#it's not much but hopefully it helps keep track of everyone! :3

[saduko]

HARD TO MISS

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.9K words

Summary: You had driven sick many times before, but never sick enough to retire from a race. Now Lando was worried about you and how the media was going to react. But maybe this was just about the best thing that could of happened to him. Or in which, reader gets sick during the Spanish GP race and has to face the looming media presence after retiring early with a newfound anger she's never experienced. She was a mess of emotions, acting so different, or maybe it wasn't just her being strange.

Teammates, established relationship, an unexpected surprise?? Note: this unfortunately is a re-upload because my dumbass literally deleted the post the first time I posted it despite it being up for days. Yes I'm mad, and no this isn't edited because of it.

The heat of the Spanish sun beat down on the track, the asphalt shimmering with a relentless intensity that seemed to seep through the cockpit. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your focus on the race ahead, hot, fast breaths heaving through your helmet like a symphony. The familiar roar of the engine, usually a comforting sound, felt more like a distant hum as yet another wave of nausea rolled through you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d raced under less-than-ideal conditions, but today felt different. The adrenaline that usually sharpened your senses now seemed to amplify the queasiness in your stomach, every bump and turn on the track making it harder to push the discomfort aside. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising bile as you powered through another corner, the car responding to your every command despite the growing turmoil within.

The twisting and turning of the track seemed endless, each lap blurring into the next as your vision narrowed, tunnel-like, around the path ahead. You knew you needed to speak up, to let your team know something was wrong, but the words felt heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the fear of admitting weakness. Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"I'm not feeling very well."

The twisting and turning of the track was making it hard for you to settle your stomach enough to find your voice, but when you had, there was a long silence on the other end. Ears alert with anticipation as nothing came through, before the thick accent of your engineer, Marlow finally sounded in with a panicked voice, "Are you feeling faint?"

"Not really.” You huffed. “I feel quite nauseous though. My stomach is not cooperating."

There was a short silence through your head piece before a shuffle was heard on the other side, followed by a concerned, "Should we retire the car?"

The suggestion shakes you and a quick puff of air leaves your mouth in order to hopefully settle the turning in your stomach, though you think it might have translated more as annoyance to your team despite the intention. You couldn't help but hope it hadn't come off too harshly, however the forceful tone of your next words certainly didn’t do much to calm the idea. "No! I'm not retiring the car... No, I'm okay."

"Please love, If you can't finish there's no shame in retiring. You're not letting anyone down, we understand-!" He knew how stubborn you were and he really didn't want the question to feel like the hit to the ego he knew you would take it as, but it was hard when everyone knew this race was what was separating you from top 3 and the rest in the championship. They knew it wouldn't be that easy, quickly corroborated by the frustrated grunt you let sound through the line.

Your foot braces against the accelerator, bearing down full force as you take the straight right after corner 4 at full speed, you weren't retiring. Subjective to your own harsh perception of yourself, retiring - no matter the circumstance - was one of the most culpable failures you could commit. It was never a rewarding feeling, and whether or not to retire from a race like this was an indisputable no. Six years into the sport and you had never retired from a race on your own accord. Today would not be the first.

"I'm okay for now."

There was no arguing with a driver going over 300 kilometers an hour, and so the team let your decision chart as they sat back and kept on with their roles, no different than before. Except for one thing, noting the conversation, they all made undisclosed motions to keep an extra close eye on the driver cam.

And so the race continued as 10 laps went by, 10 very shaky laps with countless immoderate wobbles, a few oversteers around a couple corners and a very close call with Carlos who made quick work of letting the communal radio know how exactly he felt about that, words that were quickly relayed to you. Though his accent was warm, his words were anything but kind and usually you would have taken it on the chin, laughed at his profanities and apologized with a quick witty comment to follow, but your team watched as you only let out a harrowing breath and shook your head. You obviously were not on your A-game and your entire team could see that.

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the silence in their headphones was abruptly interrupted with the blaring sound of your wheels against the track, followed by your voice, quick yet strained, echoing through the radio.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, guys."

