#if it wasn't then it's there. if it was then it isn't

[canisalbus]

Lil guy deserves all the snails :>>

I sketched this out way too fast, sorry if theres any mistakes ^^

.

[snigepippi]

When I was a child we were thrifting and scrimping and refraining from at lot of things, because we didn't have enough money. Then my mom got a well paying job, and suddenly I could ask for that new pair of shoes or fancy mug.

When I was studying I was thrifting and scrimping and refraining from at lot of things, because I didn't have enough money. Then I finished my degree and got a decent job, pretty quickly I could again buy the expensive tooth brush, get a flight ticket to another country and buy my own flat.

No matter what. Being thrifty and scrimping does not make the situation better. You are thrifty because you have to be. You will never be able to save up enough from thrifting. You will never be secure.

And I cannot help with any good advice.

From what I can see, the only way is to be secure, is being lucky and get that well paying job, or start the one in a thousand startups that are vastly successful or get some inheritance.

When I grow up I wanna be upper middle class.

[grvait]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the boys who eventually got turned into doey. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[inkedinshadows]

First of all congratulations for 1000 followers 🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉 it’s honestly amazing and you deserve all the best❤️❤️❤️ also happy new year 🎆🎆🎆 secondly, all the prompts are super good it, I had such a hard time choosing from them cause they that are all amazing, anyway I think 19, 20 and 21 just fit together perfectly for an angsty Azriel fic.

Broken Vows

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: thank you so much anon, you're the sweetest! <33 And happy new year one month too late oopsie 🤭

Prompts: "I trusted you." + "Don't leave me now. Please. I still need you." + "Baby, please, just look at me."

Warnings: Az is not the best partner here (I promise he didn't cheat)

Word count: 1.3k

It must be a dream. A nightmare.

Whatever was happening, it wasn't real. It couldn't be. You refused to believe it.

Azriel was still talking, but you weren't listening anymore. His words blurred together in your mind, yet his first few sentences remained sharp, playing over and over in your head.

I've found my mate.

You had never been the jealous type, so it hadn't bothered you when he began spending more and more time with Madja’s new apprentice. It had started as small talk after her visits and you usually lingered too. Talya seemed nice enough—quiet and reserved yet friendly.

You hadn't questioned it when Azriel started visiting the apothecary for even the slightest headache. But then those visits became too frequent. He went there even when both of you felt perfectly fine.

You should have realized something was off when Azriel became distant. The signs had been there. You had just been too blind to see them.

But the problem wasn't that he had found his mate, was it?

I want to be with her.

A few simple words, and the whole world collapsed around you.

“Baby, please, just look at me.” His voice finally cut through your thoughts. “I know this is hard to hear, but let me—”

“You promised,” you interrupted him. Your eyes met his from where he sat at the other end of the couch.

“Baby…” he began, but you cut him off again.

“You promised,” you repeated, your voice rising as tears pricked your eyes. “You promised!”

Guilt flashed across Azriel's face, and he at least had the decency to remain silent as you pressed on.

“You said you'd reject your mate for me, Az,” you blurted out. Hot, angry tears rolled down your cheeks, but you barely noticed. “It was in your wedding vows, for gods’ sake!”

Azriel shook his head. “It's not that simple. I don't—”

“Isn't it?” you interrupted again. “Because it seems simple enough to me. You just reject the bond, like I did.”

His expression immediately hardened. “I don't want to reject the bond. If you would only let—”

“Why wouldn't you want to reject it?” you demanded.

“Because she's my mate!”

“And I'm your wife!”

For a moment, you just glared at each other. His shadows swarmed nervously around his wings, but then his shoulders slumped and his expression softened slightly.

“Can you let me explain?” he asked, studying you. “Please.”

With a sigh, you wiped your cheeks before crossing your arms over your chest. You simply looked at him, waiting.

“I don't want to lose you, baby,” he said softly.

“I don't see how that is going—”

Azriel stopped you mid-sentence. “Let me finish? Please?”

You rolled your eyes but gestured for him to continue. Listening to him was the last thing you wanted right now, but maybe he was going to surprise you. Maybe he was going to say it was all just a joke, a prank, and you'd be mad, but it would be fine.

You were grasping at straws, and you knew it.

“I still want to be with you,” Azriel said. He shot you a sharp look when you opened your mouth, and you sank back against the couch to let him continue. “But I also want to explore this bond with her.”

You scoffed. “So what? You think you can have both of us?” You shook your head, something vicious twisting in your gut. “That's not going to work, Azriel.”

You rose from your seat to head upstairs. You needed time to think, to figure out what to do. If you stayed, you would only get angrier. You had already cried and had no desire to do it again. But if you left, maybe you could spare yourself the fury.

Though the pain—the ache in your heart—could not be avoided, no matter what you did.

“Talya said that she understands the situation and she'd be willing to—”

You froze on the spot. Azriel must have realized he'd said the wrong thing because he didn't finish the sentence. His eyes dropped to your clenched fists as you turned back to face him.

