#i love it so much but it is a lot to absorb

[xoluvx]

love languages; b.eilish .𖥔🦢 ݁⋅♡˚𖥔. ❥ "words of affirmation"

"i love you." the words had fallen from her lips so tenderly. there were no grand theatrics; nothing out of the ordinary but fireworks had gone off. metaphorically. your heart felt like it'd grown twice its size. you felt the love in your bones. her clear blue eyes reflected your silhouette. they absorbed your smile; a smile brighter than the light of a thousand suns. they scanned your own glimmering eyes. you were near tears having heard the three simple, yet powerful, words.

she loved you in your love language and her words were all you needed.

morning notes it started with a quick note one morning. she had to leave but she didn't want to leave without letting you know. she also didn't want to wake you so she scribbled on an old envelope, placed it on your side table and slipped out without making a sound. she didn't think much of it, not until you mentioned it later that day. she'd noticed the way your eyes sparkled when you told her you really liked it. that you found it so cute.

from that day on she never misses it. the little sticky note clings to the corner of the bathroom mirror. you smile at her familiar sharp and jagged handwriting scribbled on the piece of paper. her words spells out reminders of how much she loves you, how she wishes you a good day, how she hopes to get home soon. she never forgets the little heart and sometimes she even leaves a doodle.

you love waking up to it. you love reading the note while you brush your teeth. you unstick it from the mirror and place it in a journal full of sticky notes, full of doodles on napkins and ripped up envelopes. all of them special from her. you keep the journal in your nightstand drawer.

voice messages when she's traveling, the sticky notes turn into voice messages. she tries to send one before you're up so you have something to listen to in the mornings. not only that, but she regularly sends you voice messages throughout the day just to remind you how much she misses you. if she's in the studio, she shares what she's working on. sometimes it's a quick 'i love you' or a 'i can't wait to get home'.

if she knows you're having a long day, the voice messages are always motivational. if you're celebrating something, you can always hear the pride in her voice. you love the sound of her voice and the little reminders fuel your energy. her voice messages make your days a little bit easier and a whole lot better.

letters for your first anniversary she handed you a shoebox. it was a very pretty and decorated shoebox. 'shoes?' you smiled while holding the box in your lap. she shrugged and smirked motioning for you to open what she deemed the last present of the night.

when you opened the box, you hadn't been expecting a stack of letters tied a string. you gasped and looked at her as if waiting for an explanation. she simply smiled enjoying the way your lips curled at the corners. your eyes filled with love; so much more love than either of you thought possible.

you undid the bow, lifting the letters closer to your face. the envelopes were all dated in her handwriting. the drawn heart you knew and loved scribbled after each date.

'a letter for every week of our first year together,' she whispered as you nodded taking in the information. 'you did all of this for me?' your voice was small, cracking when you finally looked at her again. a look of pure love and tenderness reflected in her eyes. 'i love you so much and i just want you to be reminded of that,' her palm cupped your cheek and your heart soared. it wanted to jump out of your chest. it wanted to squeeze her tight. it wanted to live with her heart.

you didn't read them all at once. you read one once a week for the next year. you loved tracing her handwriting with the tips of your fingers, feeling the little bumps and ridges. maybe you were crazy but you swore you could smelled her on the pages as you held the paper up to your nose. it'd quickly became one of your favorite parts of the week; sitting down and reading her letters with a cup of tea or coffee.

playlist 'i have one more birthday present,' she'd whispered as you cuddled in bed after a long day of birthday celebrations. you furrowed your brows with curiosity looking up at her. she held her phone in one hand, the other still wrapped around your shoulders. you watched her thumb tap the screen and then heard the notification on your phone. confused, you reached for it.

'baby,' you sighed contently as you opened the message. 'you made a me playlist?' you whispered in disbelief. you could hardly utter the words, there was a knot in your throat from the sweet gesture. your eyes were glossed over as you looked at the name: for the love of my life.