With not a moment to spare, Marlows eyebrows furrowed down at your words, worry clear in his voice as he pressed down on the radio button. And though his words were mostly phrased as a question emphasizing the choice as your own, it was still hard to miss the pleading tone in his voice as he spoke loudly into the headpiece, "Are we retiring? It’s your call, love."

Your end of the radio was silent as the words rang through your headset, though not for lack of connection as the sound of your wheels barrelling against the tar never ceased. They knew you were still there, just not vocalizing your thoughts. They had no doubt this was a tough decision. A huge part of this sport was pride; pride in your team, pride in your car, pride in your abilities. And being the only woman on the grid meant your pride was strong and the backlash was inevitably more harsh when things went wrong. 

It was already hard enough for a driver to admit they needed to back out of a race, let alone for a driver who had something to prove and everything to lose. It was a decision they knew you were avoiding complying with. You had been complaining about feeling ill for days leading up to the race and yet insisted on racing regardless. They knew this was important to you, and to back out now, after making it so far already? Your heart was strong, and your head stronger. But for this one time, it seems your stomach was the strongest, and your nausea was taking the reins of this particular race. And so you bit your lip, hoping to keep the bile from rising for just a little while longer. “I need to stop. I’m retiring the car. I can't help it.”

As disappointing as ending a race early was, your team couldn’t deny the shred of relief that washed over them as you, for once, chose your health first. As fun as racing was, and as rewarding as a race in points felt, none of it was ever worth the increased risk to your safety. They would much rather you all woozy up in the medic bay with a DNF, than halfway to unconsciousness with a p8 finish. This certainly wasn’t your best race anyways, probably one the lowest you’d been in points this season. 

As you began your way around your last lap towards the pit lane, your mind raced with all the dreadful thoughts a DNF brought, the pit in your stomach rearing into a sizeable hole which would of left you feeling melancholy if the twisting and turning hadn’t trumped the discontent. 

As each second passed, you could feel whatever it was you had eaten for lunch earlier with Lando rising higher and higher. High enough in fact, that you found it necessary to press the radio button once more with a request. “Have a bag ready for me when I pull up, please.”

To which a compliant, “Copy.” sounded suit.

It wasn’t too much longer until your orange car could be seen sweeping down the pit lane, no hesitation in your steering as you made a harsh turn into your spot by the garage door. The pit team were prepared to make haste in their actions, ready to prop your car onto the jack in order to wheel it into the garage only to be stopped when two quick hands extended up as you braced yourself up against the halo and pulled yourself out of the seat.

At this point, you were hyper aware of the all the people surrounding you, as well as the multitude of cameras pointing directly at you, recording your every move for all the judgeful eyes to see, and yet you found not a single cell in yourself which cared as you leaned over the car and called out for your assistant, who quickly met you with a large black bin in tow. 

You quickly grabbed for it, pulling your front over the side of the car as far as you could in order to hide yourself from the view of the cameras. And out it came, a slurry of lunch which you had been so looking forward to at the time, and quickly regretting now as it all escaped your stomach.

What in the world had you feeling so ill in the first place? It felt like it had been lightyears since you had felt sick enough to actually puke, and god did you not miss this feeling. Had you eaten something bad earlier in the day? Maybe. But everything you ate Lando had eaten too, so wouldn’t he be sick as well? Well, it’s not really like you could ask him, you thought as you looked up just in time to see him overtake George on the big screen. He looks a little busy. And you should be busy too.

The thought seared through your mind as you spat into the bin, you should be racing too, but at least you feel a little better now that it’s come out; though not completely. Your stomach still churned a little and now your throat burned but you guessed it was better than crashing. You had already nearly done that just by being on the track a little too long and now you were definitely going to receive an earful from Sainz when he finally crossed the checkered flag and found you inevitably moping. 

However, you quickly realized that Carlos was actually the least of your worries and the only person you really had to fear was Lando, for when he heard about the outcome of your race, you were sure to face the lecture of your life. He had been warning you for days leading up to it not to participate. You were obviously unwell and he was aware of the dangers an unwell driver faced under the taxing conditions of a race but you were stubborn, insisting you would be fine. Look at you now. Head in a bin with cameras all around and a bruised ego. 

There was only a little time now until the race ended to recover before everyone came pummeling at you with questions. 