Your restraint was gone. You wouldn't hold back now.

“You talked to her before you talked to me?” you seethed.

“Well, I…” Azriel seemed to be grasping for words. “She's my mate,” he repeated, as if that was explanation enough.

“And I'm your wife!” You threw your hands up. “I have been for the last two centuries!”

“I'm sorry, baby, but I—”

“Don't you ‘baby’ me, Azriel!”

He lowered his gaze, but you were too upset to care about the hurt look in his eyes. It was nowhere close to the heartache he was causing you.

“You know why I never worried about you finding your mate?” you asked. He looked up at you, but even if he had planned on saying something, you didn't give him time. “Because you promised you'd choose me. You promised you would reject the bond. And I believed it, believed you. I trusted you.”

You were well aware of what rejecting a mating bond felt like, how difficult it could be to deal with. Even without feelings involved, even knowing that you and your mate wouldn't have been a good match, it had still taken you two weeks to feel whole again. But Azriel had been there, filling the empty spot where your bond had been with his love.

You had never regretted your choice. You never had a reason to.

“And now I find out that not only did you spend time with her knowing she was your mate,” you went on, “but that you also want to be with her?”

Azriel’s voice was firm, edged with frustration. “I told you I want to be with you too, didn’t I?”

“Mother above, Azriel,” you snapped. “You think that makes me feel better? I trusted you, but you didn't even try.”

You had fought before. After two hundred years together, arguments were inevitable. But you usually talked it out and reconciled after a few hours—a day at worst. Maybe that was why Azriel didn't look particularly concerned.

Until you slipped the wedding band off your finger and tossed it onto the couch beside him.

His eyes widened in shock, and his usually restless shadows stilled behind him. You both stared at the ring, the silence stretching as your anger faded, leaving behind only a broken heart.

“You can't have your cake and eat it too, Az,” you finally said, your voice calmer now, resigned.

You turned on your heel again.

“I'm leaving,” you announced, already walking toward the stairs. You could go stay with your parents. They would welcome you without pressing for an explanation.

Azriel snapped out of his stupor and stood, reaching for you.

“Don’t leave me now. Please. I still need you.” His fingers closed around your wrist. “I still love you.”

You yanked your arm free, but didn't turn to face him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you bit out, “You should have loved me enough not to pursue your mate. You promised.”

He tried to stop you again, his shadows swirling around your legs as if to keep you from walking away from their master.

“Baby, that's not—”

You turned back one last time. Tears lined your eyes and your voice broke on the words. “I should have been enough, Azriel.”

You didn't wait to hear his response. You didn't try to go upstairs to pack some clothes.

Unable to stomach his presence any longer, you winnowed away.

a/n: technically, this is the end. I wanted to leave it open and hanging, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I am a sucker for happy endings so I might write a part 2 bc I already have an idea :))

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[hellmersy]

Stiles always drops his bottle caps, every time, without fail.

One day Derek sees Stiles grab a drink from the fridge and when the other man sits down he holds his hand out.

"What? Are you gonna "Boyfriend Tax" my soda now too?" Stiles remarks, mentioning how Derek always takes the first bite of his food. He's never explained that it's tradition for the Alpha to sample their partners food first (back the ye olden days it was to make sure it wasn't poisoned or tampered with, but nowadays Derek does it to make sure his food isn't too hot, or sometimes be annoying), he probably never will because even though Stiles always sasses him about it the man lets Derek do it everytime.

"No dumbass, give me your lid," He continues to hold his hand out as Stiles looks at him curiously.

"Why? Did you suddenly take up bottle cap collection? 'cause if so I think my Pepsi cap is a lame place to start-"

"You always drop it, so I'll hold it for you." His hand is still held out, waiting for Stiles to hand him the cap, but Stiles is looking at him with a mix of surprise and affection. It's kind of similar to the look Stiles already gets when he's about to tell Derek that what the 'wolf just said was in fact not a funny story, but something really fucked up and sad.

"Thanks baby," he says softly, handing Derek his bottle cap, and Derek smiles at the nickname.

[ask-apostle-ghoul]

//getting takeout, ordering ubereats, grubhub, anything of that sort is a leech for your wallet. I had a coworker that would only order takeout/fast food and she always complained that she didn't have money for rent (she had food at home. she explicitly told me that) Like it wasn't every other day or once a week either. she would order LUNCH AND DINNER THROUGH UBEREATS EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY.

moral of the story. Sure a turkey sandwich, chips and water isn't as tasty as a burger combo with fries and a drink, but at least the turkey sandwich isnt costing you like 20-30 bucks to make.

i must not get takeout. takeout is the wallet-killer. takeout is the little-death that brings total obliteration. i will face the kitchen, fridge, and pantry. i will make choices about what to cook and then execute them. when hunger is gone there will be nothing. only i will remain.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dad!James Potter x wife!fem!reader

Summary: Telling James you're pregnant again is scary.