'every time i hear a song that reminds me of you, i've been adding it to the playlist.' her voice was soft like the kiss she planted on your head. she squeezed your arm as you sniffled. your screen was growing blurry as the tears formed in your eyes.

songs not only did she hear songs that reminded her of you, she wrote songs about you. her love was too deep and sometimes words just spilled on to the pages of her sketchbook. she saw colors and heard melodies when you were around.

on your second year anniversary, she handed you another shoebox. you giggled at what seemed to now be a tradition. you opened the box, your lips parting when you saw the cd player and headphones. you looked at her with confusion but she just shrugged and smiled. you lifted the cd player and furrowed your brows when you saw the cd underneath.

for the love of my life was written in black sharpie on the holographic surface. the same title as the playlist she'd shared nearly a year ago. little hearts decorated the cd and you could tell she'd really taken her time to write it out neatly.

'can i play it now?' you'd asked and she simple nodded and smiled watching you place the headphones on your ears excitedly. you pressed play. a song you'd never heard before started playing. you titled your head smiling cautiously unsure of what you were listening to. then her voice filtered through the headphones and your heart dropped. the realization struck and the tears were inevitable. you covered your mouth and looked at her, shoulders slumped, pout on your lips. she reached for your hand bringing it to her lips as her sweet voice consumed every fiber of your being.

no one had ever gone to such lengths to show you they loved you.. not in this way. notes and playlists and written songs. she detailed how much she loved you with every swooping sloping cursive letter.

[theonottsbxtch]

A SUNDAY KIND OF LOVE | OP81

an: i think i've hurt you lot for a good hot minute, so here is some fluff of my beloved.

wc: 2.3k

synopsis: sundays were race day, but not all of them were. some of them were time for oscar to enjoy time with his little family.

WHEN OSCAR WOKE THAT MORNING, the other side of the bed was empty. Still warm, but empty. He lingered for a moment, letting the golden morning light seep through the pale curtains and spill across the room. The silence was gentle, save for the distant trill of birdsong outside. Stretching languidly, he felt the stiffness in his muscles ease, the last remnants of sleep melting away.

Then he heard it—the faint strains of music drifting from the kitchen. A smile ghosted across his lips. He already knew the scene that awaited him.

His gaze swept the room as he reached for a pair of sweatpants. In the dim light, his foot caught on a forgotten toy, drawing a soft wince before he chuckled, shaking his head. With an easy grace, he pulled on his grey sweats and made his way to the door, anticipation curling warm in his chest.

"Ma chérie, qu'est-ce que je t'ai dit à propos de la télévision? Papa dort, baisse-la," her voice floated through the apartment, light and teasing. Darling what did I tell you about the tv? Dad is sleeping, turn it down

As he stepped into the living room, the volume dipped, and the first thing he saw was Louanne, cross-legged on the floor, remote in hand, utterly transfixed. Last week’s race flickered across the screen, her tiny fingers pressing buttons with intent curiosity.

Then, his gaze found her.

She moved with quiet elegance, lost in the rhythm of the morning. One of his shirts hung loosely over her frame, sleeves rolled to her elbows, while a pair of his boxers—cinched at the waist with a hairband—became makeshift shorts. She hummed absently to the music as she stirred something in a pan, utterly absorbed in the simple, unhurried art of breakfast. The rich scent of coffee and crisping bacon curled through the air, embracing him in its warmth.

For a moment, he simply watched, leaning against the doorframe, drinking in the quiet perfection of it all.

This was his world. His own little haven.

Pushing off the frame, he crossed the room, his heart full.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmured, his voice steeped in affection.

She turned, a smile unfolding across her face like the first bloom of spring. "Morning, sleepyhead. Breakfast won’t be long. Did you sleep well?"

"Perfectly," he murmured, stepping closer to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Even better now that I’m here with you two."

Louanne’s delighted voice broke through, her face alight with excitement. "Papa! Did you see Uncle Lan overtake Tonton Charles? Il gagne!"

Oscar chuckled, "I saw, sweetheart. I was there. Maybe we can watch the rest together after breakfast."

He said nothing more as he stepped behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face into the curve of her neck. Her warmth, her scent—everything about her felt like home.

"The more French you speak to her," he murmured, lips grazing her jaw, "the harder it gets for me to keep up."