The wheel was starting to feel heavy in his hands and the rubbing of the HANS device against his neck was really starting to hurt. They were approaching the end stretch of the race and as the last 15 laps commenced, Lando couldn’t help but feel a little relieved knowing this would be over soon. This was undoubtedly a tough race. 

From lights out till now, he’d managed to pull from P5 to P4 and had every intention of passing Lewis for a podium position, soon enough he’d be in DRS range but for the time being, he was focused on catching up. The world around him had become mute, he hadn’t even looked up at the grand screen once, all he knew was the car.

So he had almost jumped in his seat when the chime sounded. Just as he began slowing around the final corner leading up to the line for his next lap, the sound of an incoming radio signal had his ears perking in anticipation. Were they planning on pitting him again? Sure he was definitely pushing a little too hard against his tires- not really doing his best at conserving them but he was so close to a podium position and he just needed a little bit more force-

“Lando mate,” Will’s voice sounded through his ears, his tone a little hesitant which left Lando biting his lip with anticipation. Please don't box. “I’ve just been informed by Marlow that y/n has retired.”

Lando's heart nearly fell into his stomach as the words registered in his brain. You retired?! Now thinking about it, you did start only a single position behind him and he hadn’t really seen all that much of you during the race. What happened? “Did she crash?!”

“No Lando, she's okay, it was voluntary. She wasn’t feeling well, I don’t think.” 

“You don’t think?”

“She’s okay Lando, just under the weather.”

Not feeling well? Under the weather? You’d raced a multitude of times before whilst under the weather. Each time he’d advise you not to race, and each time you’d ignore him, swearing up and down you’d be fine- and to Lando’s consolation each time you were fine. You’d come out the other side with a smile, no qualms or grievances and you would save your complaints for him afterwards, when no one else was around to judge. As you had done before, he expected the same this time. You’d never let a little ailment set you back, especially not let it affect you enough to retire. Not unless it really was bad.

Lando’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Will’s voice once more, his tone dismissive, implying the conversation had reached its end and no more discussion would be had about it. “We will contact you again if anything happens.”

And despite Lando’s dismay, he complies. There were still a good 15 laps left of the race ahead and he had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of competitive driving to be had. His focus couldn’t be elsewhere, but what was he supposed to do knowing his sick fiancé has just pulled herself out of a race? What was he supposed to do when he knew you well enough to understand how prideful you could be, and how poor you had to feel to choose to retire?  

He really tries to not let it bother him. During the next lap, he tries to not let it bother him as he forces himself to look anywhere else but the jumbo screen in hopes of a possible update on your condition. He tries to not let it bother him in the lap after that as the team radios in to discuss possible strategies regarding the oncoming overtake he will perform, and he tries to not let it bother him during the lap after that one when he finally passes Lewis. Now 3 laps have passed but he just can't get the questions about you off his mind. It is bothering him. He shouldn’t be distracted, especially while he’s in a podium position but he can’t help it. 

So as he crosses onto the next straight, he finds himself radioing in with the question that had been eating away at him since the news broke. “Uh.. Any updates on y/n? Is she alright?”

There's a considerable moment of silence on Mclaren’s end of the line, the team were honestly tied on what to tell the man and what not to. You weren’t exactly in optimal condition, and word around was slightly worrisome regarding your state. You were okay, but definitely not well, they knew because they had caught the treacherous sounds of your gags a few more times since the first echoing through the mclaren garage. 

As your fiance, he deserved to know these details, but as a driver, they knew it wasn’t smart to worry him. What were they to say as to not stress him out in an already extremely stressful situation? They could tell him a few of your team members were discussing taking you to the hospital. Or they could keep him from driving the car through the wall in order to meet you there. The decision was clear, they needed him to focus on driving. “She’s okay, she's currently being looked at by the medical team.”

“She has the medical team on her?!” Will’s eyes shut hard as Lando’s reply came through. Definitely not the right choice of words.

“Just a precaution Lando, she isn’t well at the moment.”

Lando’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he ponders his engineer's words. He finds himself over analyzing every syllable, every infliction with intentions of unpacking whatever truth was seeping between the lines, and he notices that he’s biting his cheek as he rounds the 8th corner with a little less precision than usual. “Is she bad?”