Genre: pure fluff

Warnings: reader is pregnant, vomiting

~ set after Santa Baby and before Snow On The Beach ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Date nights were extremely important to James. Since Henry's birth, he was adamant that his alone time with you was something he didn't want to neglect, even if there was a child in the picture.

Now that Henry was nine, convincing Sirius and Remus to babysit wasn't hard. Especially since they would bring their four year old, Cassiopeia, with them and Henry would graciously play her while you and James went out. 

Tonight's date isn't any different than the others, except that you're a bundle of jumping nerves. It certainly doesn't help that James looks positively stunning with his dark hair slicked back, a few loose curls arrayed across his forehead, and his dark suit, which conveniently matches the velvet navy dress you're wearing.

The restaurant is fancy. It's James's favorite and you secretly think one of the reasons is he likes showing you how much he can spoil you, as if he hadn't been doing just that for the past thirteen years. He'd ordered this fancy appetizer, along with some wine you haven't touched and was currently talking about work. Taking over his father's company was putting some stress on him, which you understood. 

"You know, I can't wait till Harry starts school, not that I won't miss the little bugger," James chuckles behind his wine glass, his mind wandering, "but because we'll have more time. Just us."

His words cause your stomach to sink. How are you supposed to tell him now, you think. James, always observant to your emotions, frowns when he sees your expression. 

"You okay, you look like you're going to be sick—" 

As he speaks, the nausea hits you hard and you stand, holding a hand over your mouth as you rush to the nearest bathroom without any warning. You clumsily throw yourself on the ground, vomiting into the toilet and you choke on an embarrassed sob. 

James is hot on your heels the moment you leave dinner so abruptly, running into the women's bathroom without a care in the world. The older women, who'd been mildly appalled by your vomiting, send him some dirty looks but he doesn't pay them any mind as he opens the stall. He kneels next to you, gently gathering your hair in his hand as he uses the other one to rub soothing circles on your back.

"Hey, my love, what happened?" He asks between soothing words, his hand strokes your hair as you slump against him, tears glistening in your waterline. 

Your husband isn't stupid and he knows you. He looks into your eyes and he understands instantly. His breath hitches as he remembers just how bad your 'morning' sickness was when you were pregnant with Henry, lasting and becoming even worse in the evenings. His gaze softens instantly and clicks his tongue. "Why didn't you tell me?" he scolds half-heartedly, still rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

You sniffle, wiping your mouth with an enormous amount of toilet-paper as you whimper, "I felt like I was going to disappoint you, you seemed so happy for time alone and—"

"And now we are going to have another baby," James finishes for you, kissing your temple as he helps you up and brings you to the sink. He pushes hair behind your face as he gently takes some paper-towel, wets it, and gently runs it under your chin and around your mouth. You look miserable and his heart breaks. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment as he washes your hands, washing his in the process as well. Your mind races. You don't know what to think, what to feel about this new life growing inside you.

He places his large palm on your stomach. You're not showing, yet. You flinch, sniffing. "Why so sad, love?" he whispers as he tries to comfort you.

"You're upset," you whisper, looking at your appearance in the mirror. You look like a mess.

James grins. "Says who?" He laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead again. 

You look on the verge of tears again and your husband's smile falters. He leans down, catching your gaze so you're looking at him properly. "Hey, love, please don't cry okay? I'm not upset, I promise. I'm happy. So so happy, really," James reassures you, a familiar glint of sincerity in his eyes. "We are having another baby. This is the best news, okay?" 

Tension eases in your shoulders and you finally relax. The warm feeling of happiness seeps back into you. You sniff again, looking into his eyes. "Promise?"

He straightens himself and holds out his pinky for you to take. "I pinky promise." You hook your pinky with his and he leans down, kissing his closed fist. You hesitate, finally cracking a small smile as you do the same. 

"Excuse me? This is the ladies room," a snark voice calls from behind you both and you look towards the voice. A woman is standing tensely in the doorway, gripping the hand of her young daughter, and she's glaring daggers at James.

The little girl looks confused and she's clearly feeling the fear her mother is and you can tell from James's expression he feels bad. 

"Sorry." He waves his hands in the air, his cheeks dusted pink, as he points to you, "My wife was sick—I was just leaving—" James looks your way and mouths, "You coming?"

You nod, taking his hand, as he leads you out the door. You mumble a small apology to the woman and James sends a small reading smile to the girl, hoping not to scare her.

Once your back at your table, James gulps down his wine and looks at you sheepishly. "Oops," he mutters. You smile and cover your giggles. James's smile widens when you laugh and he reaches over, resting his hand over yours. 

"Seriously, baby," he says, seriously now, "I'm really happy. And Henry will be happy too."

You rub your temples, taming some of the wisps of hair that fall in front of your eyes. "Yeah? You think so?"

James laughs, "No. He's gonna be furious," he pauses when he sees that his joke isn't landing and he squeezes your hand. "I'm joking. He'll be the best big brother. He's already so good with Cassi, he's practically an older brother already."