She laughed softly, shifting the mixing bowl in her hands as she finished the crepe batter. "You’ll thank me when she’s fluent in two languages."

And in that quiet kitchen, wrapped in the scent of coffee and the sound of their daughter's quiet giggles, Oscar thought—he already did.

As she whisked the batter, Oscar’s eyes drifted to her hands, his brow creasing as he noticed the absence of her wedding ring. A quiet frown settled on his face.

“Where’s your ring?” His voice was gentle, though laced with curiosity. She could be forgetful at times, but she had worn that ring for years—it was as much a part of her as the laughter in her voice.

She barely glanced up, nodding towards the sofa where their daughter lay cocooned in a blanket, mischief written across her small, delicate features.

“Ask that little bandit over there. Daylight robbery.”

A laugh rumbled from Oscar’s chest as he stepped away, crossing the room towards Louanne, who grinned up at him with an impish twinkle in her eyes.

"Alright, little thief," he drawled, crouching beside her. "Where did you hide Maman’s ring?"

Louanne giggled, tucking the remote beneath her chin as if guarding a great secret. "It's a mystery, Papa!"

Oscar hummed, rubbing his chin in mock contemplation. "Then I suppose I’ll have to unleash my world-class detective skills."

Before she could wriggle away, his fingers found her sides, tickling her until she dissolved into breathless laughter. She squirmed and shrieked, limbs flailing, her delighted giggles filling the room.

It didn’t take long for her resolve to crumble.

Gasping between fits of laughter, she shoved at his chest, surrendering with a breathless, "Mister Monsieur has it!"

Oscar pulled back, his grin triumphant as he turned towards the well-loved teddy bear propped against the television. Sure enough, nestled in the front pocket of its little jumpsuit, a familiar golden band gleamed in the soft morning light.

"You can’t keep this, sweetheart," he murmured, retrieving the ring with a gentle shake of his head.

“But she can’t cook with it! She’ll—she’ll…” Louanne paused, brows knitting together in concentration. Oscar knew this look—when words danced just beyond her grasp, flickering between the two languages woven into her life.

“Ruin it!” she finally burst out, proud of herself.

“Well done," Oscar praised, ruffling her hair. "But I promise you, the ring will be just fine."

Louanne didn’t look entirely convinced, but after a thoughtful pause, she nodded solemnly. With the ring safely in hand, Oscar made his way back to the kitchen, where his wife was pouring smooth ribbons of batter onto the hot pan.

“It’s awfully quiet,” he remarked, leaning against the counter. “Where’s the other one?”

“With his uncle,” she replied, laughter in her voice. “He woke me at six this morning.”

Oscar sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Which uncle?”

She hesitated. That was all he needed.

“No," he groaned, closing his eyes. "Don’t say Lando. Please don’t tell me he’s taken him surfing again.”

The sheepish smile on her lips was answer enough.

Instead of offering sympathy, she simply shot him a knowing glance before nudging his shoulder and turning back to the stove. "Now you know how I feel every time you put that one over there in a kart."

Oscar scoffed, hopping onto the counter and reaching for a crispy strip of bacon before she could swat his hand away. "But she wants to!"

“She’s still so young!"

“She could be a world champion!” he countered, ever the dreamer.

“She’s seven, Oscar.”

“I started at seven, and I turned out perfectly fine!”

She arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s up for debate. Ruben is eleven, and Lando’s been taking him surfing since he was six.”

Oscar pressed a hand to his chest as if wounded. "You cut me deep, my love."

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Just promise me you’ll keep an eye on her. She’s our little daredevil.”

“I promise,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. Carefully, he slid the ring back onto her finger, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “And I’ll make sure Lando returns our Ruben in one piece, too.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she flipped a crepe with effortless ease, catching it with her bare hands before placing it onto the waiting stack.

“We make quite the team, don’t we?” she mused.

“The best,” Oscar agreed, watching her with a fond smile.