Landos team take quick note of this change in pace, latching onto the clear oversteer he performs around the corner. They quickly find themselves trying to pull away from the topic in order to keep him both figuratively and literally on track and so Will concludes the conversation with a stern tone. “Please Lando, you can see her when you're done racing. We need you to focus on the race.”

He almost wanted to curse the man out purely due to frustration despite knowing deep down that he was right. But what else was he supposed to do when he knows his fiancé is sitting in the medic bay and all he can do to support her is… well, nothing. He just has to finish this race.

Despite your protests, your team was adamant on a visit to the med bay in order to possibly come up with a reason for your sudden onset of race ending symptoms, and after a quick trip down the hall that took a little longer than usual due to your need to stop once more, you were simply told there wasn’t much they could do long term to crack the bilous case. Shocker. They did however hand you something to ease the nausea which you were beyond thankful for.

You had spent so long counting down the seconds until the anti-nausea medication kicked in that you hadn't even noticed that the race had ended, nor did you notice the approaching sound of hasteful footsteps until the door to your driver's room came barrelling open with a thud.

“I told you not to race.” Lando’s voice was so stern it had you stiff. There was a slight indication of anger lingering behind his words but ultimately his face was a dead giveaway to the worried intention etched behind his tone. 

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“You threw up?” His eyebrows came down as he said it, and you noticed it was less of a question and more as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. Someone from your team must have snitched on you already. No damn loyalties.

“Only a little.” Your words were sheepish.

“You stink.” He deadpanned and you found yourself scoffing, slightly exasperated at the bluntness of his words. The statement had you petty with offense. 

“You don’t smell very good either-”

“-I don’t smell like vomit.”

Finally you let out a sigh, already tired of the back and forth over something so menial, and unworthy of an argument. You were sick. Shit happens. “Lando, I wasn’t feeling well and I’d been feeling it all week with no real problem so I didn’t think there would be a reason to sit this race out. I didn’t think I would actually need to pull over. It’s done now.”

There was a loud silence between the two of you as he onced over your body with intentful eyes. You seemed okay enough and he guessed this really wasn’t the time or place to start an argument, especially over something as stupid as him being worried about you, you were on the same damn side. So instead he just sighed, bit his lip and nodded at you. “Alright.”

“Guys.” Charlotte suddenly peaked her head through the cracked door to glance at you both. “Come on, we need you at Media now.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, that you knew. The media had given you a hard time for things way less than this so you could only imagine what they had in store for you after throwing up on live TV for half the world to see moments after a voluntary DNF. It just about felt like you were being led to your execution with the way you knew they were about to tear into you. But there was no avoiding this, and the grimaced look etched into your features left Lando very aware of this fact.

“I know you don’t wanna do this but you have to go out there, you’ve got no choice. Not unless you’re willing to cop a fat fine.”

You stuck an eyebrow up at Landos voice, the sides of your lips extending out as you conceptualized his words but your expression quickly had him shaking his head alongside a hearty laugh. “No, no. Don’t even look like you’re considering it.”

Your laugh to match his own soon sounded throughout the room, and his hand swiftly found its place at the nape of your neck, to which he gave a quick squeeze and began leading you out the door into the McLaren garage hallway. “We have a wedding to plan and that means a lot of money to spend. You will not be wasting money trying to get out of media duties.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at how exasperated and sarcastic he sounded.

You both found yourselves trailing along Charlotte's path until the hallway quickly opened up into a large room where a few other drivers had already begun their own separate interviews towards the camera crews which littered every corner. The media pen; may as well be your death site.

Whilst waiting for the race to end; and for the nausea to subside, Charlotte had given you a rundown - more like a lecture; regarding what to expect and how to approach the inevitably condescending questions that would soon be thrown your way. 

