is pretty fucking happy with her work.

you look used, she says, teeth tugging at his earlobe as she slips her hands into his hair. he doesn't know how to respond to that - too preoccupied with the bolt of arousal that passes through him at lightning speed - and instead settles for kissing the skin he can reach, her throat, her shoulder, her breasts, and christ, he wants to press her into the mattress and make marks of his own.

( not allowed. a firm boundary. he can suck love bites into her thighs, her breasts, but never anywhere somebody might see and question. and he's reminded of just how much he cannot do whenever some ambassador makes a flirty joke or carroll march slings his arm around her for a photo op. )

" does this sudden desire to shake me like an etch a sketch have anything to do with the intern i was talking to today? " the one that had asked him if he wanted to catch a drink sometime, an exchange claire definitely heard. i like you, phillip, i don't like you that much. but she's pressing back down to kiss him.

FOUR | AUGUST. 2020.

he's exhausted by the time he gets to the residency and stinks of cheap beer, onion rings and nora's over zealous application of perfume. she'd been so excited to see him so he can forgive the way it'll take forever to get out of his leather seats; it doesn't matter. enough people have seen them together. (there's a tug of guilt and horror at having used her that way but it's necessary, an unavoidable evil for the overarching greater good and he's always been the best at distinguishing one from the other. this he can do and it's with practiced ease, no matter how greasy it makes him feel.)

the film of death and disgust which has crawled over him doesn't ease up when he sees her. it's fine. he can be fine about this. there is not a trace of blood on him but after years out of the game, it feels so much like he's been swimming in it, the backslide is vicious and unforgiving, chris's half-scared, half-awed you're a sinister motherfucker, you know that? and phil had played it off a joke at the time, thinking for the short time that this is what he had been put on earth to do: bad things, dirty things, awful things.

claire touches his cheek and asks is everything taken care of? a simple question for a complicated answer but phil nods but says little more than, " how's our boy? " there won't be an autopsy, there won't be an investigation. it'll be open and shut and that'll be the end of it. claire tells him about chris and that he'd followed the instructions phil gave him to the letter and it's good. it's fine. at some point, she leans up and kisses him, at the corner of his mouth, overly aware of the presence of a warm body elsewhere in the house and a still present reluctance to reveal themselves. thank you, phillip.

FIVE | SEPTEMBER. 2020.

somewhere between frustration and anger and resentment and fear and guilt and whatever else they are trying to lay at one another's feet, in the middle of a particularly vicious argument, they end up kissing. it's not pleasant. it's not the normal sort, not even when they're feeling their most internally destructive, this is something else. something close to hitting a boundary.

he grips her hips enough to hurt. he knows, he hears it in her gasp, hears it in the way she hisses as her back meets stone wall, and she doesn't seem to mind when he just tugs her underwear to the side and enters her in a single thrust. it's a quick fuck. hard, up against the cold stone wall of a basement, not far from a cigar burn from years ago. she scrambles at his shoulders and slaps him once, to make him angry and when it doesn't have the desired effect, she yanks at his hair and pulls his lip between her teeth.

[sn4ilweed]

mistakenly left my copy of pokemon XD at my mothers when I picked up all my other games and none of the other ones I have WORK !!!!

[my18thcenturysource]

this movie is a fucking insult to its audience though. it's a joke. they girlbossified anne elliot. they took a reserved introverted wallflower of a character (none of this is bad btw, some of us love anne as she is in the source material, some of us identify to her but fuck us i guess??) and trie to turn her into elizabeth bennett 2.0 except not really because lizzie had depth unlike this joke of a character who is no anne, no lizzie, just the personification of bad memes

Oh Dear Anon!

Before anything I just want to say how I WISH to have the energy to be this passionate about anything. Life postCOVID with a long list of symptoms (I hope they are not long term in my case) have just made me tired of everything all the time, so I wish I had this kind of energy.

All this to say that I know, in my mind, that all this hate comes from a place of profound love to the original book. I get it.

Now, a "fucking insult to the audience"? Anon, not you nor all the die hard Austen fans are the intended audience of this film, I thought it was quite clear after the very first scene. That's why on my post I wrote that if you're not OK with that first scene to run away as fast as you can because you are about to have a horrible time.

Funny enough, I don't think they tried to make Anne into Elizabeth 2.0, but (hear me out), I've been finding several parallels in aesthetic, language and edition with... Birds of Prey, which answers so many questions, from the #girlPower mood, to the narration. I loved Birds of Prey, with its plethora of problems, maybe that and my automatic thought of "oh, this is not Persuasion" and acceptance of that, made me enjoy this film. This idea might make it waaaaaaaay worse for others XD I'm so sorry for putting it in your brains!

Now, I am kind of surprised for the hate of my comment on the crew working. As someone who sometimes works in a crew (I'm poor my friends, I need several jobs), and with several friends who work those jobs (of about 16 hours per day, six days a week), I tend to think kindly about those people: they have NO control over what is going on, have long hours, it is a very VERY tiring and stressing job, and they're the backbone of the industry with no recognition. So yeah, I have empathy for them, I don't see why that made you so angry, but OK I guess.

SO yeah, that movie is not a masterpiece, nor a good adaptation, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say that in any moment. I honestly think that their biggest mistake was keeping the original name and characters, this could have been a nice funny Austen-adjacent film, and that would have been it.

Now, I personally have chosen lately to not shit on other people's work, and have chosen to have a kinder use of the language, so stuff like "this movie was shit and I have no guilt for saying it" don't go with my personal choices, but you can if you want Anon, it is your experience and I see you and get you.

I hope after writing all that you went and cleaned your eyes with the 1995 Persuasion, because I'm sure that watching That Film was not fun at all.

[fluftickles]

Are you open to meet minors?

I would not be

[femboyyghostface]

Hey @staff force me to stop scrolling by freezing my screen over an ad again and I will render you limb from limb :)

[puckgoodfaggot]

went to a really cool exhibit of francis bacon's art yesterday and i want to like, reblog a bunch of it here but the notion of trying to write descriptions of his like, fucked up creatures? i wouldnt know how to do it in a way that felt sufficient