You smile. "He is, isn't he?"

James hums, that giddy smile of his returning. "Pregnant. Again," he muses, "I can't believe how lucky I am," he says and looks at you like you're the brightest star in the universe. You feel your cheeks warm. "I love you."

"I love you more," you say back, bringing his knuckles to your lips. 

James grins and when he catches glimpse of your untouched wine glass, a smirk curls his lips and shake his head, clicking his tongue. "Can't drink this, baby," he teases you and slides it over to his side. You roll your eyes. 

"I wasn't," you argue playfully.

"Hmm?"

You swat his hand, knowing he's teasing you on purpose to lighten the mood. Still, your nerves have calmed and you aren't feeling as nauseous anymore. In fact, you can finally truly feel excited now. Another baby. You smile.

Once the food arrives and the topic of conversation had changed to James excitedly coming up with new baby names, you feel at ease again and warmth spreads in your stomach.

You move your foot under the table, gently touching James's ankle—just to let him know you love him. James doesn't mention it but his smile widens as he speaks, a look of adoration and love sparkling in his eyes. 

[vivwritesfics]

End Up Here

you were a rockstar, you thought he was just a dj. he was so much more than that. but he was kind and sweet. how the hell did you end up here

3.5k

cw: drugs mentioned (not taken), ass grabbing, lando whining)

the media liked to portray your party girl lifestyle. fast cars, lots of booze. sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. the life of a rockstar, right?

wrong.

partying had never been your thing. sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll (as a collective) had never been your thing. you liked sex, you liked rock 'n' roll, but they were two separate things. your status as a rockstar was never used to get sex.

your first party was in monaco. every party your band mates went to, you stayed away from. they were a little bit older, were a band before you. you were just the missing piece that boosted them to stardom.

they went to parties. sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll parties. you went home to sleep.

but your best friend dragged you to the party in monaco. her brother was going, her brother who worked in motorsport. you didn't know much more than that.

a party in monaco. you didn't know if you had fans there, didn't know if you were going to be stopped every five seconds for a picture. "monaco isn't like that," bianca reassured you. "you're gonna have a great time, i promise."

so, you went in with her.

the room was dark, floor vibrating with the thumb of the bass, the moving bodies. lights flashes and you shut your eyes for just a second. but you opened them back up and looked across the room.

what kind of party has a dj booth set up?

"come on!" bianca shouted and pulled you over to the drinks table. you downed your first drink; fruity and weak. you downed another, just for a light buzz.

bianca pulled you onto the dance floor. you went willingly, dancing with her. the dj wasn't half bad, you noted as you danced to the music.

if anybody else in the room knew who you were, they didn't say so. they let you dance with your friend, let you enjoy your night.

but then, one of your songs played. you stopped, the thundering beat of your heart being all that you could hear. bianca kept dancing, blissfully unaware of your distress.

you turned towards the dj booth. the dj stared right at you with his pretty green eyes. the cheeky smile on his face suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.

turning on your heel, you moved to leave the party. but bianca grabbed your arm. "where are you going?" she shouted over the music, your music. it was your voice, filling the party, singing along with the rest of your band.

you looked past her, spotted her brother striding towards the both of you. "i'm gonna get out of here!" you shouted back. she went to protest, but you nodded past her, nodded at her brother.

as bianca turned towards her brother, you slipped out of the party. past the bodies dancing to your music, to the song you wrote in your twenties, past the group of girls shouting your lyrics at each other, and out into the night.

monaco at night. you didn't live here. bianca was the one that moved here just a few months ago. she knew her way around the streets; she knew the way back to her apartment.

you were lost.

it would have been easy to go back into the party, to pretend everything was fine and you weren't fuming. you had no reason to be fuming, you should have been happy that your music was being enjoyed.

but you wanted a night away from it. a night away from fame, a night away from plucking your guitar strings or turning your thoughts into songs with elaborate lyrics that nobody but you could really understand.

you sniffed as you stood there. no jacket, no coat, you were cold. a shiver came from your toes and ran up your back, shaking your entire body. maybe you should just go back inside. at least then you would be warm.

two fingers tapped your shoulder. you turned quickly, heartrate picking up. shit, you should have googled the kidnapping rate in monaco. because this was it, you were going to be murdered or kidnapped and sold back to your band for an extortionate amount.

but the dj stood there. finally away from the dj booth, from the lights, you could see how pretty he was. shit, he was gorgeous. tanned, his curls hidden by a hat. shirt open, revealing his chest, the necklace laying against it.

"you're an asshole," you said.

he shrugged his shoulders, but that smile came onto his face once again. "it's a good song," he replied, tongue poking out between his teeth. you didn't expect him to be british.

"yeah, it is," you answered back, your words cold and biting.