This was going to be brutal, you knew that. You had finally made a mistake that the male media could exploit to reinforce their stereotypes about damned women in motorsports. Just another day facing the misogyny of the position, except this time, it was your own carelessness that put you in this position. The only damned thing you’d be was a damned liar if you said the upcoming articles tearing into you weren’t already gnawing at your mind. You could just picture it;

‘’Mclaren Princess’ Just Might Throw Her Way Up and Out of Competitive Driving,’

‘Speed Queen’s Weak Stomach Shows Why She’s Better Suited for Other Races,’

‘Too Glamorous For The F1 Track? or Maybe Not Glamorous Enough; - maybe we should leave the fast cars to the men that made them.’ 

This might just be worse than the ‘Revving Engines, not Emotions,’ article from last year when you teared up in Australia after what was the most frustrating race of your career. This was going to be horrible. 

Your actions were always hyper-criticized, but maybe just once you were being too imaginative for your own good. You needed to calm down because words tended to stick with you. A fact that Charlotte knew all too well, because she was sure to speak words she knew would ring through your ears during those interviews; Take it on the chin, stay composed and certainly don't be snappy. One of those was doable.

The moment you passed the threshold beyond the doorway, officially crossing into the media pen, it's as if every set of eyes and every lens of a camera had turned to watch you move. The room hadn’t by any means gone quiet, but there was definitely a shift in volume as the noise settled from a near unbearable buzz to a tolerable chatter, just enough to notice the change. The influx of attention almost had you doubling over once again, especially when you felt the nausea begin to slowly creep up for the second time that day. But you made notable efforts to keep your head high, hoping that a strong demeanor would at least soften the blow which would soon be dealt.

Lando’s arm had split from your neck not long after entering the room. You guys were always light on your PDA, trying to keep as much of your personal relationship as private as possible; as private as an already public relationship could possibly be. But he still managed to give you a small, reassuring squeeze on the hip before you both set off, being led in opposite directions.

A flurry of reporter eyes seemed to trail your path as your personal PR manager led you to a spot right in between Carlos and Charles, and as you started setting yourself up, you unavoidably overheard their journalists trying to wrap up their interviews, which you could only imagine would be to get a shot at you faster. 

However unluckily for those journalists, it seems your first adversary had already taken the stand just directly across from you with a large, heavy mic and aged, gleaming eyes; eyes that had your own widening in alarm. You were quite familiar with this journalist, very familiar with him actually as he had always been quick to criticize you and your skills on many occasions in the past. He was quite ill-mannered towards you, definitely holding a target out with a gun aimed directly for your career, making it clear he was disapproving of your presence as a woman on this grid. You just knew he had been waiting for you. This was going to be hell.

The journalist quickly began setting himself up, the cameraman behind him pointing the lens directly at your sour face, which you admittedly were not doing a great job at masking. Though, if your interviewer had noticed, he thankfully hadn’t commented on it. However that didn’t stop him from wasting any time beginning to comment on the other mistakes you had made today.

“Always a pleasure to speak with you, Speed Queen.” His gravelly voice spat. “Though I think ‘Pit Princess’ may be a little more fitting after today's race.” A sly smirk quickly spread across his mouth, an act that had your hands bracing against the railing separating the two of you from one another. Charles had quickly taken notice of this from his position just beside you. He admittedly felt he was doing quite well at remaining professional and ignoring the exchange between you and the infamous journalist, but now he was on high alert, ears perked in your direction with the intention of intervening at any given moment.

Despite your peeved sentiment, you did well at keeping your face straight and head high at the insult, feeling it necessary to not crack in front of the person trying to get a reaction out of you. Don’t prove his point. 

“I appreciate the creativity, but I think I would prefer to focus on the race itself rather than nicknames. I’m quite happy with the one I have.” There was a moment in which he tried to intervene, however you were determined to move past the subject. “-And, you know, today’s challenges were significant, but that’s a part of the sport, I guess.” Despite the lingering nausea, you still managed to force a professional smile.

“Is it?” He curled an eyebrow condescendingly, a look which nearly had a scowl slipping past your placid facade. But instead you held strong, that sickeningly sweet smile dripping like honey with disdain. “Part of the sport is the unpredictability of it. So I’d say so.”

The man's eyes gleamed on, a small hum escaping his lips as he nodded absently. “It’s just that no other driver seems to have this issue. Do you think maybe your choice to retire has to do with particular limitations a female might have that the men in this sport don’t?”