For a moment, the world slowed. Etta Jones’ A Sunday Kind of Love curled through the air, rich and smooth, wrapping the kitchen in nostalgia. The two of them moved in tandem—him gathering plates and cutlery, her plating up breakfast—a quiet dance they had performed a hundred times before.

Then, the moment shattered.

The front door swung open, followed by the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps.

“That board better be on the balcony!” she called, not looking up from the crepes.

A pause. A guilty shuffle. Then the distinct scrape of something heavy being dragged. A thud from the balcony confirmed her suspicions before the footsteps resumed.

A few seconds later, Ruben appeared, sandy-haired and grinning, still slightly damp from the sea.

“Bonjour, Maman,” he greeted, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Salut, Papa," he added, repeating the gesture with Oscar.

Oscar ruffled his hair. "Morning, champ! Ready for your competition?"

“Yup!” Ruben beamed, the ‘p’ popping. “Are we going for lunch before?”

Before Oscar could answer, his wife’s gaze flickered to their son’s hands.

“Va te laver les mains.”

Without complaint, Ruben headed straight for the sink, washing away the remnants of salt and sand while humming a carefree tune.

She placed the last of the breakfast dishes on the counter, taking her usual seat at the far end, leaving the middle seats for the children. Oscar exhaled, glancing around the room—the warmth of the morning light spilling through the window, the quiet clatter of plates, the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface.

Chaos, love, and the promise of a beautiful day.

His world, in its perfect imperfection.

“Maman, my trainer told me to tell you they found one of your old awards. Do you want it?” Ruben announced, hopping onto his seat at the breakfast table. His energy was infectious, filling the morning with a renewed sense of excitement.

Oscar followed close behind, carrying a drowsy Louanne in his arms. He gently settled her into the chair beside her brother before taking his own seat.

“You might as well take it,” Oscar said, reaching for his coffee. “I’ve been saying we need a new cabinet in the other room. I’m running out of space for my helmets.”

She chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “You’d think after forty-seven of them, it’d be enough, no?” she teased, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe we can finally organise that memorabilia corner you keep talking about.”

Ruben’s face lit up. “Can we put some of my trophies there too, Maman? It can be our family wall of fame!”

“Of course, mon cher,” she said, her heart warming at his enthusiasm. “But first, let’s eat. We’ve got a busy day ahead.”

“Can I put my karting one there?” Louanne piped up, carefully picking strawberries from her plate with tiny fingers. “The one Papa made for me?”

“Yes, Lou, of course we can,” she replied, sending her daughter a fond smile. “It would look perfect next to Rue’s, wouldn’t it, Oscar?”

Her husband, mid-chew, nodded, swallowing before he spoke. “Absolutely,” he agreed, reaching over to ruffle both children’s hair. “My little high-performance athletes.”

Breakfast continued in the usual lively rhythm of a family morning—the clatter of cutlery, bursts of laughter, and the rich aroma of coffee mingling with freshly cooked crepes. The children ate eagerly, already plotting out their grand display of awards.

“Maman’s should go in the middle,” Ruben suggested, practically bouncing in his seat. “It’s the biggest one! After Papa's World Championship!”

“And mine right next to it!” Louanne chimed in, clapping her hands together. “So everyone can see it!”

Oscar chuckled, reaching for his wife’s hand across the table. “Looks like we’ve got some redecorating to do this weekend,” he said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. “A family project.”

As the children continued chatting excitedly, she and Oscar exchanged a knowing look. Their love wasn’t just in grand gestures or milestones—it was in these small moments. The shared glances, the teasing, the unspoken understanding between them.

“Alright, kiddos,” Oscar announced, standing and stretching. “Time to get ready. Ruben, don’t forget your backpack, and Lou, let’s find your shoes.”

The children scampered off, still brimming with energy. She and Oscar remained behind, clearing the table in quiet companionship. As she rinsed the last plate, she felt his arms wrap around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate, “I love these mornings with you.”

She leaned back into him, closing her eyes for a moment. “Me too,” she whispered. “It’s the little things that make life so special.”

Oscar turned her gently to face him, his eyes filled with that same unwavering adoration. “And it’s these moments that I’ll remember forever,” he said softly before pressing a tender kiss to her lips.