"i'm lando."

you quirked your eyebrows at him. "funny, i didn't know assholes could have names."

he let out a laugh, but you couldn't tell if it was genuine.

he knew who you were, so you didn't bother to introduce yourself. "are you going back inside?" he asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

"look, i'm sorry i played your song," he said, finally sounding sincere. "don't let that ruin the party for you. come back inside."

when he held out his hand, you took it and followed him back inside. lando returned to the dj booth and you returned to dancing with bianca and her brother.

you kept looking at the dj booth. lando kept looking at you. at least, you thought he was. there was no way he could see you when you followed bianca and her brother away from the dj booth. he lost you in the crowd, lost you when the lights shined in his eyes.

he didn't play another one of your songs for the rest of the night. your appreciated it, let yourself enjoy the night.

at the end of the night, when the lights stopped flashing and the music stopped playing, you wanted to find lando. if he hadn't pulled you back inside, you would have been wandering the streets, searching for biancas apartment. you wouldn't have had the great night you ended up having if it wasn't for him.

you needed to thank him.

you pushed your way through the crowd, headed towards the dj booth. but it was empty, lando and the people that surrounded him nowhere to be found.

"shit," you breathed as you looked around.

giving up, you made your way back outside, back to bianca and her brother.

except you didn't make it very far. no, you collided with a hard body. his hands shot out, grabbing you to steady you.

you stared up at him, stared into his pretty, green eyes. "hi," you said, not entirely sure what else you should say.

lando grinned down at you, tucked a stray bit of hair behind your ear. and intimate act for two people that barely knew each other. "you had fun?" he asked.

you nodded and he wrapped an arm around you, led you out of the party. "thank you," you muttered as you let him lead you outside. you wouldn't let anyone else do this for you, but there was something about his big, strong hand on your exposed shoulder. "for taking me back inside earlier."

he shook his head. "shouldn't have played your song," he mumbled as you pulled him back to your friend.

"how did you get into dj-ing in monaco?" you asked as you stepped into the cold night air.

he released a laugh, one that could have had your knees buckling.

"I'm not a dj," he answered as he led you to the front of the building. "im an f1 driver."

your jaw dropped. "wait, seriously?" you asked. he was just as famous as you were, and you had no idea.

lando nodded his head. you pulled your lip between your teeth and blinked up at him. "maybe I could come to a race at some point."

"id like that," lando answered as he let you go. he looked past you, at bianca and her brother, who were waving you over. "give me your phone."

you fished your phone from your pocket and placed it in his hands. lando quickly put his number in your contacts and gave you your phone back. "lemme know when you get home," he said and gently pushed you towards your friends.

you did just that. you texted the new number in your phone and waited for him to reply. he did, just something short, and you fell asleep soon after. body buzzing, head swimming, you were perfectly content.

***

returning to the US and you kept texting lando. the time difference made it difficult, but you sent him pictures of the tour bus, of setting up the stage. you sent him pictures you were tagged in by fans, pictures of you rocking it.

you sent him videos your social media team put together, your fingers dancing across the strings. you were talented, that was undoubtable. backup singing with your lead singer as the lights flashed on you, singing with such passion that your voice was hoarse by the end of the night.

but you loved it, and you loved showing it to lando.

he loved showing you his life, too. he sent you pictures when he was in england, when he was at the McLaren Technology Centre. he sent you pictures of him sitting with his teammate (oscar, you thought his name was). pictures of the f1 cars they had there.

he sent you pictures of him at race weekends, videos of your songs playing in the garage. artsy pictures in the mirror of his drivers room, with his black and orange cap on backwards.

i want one, you replied to that picture.

he sent you a signed one that day, and it arrived to you within a week.

but you wanted to go to a race and he wanted to come to your concert.

the two of you made a deal. COTA. you would come to that, he would come to your texas show the next week. you didn't tell him that you ran to management and demanded that the concert dates be moved. you didn't care that your band was performing in california a few days before; you'd drive the tour bus yourself if you had to.

you just wanted to see him again. the late night phone calls (either late for him or late for you), the constant texting, it wasn't enough. you needed more. you needed him.

your band followed you through the paddock in texas. you didn't know where you were going, looking for any signs of orange, of mclaren. you walked past the garages, walking past blue cars you didn't care about, red cars you hoped wouldn't win.

you saw him before you saw his car. cap on his head, hiding the curls you loved so much, orange shirt on his body and jeans on. you could see the chain of his necklace peaking out from the back of his collar as he faced away from you.

you couldn't help the way you ran towards him. he jolted slightly as you wrapped your arms around his waist. "wha-"

"hi," you said, and his large hands came to rest over your own.

"rockstar." you couldn't see the way his smile lit up his face as his thumb rubbed over the back of your hands, smaller than his. "you made it," he mumbled and tried to turn around in your arms. but you held him tight.

"i can't wait to see you drive," you mumbled.