And as expected, the indirectness wasn’t so indirect anymore, the true misogynistic intentions of his words slowly crept out with ferocity. 

“No.” Your tone was final, like it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, because it really hadn’t. “No I really don’t. Many men before me have gotten sick during races, I guess I just preferred to voluntarily take myself out of the race than spend the rest of it wiping pesto off my visor.” You snarled. 

A small tap against your arm quickly alerted you to the contention of your PR manager, a disapproving gesture silently advising you to reel it in. But god was it hard when his face was so smug. She should understand that being passive aggressive was much more admissible than being violent, so she may as well let you get your anger out in the socially acceptable way, though you admit it was strange of you to feel so angry. You were usually better at keeping your emotions in check. Hm. But alas, you complied, correcting your face and letting him speak; even if you wanted so badly to interrupt him with your thoughts of how horrible a journalist he was. 

“Well, I think a lot of people agree when I say that this sport tends to reward determination and resilience, not quitting.”

Were you hearing this correctly? Was he really implying that you should have thrown up right into your helmet and just continued through the race like nothing? It was getting really hard to remain socially acceptable. What was this new found anger? “Racing may sometimes reward resilience, however, being sharp minded is more important sometimes. I noticed I was unwell enough for it to affect my performance, so I decided it was smarter to take myself out of the race. Especially after nearly taking Carlos out of the race too.” 

Just as you finished answering the (absurd) question, a suave laugh sounded to your left as Carlos suddenly stepped up beside you, sliding his arm across your shoulder. “I did have some choice words prepared for you earlier Mija, but then I learnt what happened and now I forgive you.” His eyes suddenly turned to the journalist, a glint of exaggerated pity in relation to the topic seeping into his expression, almost as if he was speaking with experience to someone who wouldn’t understand; because he was. “Driving whilst sick is not for the weak.”

The journalist's cold eyes squinted slightly as Carlos’ condescending tone registered in his head, yet he kept his expression neutral and mic high as he nodded. “I’m sure it isn’t.” And nothing was said after that. No rebuttal, no argumentative comment, just a plea of agreement. God, how you wished interviews were that easy for you.

A few voices echoing out from somewhere behind had caught the attention of the trio, and it didn’t take long for you to realize it was Carlos’ team instructing him to move onwards to his next position. So with a reassuring smile towards you and a quick quirk of a brow towards the reporter, he was off to his next interview without another word, taking your fleeting moment of security along with him as he left.

Now it was just you and the reporter once more, and you could tell he wasn’t feeling as cordial with you as he was with Carlos, evident by the slight snarl that had crept onto his face by the interruption in your defense. “Friendly words from Sainz there, as always.” he began, his tone dripping with insincerity, “Do you find it degrading that other drivers always have to come to your defense in order to keep your positive reputation, because there are a lot of people that believe you perhaps, ride off the success of others.” 

Your stomach twisted, and if it was from the nausea growing once again or from the sheer audacity of his words, you couldn’t tell. He was essentially implying that the only reason people liked you was because other likable people vouched for you, and not because of your own hard work and valiant achievements. It seems he wanted defense, you were about to show him just how defensive you could be. 

“With all due respect,” you began, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “I don’t defend myself because I don’t have to, because the genuinity of my character extends far past my words.” you paused, thinking about your next words carefully. “My peers defend me because I’ve proven my capabilities time and time again, and they know that one incident doesn’t define my career. However, I don’t think you share the same sentiment, hm?” 

The taunting in your voice was quickly caught on by your PR manager who swiftly grabbed your arm in yet another warning, except this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as much. The journalist's eyes narrowed at your words, clearly not expecting such a discourteous response and the tugging of your PR manager's grip against your arm was an obvious nonverbal message to wrap it up but you weren't finished, oh no. That new found anger that had been gnawing at you all race was just beginning to trickle out.

“‘Riding off the success of others.’” Your quoted, voice riddled with humor, “And yet you somehow manage to find me every post race interview. Do you write these question’s down in your little notebook while you watch my multi-race winning car fly past you? Or do you wipe the dust from the camera lens instead?”