The kiss was sweet, unhurried—a reminder of all the years, the laughter, the life they had built together.

A small voice shattered the quiet.

“Maman! Papa! We’re ready!” Louanne’s call rang from the hallway.

She laughed, squeezing Oscar’s hand before pulling away. “Let’s get out of these pyjamas first,” she said, heading towards their room.

They almost tripped over a stray toy on the way—much like Oscar had earlier—earning a small chuckle from them both. She slipped into her favourite dress, while he threw on his usual jeans and a comfortable shirt. As she brushed her hair, her gaze lingered on the framed photos atop their dresser—snapshots of birthdays, races, quiet Sundays like this one.

Oscar stepped beside her, catching her gaze. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” His voice held the weight of years spent side by side.

She nodded, a fond smile curving her lips. “We really have.” Her expression turned mischievous. “From you giving me attitude at school because you thought you were right about our schedule.”

Oscar groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’d just moved from Australia—cut me some slack. Besides,” he added, grinning as he tugged her closer, “look what it got us.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest.

Hand in hand, they made their way back to the living room, where Ruben was attempting to tie Louanne’s laces while balancing both their bags on his back. A small snort escaped her lips at the sight.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said, tossing the car keys to Oscar.

The four of them stepped out into the golden morning light, ready to embrace the day. As she watched Ruben and Louanne skip ahead, hands clasped together, a deep sense of gratitude settled in her chest.

This—this was everything.

Her family, with all their chaos and love, was her greatest treasure. And with Oscar by her side, it was only getting better.

the end.

taglist: @dying-inside-but-its-classy @n0vazsq @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @dozyisdead @number-0-iz @curseofhecate @lilorose25 @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist

[axxxx13]

eee ok i am deeply starved for sickfics (especially for thiam) so thoughts on what theo and liam would be like if they could get sick (and how they’d interact with each other)?

also, do u have any thoughts on how liam getting sick/not feeling well would impact his ied episodes?

thank u icon :)

SAMEEE! I love sickfics but there aren't so much.

First of all I have a very specific headcanon about wolves and diseases: werewolves CAN get sick but not from human viruses. They only get sick from wolf/dog viruses and I love the idea that there are vets/doctors(?) for supernaturals (like where exactly did dread doctors come from?)

So, about thiam

Liam when he's sick becomes super affectionate and clingy: he just wants to stay under the covers to snooze and be cuddled until he feels better. In some way he also likes being sick in the sense that he can just spend some slow days with people (Theo) who spend time with him and take care of him. He loves chicken soup, watching entire TV series in bed and mostly the fact that Theo absorbs any form of pain/discomfort in seconds.

As for the IED I think it depends on the illnesses. Like, the flu or "bed illnesses" don't affect his IED that much in the sense that he's weak to get angry and also by staying at home 99% of his triggers are not there. It's different for the diseases that I call "high functionality illnesses" (such as colds, coughs, etc.) for which you have to do everything you usually do in the same way (school, work, etc.) with the annoyance/difficulty of tissues, a red nose, watery eyes and all these things. I think this kind of disease makes him totally crazy, like his tolerance drops by at least half since he spends a good part of his time already frustrated ONLY because of the cold.

Theo, on the other hand, is a real drama queen. Regardless of what kind of disease that boy has, he hasn't had a single cold since he was 8 years old, so any little physical discomfort makes him complain OUT LOUD about anything. He's the kind of person who treats a fever of 37 like he has the plague and looks like he's dying if his nose runs. A funny thing is that when Theo is sick he takes a lot of drugs, even if they don't work or aren't for the type of illness he has, he still takes them "just in case".

I think it's quite funny to see Liam, whose main quality is NOT patience, try to take care of Theo who complains about EVERYTHING: the sun, the dark, the heat, the cold, the food, the series they chose, EVERYTHING. Liam squashed a pillow on his face more than necessary AT LEAST once just to have some peace.