"i can't wait to see you perform tonight."

finally, you released him, stepped back as he turned towards you. "hi, rockstar," he said and threw his arm over your shoulder. he pulled you in and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

you didn't know what you were. after weeks, months, of texting, you didn't know what the two of you were. you weren't together, not in any way that mattered. but being near him again was incredible. him. his big hands, the way he fucking smelled. holy fuck, you never wanted to leave his side.

your band watched his drive from the paddock. you still didn't know much about formula one, even after talking to him for so long. you tried to watch races, tried to understand what was going on, but it was background noise until you heard the commentators say lando's name.

he didn't win while you watched him, but it was still incredible watching him come second. you watched as the winners girlfriend ran forward and kissed him. could you have ran forward and kissed lando? maybe, but you didn't want to risk it. didn't want to risk making him uncomfortable in front of such a large crowd, so many cameras.

your bassist had his hand on your shoulder as you watched lando on the podium. "how did you meet this guy again?" he asked as the champagne was sprayed.

"party in monaco," you answered as the guy in the red race suit, with the gorgeous hair and incredibly attractive nose (rip ferarri carlos i already miss you) sprayed the champagne in lando's face.

"but you won't go to a party with us?"

"nope," you answered.

you couldn't hang around, couldn't congratulate him on your own terms at the race track. after sending a quick text to lando, the four of you got going, headed to the venue.

setting up was a drag. you yawned as the team taped down the last of the wires. it was all things that should have been done the day before; you should have been able to just rock up and play, without having to do all of these extra things to set up.

as soon as that was sorted, as soon as the team tested that you could run about the stage without your wires getting caught, you headed to your dressing room. just an hour until the show started, and you wanted to get dressed.

jeans with stars on the butt and a muscle tee. it was a look, one your fans had come to expect. (the inspiration was 2014 luke hemmings and you told him that when you met him last year).

after getting changed, you joined the rest of the band. harrison had his drumsticks, nervously tapping them against the arm of the sofa, as he did before every show. marty was going through lyrics, but you knew he'd end up taking at least one sheet of lyrics on stage with him. robbie was standing in front of the mirror, fixing his hair again and again and again.

you were checking your phone, reading the few texts lando had sent you. a text telling you he was on his way, a picture of him at the front of the stage with a group of fans that recognised him. it was a wholesome picture, one you screenshotted to add to your camera roll.

***

"how long have you been a fan?" the group around him asked. lando answered every question they had, most of them being about you. shit, he could talk about you for hours, and you'd only really texted each other.

his phone buzzed, your response to the picture he'd sent. heart eye emoji, a promise to be out in five minutes. you send a picture in the back, you and your band standing in front of the mirror, game faces on.

the lights dimmed in the venue. nobody could see anything as dry ice appeared, as the drumming started. the girls around him screamed. "H! H! H! H!" they chanted as the lights focused in on the drummer.

guitar started up. you ran on the stage, fingers somehow not missing a note as you moved. shit, you were impressive. lando watched as you faced the drummer, playing at him. it let lando see the stars on your jeans. that was where his hands should be, he didn't mean to think. but he did think that, and he didn't regret it.

for the entire show, lando kept his eyes on you. he didn't care about marty, dropping to his knees to sing to the crowd. he cared about the way you stepped towards marty, fingers playing a lovely melody. it was one of your songs, the lyrics you had written back in your teens.

you met his eye. at least, he thought you did. there was no way you could see him with all of the lights shining on you. artwork was displayed from behind you, artwork you and your band had made for your first album.

lando wasn't a concert guy. he wasn't a 'stand there with a bunch of fans and shout the lyrics back' kind of guy. he was a dance at the club with his friends, standing at the dj booth, kind of guy.

but seeing you up there, playing so fucking beautifully, head thrown back as you did a slower guitar solo, maybe he could become that kind of guy.

the concert was over all too soon. your bandmates joined you at the front of the stage, the four of you bowing together. lando tried to shout and cheer louder than anybody else, but it was damn near impossible.

all he had to do to get backstage was give his name. security let him through and he followed them until he found you,

lounging backstage with the rest of your band, you chugged a bottle of water. your hair stuck to your forehead from sweat and your chest heaved. performing was physical, he knew that, he didn't expect you to look like this, though.

fucked out, that was the only way he could describe you. but you looked so damn beautiful.

as soon as you saw him, you were on your feet. you rushed towards him and threw your arms around him. you stank of sweat, but you were so damn happy, lando couldn't pull away from you.

"you were incredible up there, rockstar," he muttered as you pressed your forehead against his shoulder. your breathing was still heavy, but it had eased slightly. the adrenaline, he knew. he stroked your back, fingers catching on the material of your faded muscle tee slightly. it pulled it up, exposed your back, and you shivered.

"you were incredible earlier, racer," you replied, pulling away to look at him, to look into his pretty green eyes. "i could watch you race forever."

"i could watch you perform forever."

his large hands slipped under your muscle tee. they came to rest on your back, so damn warm against your sweat soaked skin. you wrapped your arms around his neck, played with his curls. no cap to keep them hidden from you, this time.

your fingers caught on the chain before you tangled them in his hair. "maybe you should," you whispered, almost forgetting anybody else was in the room with you.