The other thing is definitely that Theo, used to PERFECTLY controlling his emotions, when he is sick has no filter anymore: what usually happens is that Theo is exasperating, Liam at a certain point explodes screaming at him to stop and Theo STARTS CRYING. And of course Liam feels like crap and immediately starts apologizing and trying to console him and it's only at that point that he can put him under the covers and cuddle him until he feels better.

Now if you leave me I'm going to write a fanfic with exactly this content because oh god it's SO good.

[likethelightfromorionabove]

I had feelings about Crow!Rook who was involved with Illario pre-veilguard falling in love with Emmrich. So now I share them with all of you. Small CW for mentioning stitching up a wound.

"Illario and I used to do this for each other," she commented, cold stone against her back. Emmrich's fingers brushed against the underside of her breast, absorbed with the wound in her side. His hands were cold. Always a little cold. Not unnerving, but unfamiliar from the warmth of Antiva.

"He wasn't particularly good at it," Minerva continued, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Left a lot of scars…" She wasn't certain why she felt the need to bring him up. Though Illario had provided the wound and something about that knowledge cut deep. Deeper than she cared to admit.

"Did you love him?" Emmrich asked after a moment, in his placid almost nonchalant manner. One he wore so well, even when something bothered him. It bothered her. 

Minerva dared a halfhearted smirk and a glance in his direction. "That's a loaded question, professor."

"One you do not need to answer, darling," Emmrich replied with a soft smile. 

He returned to his task, threading a needle where he thought she couldn't see. Minerva's eyes fixed back on the ceiling. If she didn't look at it, it couldn't hurt her. Despite the tug and strain of the thread. Despite the pull of her skin with every stitch. "This is going to sting," he murmured, his breath much closer to her ear than Minerva realized.

Sting was perhaps putting it mildly. She hissed and arched, pulling away from him. Emmrich held fast, a soothing hand on her shoulder and soft praises in her ear. His hands were cold.

She was learning to appreciate the cold.

"Did you love Johanna?" Minerva asked, swinging up when it was all over.

Emmrich bristled. "That's was entirely platonic," he muttered, moving to put away his instruments.

"That doesn't mean you didn't love her," Minerva pressed, rising to follow. He sighed as she curled around his back, lifting her hand to his mouth.

"I suppose you are correct, darling."

The cold could be painful. Biting and harsh. Yet it also soothed. Neve had told her that once.

Minerva was learning to appreciate the cold.

[tryandbehappy]

Hey! Love your commentary! Provides so much insight!

But I am struggling to understand the conversation with Nick and June at the amusement park when he said that he risked everything for Luke because “you chose Luke”. I felt that Nick is saying look at the lengths I would go for your love but you don’t choose me. (This is also after telling her that Nick teamed up with the Americans to see June at the hospital) And all June said is that he waited for me. She told Nick “I had you. I loved you” what does that mean??? I’m baffled.

She proceeds to tell Nick, “I’m here” after he says “I’ve lost you over and over again”. But what does that mean? I’m here right now but you’re going to lose me again because I gotta be with Luke?

What is the message?

Does she not see what is Nick doing? He drops everything for her beck and call. Is that not waiting? Did June absorb all of this information that was said to her? You mentioned in another post that she didn’t say she loved Luke and I agree but in the later episodes she decided to stay with him. Idk I’m just confused.

Thank you for the question. And thank you for liking my insights.

I actually already broke this down it’s in the posts below.

But to put it simply: When he says, like, “, you chose Luke,” and she says she did choose him, but only because of guilt — because Luke had waited for her, and Nick understands that in the moment.

She basically says:

“So while he was waiting for me all those years, I was with you. I loved you.”

Which makes her the unfaithful one, and Luke the faithful one so now she feels like she owes him.

That’s the whole scene.

And then when she says “I’m here,” to me, that means: I’m with you emotionally. Not like, “I’m leaving Luke today,”but more like, “I love you.”

And that’s exactly what Nick needed to hear in order to take that next step, the initiative she had probably been waiting for all along.

And honestly, you can see it in her reaction in episode 6x06. She says yes!!! Like come on. It’s obvious.

He proposes, she kisses him in response. He even pauses and says, “Is that a yes?” And she keeps kissing him.

So yeah she chose him too. She was ready to throw everything away for him.

Of course, it might not have worked right away, they still have unresolved internal conflicts, and a lot to figure out.

But the fact remains:

She was waiting for him to make a move. He finally understood that and he did make the move. And she said yes.

That’s what happened.

[helloanthy]

your shapes are so fluid and soft and dynamic—it inspires me so much and i hope to someday reach the same level of skill in my own art ; U ; can i ask what your inspirations are? specifically for your shape language, but any general insp that contributed to your style would be super cool to hear about! thank you for sharing your beautiful art with us!! 💘

aaa thank u thank u so much for ur kind message ! 🥹 im honored you think so highly of my art and that it inspires you. the best compliment anyone could give me is that my art inspired them to make art too. and its really validating whenever im told my art is fluid and dynamic because i try very hard to make it so … drawing for me is kinda like carving marble i lay the initial sketch which is incredibly blocky and i spend an absorbent of the time trying to chip away at the edges make something rigid seem natural … pensive. i hope im understanding what ur asking correctly, but to quote ikuhara in regards to my shape language: "I think it's more beautiful when the body silhouette has clear contrasts (laugh)." i think its because i'v always been greatly inspired by fashion illustration & fashion editorial photography. runway and editorial makeup included in these i feel like also inform how i render eyes (yassified 💀) i started out drawing clothes and mimicking 20th century and 90s fashion illustration when i was little. in the salon i was always excited whenever we got new magazines so i could look at the celebrity fashion and red carpet sections. i also liked looking at the hairstyle lookbooks. late 90s and early 2000s so a lot of big/spiky/gelled/sprayed hair. and iv always loved haute couture especially sculptural clothing in the realm of guo pei, robert wun, heaven gaia, miss sohee, thierry mugler, schiaparelli, and richard quinn but i dont know if any of these influences translate here since the houses i named are heavily textiled and avante garde ... i try not to spend too much time rendering clothes bc at a certain point it becomes laborious which im trying to avoid feeling …… but i love sharing good art and these r my favourite designers 🥴 maybe this explains my silhouettes tho ? shrug mm perhaps more noticeable influences in how i shape fabric & clothing with my art here though would be houses like vivienne westwood, simone rocha and shushu tong besides fashion illustration & photography as i got older i got reallyyy into reading shoujo manga and that informed a lot of my style development too. particularly works of arine tanemura, matsumoto natsumi, ai yazawa, shinohara chie. and individually, mangas like kodocha, beauty pop, say i love you, kamisama kiss, kyo koi o hajimemasu (i dont remember a lot of these works plots only the art really but PLEASE do not read this last one i remember its really. really bad lmao) hononary mention of rosario vampire, which is not a shoujo but the first manga i read and was extremely attached to the art style artists who's interpretation of shapes and movement that i aspire to are kris anka, rené gruau, sara pichelli, j.c. leyendecker, hua sanchuan, and hisashi eguchi lastly iv never thought about my shape language explicitly in technical terms so i thought itd be interesting to try and put it into words. if it helps. so to me its kinda like

but also stylistic inspiration and aspirations aside, half of it is just the way my hand instinctually likes to move tbh. for example i drew out quickly what kind of lines make me feel the best and theyr like this

another contributing factor is probably that i really really dont like how it feels drawing straight lines. i like how they look and i wish i could Do them but hand tremors aside before even i still felt drawing straight lines was stifling and tedious like doing math. i love making a line that feels like a running rabbit i feel like for me at least in my art there is a lot that gets lost between inspiration—interpretation—execution—reception but i hope that i explained all this ok. its hard to put things into words haha. thank u again for the lovely message 🥲💗

[instituteguarddog]

went 2 the mall today got a new sketchbook and immediately drew in it. highlights include postal dude (of course) and elias bouchard as a vampire

[statementlou]

Tbh i am not surprised that a person who openly talked about having drinking problems since 1d days, because of how crazy 1d worked has been agressive. What surprises me is people being surprised (they never seriously saw drunk person?). But i am also confused about this whole book. Apparently Maya said that that book is not fully bout Liam but compilation about her exes and some of the worst parts are not about him. But recently she said that the book is “ofc about him” so what is true then? Or did she meant it that ofc some parts are about him or that whole book is about him?