(it was a private moment, your bandmates knew. robbie elbowed harrison and marty. he pointed to the door of the room and the three of them made their way out, leaving the two of you alone. they had never seen you like this, couldn't help but feel like proud dads)

"maybe i should," lando replied, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

you opened your mouth, ready to say something more. ready to stop him before he did something he would regret, before he got involved with someone like you. the media would take this story and run with it, you wanted to tell him.

but you kissed him. you just kissed him.

he tightened his grip on you, pulled you flush against him as he kissed you back. there was no hesitation, nothing to stop him as he pressed his lips against your own.

you tugged on his curls and he released a whine. a beautiful noise, but this wasn't the place to hear them. "rockstar," lando said through a breath as he pulled away.

you slipped your hands from his hair to his shoulders. "i don't want this to just be a 'thing'," you said quickly. "i know the kind of lifestyle people expect me to lead, but i don't want that. i want this to be real."

"i want this to be real, too!" he said quickly, completely agreeing with you. his hands slipped down to hold the stars printed on your back pockets. "come on, rockstar. let me show you just how much i want this to be real."

lol i love not writing for fucking ages and then writing something longer than usual. but yk, if i had it in me to write 10k chapters, i so would

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

In a bit of follow up to my previous question; do any of Teyvat's odd weather phenomenon exist, even though it all has supernatural causes? Like, does Tsurumi have heavier fog? Seirai more frequent storms? Is the area where Apep's sandstorm is just more prone to sandstorms? Has Sumeru ever had a phenomenon similar to Withering, even though they wouldn't have to deal with forbidden knowledge? Also- does the Vourukasha Oasis have anything special about it?

(And a bit related- what do you think of the theory that a nail fell on Tsurumi island, based off of the tree found there that's the same as the ones in Dragonspine, the Chasm, and the Orchard of Pairidaeza?)

answering the last one first because i do sort of subscribe to that theory! even though the nail is nowhere to be seen, it would absolutely explain the time fuckery going on in there if a tree was punctured. that plus the celestia murals sort of seem to hint at that (at least i remember there being celestia murals i might be missremembering and thinking of the stuff under yashiori (i think?))

as for the main question, i think the answer would be an it depends? i think there would absolutely be more sandstorm-prone areas in the desert, and the rainforest could have some ailments that are just from like- humans messing up and going oh wait, no we don't want that, we need to be more environmentally-friendly (this isn't irl so i'm taking the easier route out and saying they got their shit together like ultra fast in teyvat on a good chunk if not most sociopolitical and ecologic problems. this isn't the focus of the fic anyway) idk what the weather on tsurumi was like pre-time fuckery? if it's mentioned, i can't recall- but if we're going with a green dragonspine then we're probably going with a fog-less tsurumi. seirai's storms are the fault of ei and the thunderbird so yeah those aren't there. seirai is a normal and inhabited island for that matter, none of that... y'know.

as for the vorukasha oasis, i'd have to brush up on my desert lore bc if it was formed due to egeria's corpse, then i'm afraid it won't be there. like i know she died in tunigi hollow but her corpse much closer to the oasis than it is there so idk. but if it was a naturally-occuring oasis before egeria and she just- i mean it says the amrita pool 'nourished' the oasis, but like- did it create it? or did it just make it more- like. did it just make it bigger and prettier is my question. if it's the latter then the oasis was there before it just wasn't as pretty and likely didn't have enough energy to sustain the giant fuckoff tree (i forget the name). so it would be just a bigger version of the naturally-ocurring oases around upper and lower setekh

[throesofincreasingwonder]

"A story doesn't need a theme in order to be good" I'm only saying this once but a theme isn't some secret coded message an author weaves into a piece so that your English teacher can talk about Death or Family. A theme is a summary of an idea in the work. If the story is "Susan went grocery shopping and saw a weird bird" then it might have themes like 'birds don't belong in grocery stores' or 'nature is interesting and worth paying attention to' or 'small things can be worth hearing about.' Those could be the themes of the work. It doesn't matter if the author intended them or not, because reading is collaborative and the text gets its meaning from the reader (this is what "death of the author" means).

Every work has themes in it, and not just the ones your teachers made you read in high school. Stories that are bad or clearly not intended to have deep messages still have themes. It is inherent in being a story. All stories have themes, even if those themes are shallow, because stories are sentences connected together for the purpose of expressing ideas, and ideas are all that themes are.

[puraiuddo]

FanFiction.net is not gone.

Right now it's a victim of DNS (Domain Name Service) spoofing. This means that a malicious party is trying to steal traffic from FFn by purchasing a very similar domain.

Correction:

The new "fake" site that people are seeing still belongs to FanFiction.net—they just misconfigured their servers and are not redirecting traffic from the bare fanfiction.net to the main site at www.fanfiction.net. There is likely no malicious agent. Didn't mean to scare anyone! Just wanted to let people know the site wasn't deleted!