Sorry, just confused

I also am not surprised- we've learned so much more about the real stories of things and about the guys' actual lives over the last years, and the story that has unfolded around Liam has been totally consistent throughout if you've been following it, and so the information Maya is telling us is shocking and upsetting but not difficult to believe. I got an anon yesterday saying they were worried about getting similar revelations about the other boys, like "if Liam could be doing this we just don't know, any of them could", and while in a way that's always true I guess, anyone could be doing anything in private like... that doesn't really concern me. Because none of these Liam revelations are coming out of nowhere, there have been many MANY steps along the way leading us here if you've been watching, and he has talked openly about both his mental health struggles and his addiction issues. So to answer that anon... to find out something similar about Louis would in contrast contradict everything we know about him and no I'm not worried about it. Is he an abuser or a loose cannon, well that news would truly shock me to my core, I will be honest. But anyway as for the book I don't find it strange that she was nervous when it came out and treading lightly and later decided, fuck it. In the absolutely on point tiktok she dropped today (YES👏GIRL👏FUCKING TELL THEM👏) she even mentions attempts to keep her from publishing the book, presumably by Liam's team, that I am riveted by and cannot WAIT to hear more details about actually- like I said I don't find it at all strange that she was nervous and downplayed it a bit then. But if she says now that it's just about Liam, well, I would say it's been clear from the beginning that the book is their story. Maya herself brought up the parallel of songs being written about stuff and I think it's the same thing; it's true (she was in an abusive relationship that involved certain kinds of events) but maybe not 100% literal (I'm sure details were changed to make the story work, it's not like a word for word timeline of their interactions or whatever).

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

The more time i spend at the theatre the more i'm realising that i'm like, 99% sure actors Need deeply silly roles every now and then. it's good for them. a Silly Role who Doesn't Take Themselves Seriously. this one guy has had ages of playing Weird Old Men of very, very varied flavours and he does a damn fine job at it but the thing is even the silly variants took themselves seriously. now he's got a character that finally doesn't take themselves seriously and it looks like So Much Fun. like obviously that's still acting and a job but fellas no one actually Made him be this fruity. this incredibly whimsical and Silly. and yet dude is the fruitiest silliest little motherfucker on stage, and that includes the ballet dancers in crop tops making out with each other. this is necessary enrichment i believe

[averlym]

some very very quick costume shorthands!

[good-to-drive]

I totally agree with the general consensus that Ringo provided a lot of emotional support and coolheadedness to the other beatles to the point where they'd have probably killed each other without him but I do also wonder sometimes how much of that is being supernaturally patient and easygoing and how much of it is Ringo just having a tumultuous and isolated childhood where he was never taught to recognize and assert his own emotional needs so he became a blank slate on which others could process their emotions

(And tbh I also wonder how an inability to access or assert his feelings may have contributed to his tendency to process pain by numbing himself and the pretty shitty way he treated women)

[penrose-quinn]

My unpopular opinion is if Draken was really doomed to die in the narrative, I'd rather he die as an adult than a kid in the last arc

[mr-laveau]

NeXus New Network: Breaking News From Ireland

So I think we need some context for this-

Hi, so I have a discord who gets all my juicy lore bits that most other people don't get (discord perks sorta/j) and I shared with them a fake news report about ireland in the NeXus world which is the soft launch/teaser of another storyline to be coming out that's set in the country and is about an Irish vampire lord.

@maxpaulll , the wonderful being that he is made a fake news cast of it and I loved it (the discord gets up to shit like this from time to time) so I am sharing it with you, enjoy!

[nexus-nebulae]

thinking about when i had such intense phantom limbs as a kid i told my math teacher about it

[hana-bobo-finch]

jørgan clan my beloved. you guys are so messed up

[collectorcookie]

Need u to know the yumetron2000 tweet has become a new hit term among me and oomf who recently got into mhyk and is a rutile fan

am i wrong tho