So if you want to read fanfiction and not see leaves, you have have to type out "www.fanfiction.net".

Please share so people stop panicking.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:

michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club

*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***

that's it that's the movie

outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative

actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.

aka Michael Myers Is A Republican

but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too

also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain

side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty

i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978

(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)

oh no he's hot

[marshemillow]

I definitely feel like there's been some kind of disconnect along the way, because as many people on this post have already pointed out, Wattpad and FFN still have "objectionable" stories all over the goddamn place, the only difference between those sites and AO3 is that everything on AO3 is accurately and meticulously tagged. The only time a fic isn't tagged thoroughly enough (in my experience anyway) is when a fic author purposely wants the story to be a surprise, which doesn't count as "undertagging" according to the rules of the site because "author chose not to warn" is still a clear warning (similar to "Viewer discretion is advised").

In fact, I support AO3 as the "objectionable" fic site specifically BECAUSE I hate upsetting fic, and it's so nice to so easily be able to avoid fic I don't want to read. I have NEVER stumbled onto something on AO3 that I wasn't expecting, and I promise you that is NOT the case with every other site I've used (aside from old DeviantArt, you know back when it didn't take a hundred years to load its shitty squarespace pages).

What I think happened was these new people who were driven from those old sites for whatever reason don't seem to recognize the reason why AO3 became so popular, but still want to pay lip service to the idea that some "content" is too morally objectionable to be allowed to exist. They somehow think there's a compromise between the old sites deleting at random, forcing authors to tag improperly so it doesn't get deleted, and AO3's approach, which is to just destroy the loopholes that allow mass deletions and censorship and allow anything and everything legal under US law.

AO3's code is open source. You can literally just copy/paste the code into a new domain and make the squeaky-clean censored fic site of your dreams! Hell, lots of people who use AO3 for its policies still make their own fic sites just in case something bad happens to the big site (which is good practice btw and is the reason why I have a special backup SSD I don't touch most of the time, so even if every website fails, I still have copies of everything I ever wrote) but these people don't want to do that because it's actually really difficult to run your own website with lots of traffic, so instead they cover their asses by proclaiming the immorality of AO3 while still using it because it is just objectively the best fandom site ever made.

Basically, they want to have their cake and eat it too. And this is me REALLY trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. 😅

It's hilarious to me when people complain about AO3 and its policies, and what they allow on the site - but it's ESPECIALLY funny when people complain like "Why can't the freaks make their own site and just go there?"

Sweetie... AO3 is the site for that. Y'all invaded our space.

Wattpad and FFN still exist. Go there. They're as shitty and G-rated as you want. You can't have the luxuries that AO3 offers if you're gonna be a little bitch about its policies. Imagine walking into a strip club and complaining about the alcohol and naked ladies when there's a god damn Dennys next door you could have gone to. Christ.

[bixels]

End-of-Splatoon thoughts.

Thinking about how since the very start, Splatoon has had a feature where players can draw and post artwork and spot them as graffiti on walls or billboards. Or how the weapons have always been paint brushes and rollers and ballpoint pens. Since its inception, Splatoon has been dedicated to engaging its players with the act of creation and creative expression, showing them how their art can build communities and (literally) change the world.

Thinking about finding golden human-made music discs buried underground for thousands of years, and a grand finale music festival. About the Voyager Golden Records. About those human handprints etched into concrete in Alterna. Did those human artists know it would end like this? First a fiery death and then, eventually, a worldwide celebration of music to represent our shared past, present, and future. Did they know that their songs, insignificant in the face of extinction, would one day become the solution that will save the next dominant life-form from the same fate?

Thinking about how eerily similar the Octarian domes are to Alterna. About how close Inklings and Octolings were to repeating the same mistakes as humans. But their doomed fates were undone not by some miracle technology or military power or a rocket, but by music.

Thinking about how humans wiped themselves out with war, and our parting gifts were liquid crystals that somehow paired with the DNA of primeval inklings and somehow infused them with our memories and culture and a Song. And 12,000 years in the future, that same Song will end a war.

Thinking about how art and music and punk culture and rock & roll and friendly competition and petty arguments and water guns aren’t uniquely human concepts, but the fundamental qualities of intelligent life. An inheritable spirit that can cross evolutionary bounds.

Thinking about the theme of Splatoon, that art and music and fun will not die with the human race. That every piece of art we create is a seed we sow for future generations to reap. That our legacy is ingrained into the crust of the earth. That long after we’re gone, the oceans will remember, and they’ll pick up where we left off.

Thinking about how Splatoon says that the essence of humanity –– the thing that will outlive us –– isn't war or prejudice or destruction or greed, it's a song.

[reginalusus]

Might have to click for detail.

Terrible and fucked up AU where after Harvey kills Jason's dad for being a dick, he becomes his new dad(s). (This is just an excuse to draw Harvey with baby Jason).

Bluesky Ko-Fi

[bonezoid]

cowboy curly thangs