He quickly opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, your PR manager intervened, her grip on your arm tightening slightly as she stepped forward. “This interview is over,” she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “McLaren will be utalizing the next few days to help Y/n recover for next week's race. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to our media office.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the intervention. You had overstepped your media training a few times before and yet none had ever led to the end of the interview. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised at your PR manager's swift movements as she tugged you back and away from the journalist. “Let’s move on.” Her voice was disapproving but she was obviously trying to remain calm and professional, understanding there was a job to be done. But your anger wasn’t discriminatory, everyone was a potential outlet, and you weren’t having this. “No, I’m finished.” You didn’t even want to participate in media in the first place, this was obligatory. You had done your part and now you were taking charge of the rest of your night. And so you pulled your arm back and made quick haste towards the exit, leading back to your driver room. 

You were only a few meters from the door now, acutely aware of all the eyes watching you retire early from yet another obligation today, when a hand grazing the small of your back pulled you away from the tormenting feeling of the bile rising once again. This time, it was Charles, his sweet face beaming a reassuring smile at you as he began walking in stride towards the exit alongside you. “Mon cheri, that was something else.” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, nausea bubbling once again, expecting yet another lecture from someone else. “If by ‘something else’ you mean a complete disaster, then yeah, I guess.”

Charles kept his tone steady, a touch of amusement in his voice as you both walked in stride. “No, I mean you handled it with a lot of, uhh.. What is the English? Poise.” 

You gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks, but it didn’t feel like handling things with poise, It felt like I was about to lose it.” 

His smile slipped into a small laugh before it fell,  and his bright eyes quickly turned into one’s of worry as he began a once over of your body. “Are you feeling okay?” he began the inevitable conversation. “I’m okay, it’ll pass I'm sure.”

Charles’ brows furrowed down, thick accent sounding with worry as he spoke. “You shouldn’t count on it passing, you should take care of yourself. You’re only gonna have more shit thrown at you if you don’t-”

As sweet as his concern was, you were tired of this conversation today, it was becoming tedious to hear and you really just needed to lie down or something. “-Charles, I really appreciate it and I'll be sure to visit the doctor tomorrow, but I think I’m gonna be sick again, so how about you cover me up to the hallway before I end up in another fight with a reporter, or my head in another bin on TV.”

Your words had Charles’s eyes widening, quickly glancing around from side to side in search of his target who was finishing up from an interview of his own, when your hand came up to press against your mouth, skin turning a tinge green. “Lando!”

The video shook a little as the person on the other end fidgeted with the camera, a slight blur shifting the image and the audio cracking with the movement before the frame finally straightened up. The person took a step back. It was you, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the video had been uploaded onto your own instagram, but it was the first anyone had really heard of you in weeks. 

Ever since your race ending ailment back in Spain, you had essentially gone radio silent. Not posting, not participating in interviews; you had missed 2 more races since then. It was worrisome, especially considering you had assured everyone the day after Spain that you were working on getting better for next week's race, which you never showed up to. 

The races went on and the fans asked about you, the interviewers asked about you too, but it seemed everyone involved in the FIA had no comment on your whereabouts nor your condition. The drivers dodged post interview questions, excelling on to new subjects and only had quick fleeting comments in response to concerned fans around the paddock who were only trying to make sense of it all.

Lando copped the brunt end of it though, scoring a P2 podium in Canada that everyone could more obviously care less about in his post-race interviews. The only topic mentioned was you, your absence from the race and why everyone was so hush-hush about it in the first place. The interviews were so off topic that this time it was Lando who had to leave the media pen early to avoid the questions, though opposingly, McLaren had been the ones to encourage his swift exit.

It was starting to become an issue. People were fretful. Were you still sick? Was it something more serious than you had anticipated and now you couldn’t race anymore?

The view they were looking at suggested that perhaps they were about to find out. 

You retreated away from the camera propped up against what people could only speculate had to be your dressing table, as you found your spot upon the large, luxurious bed the camera was pointing towards. Now cross legged upon it, your body clad in a 2 piece short silky pajama set, finally you began to speak. 

“Hello everyone.” You didn’t sound unwell, not stressed or upset. In fact, there was an edge to your voice that almost seemed cheerful; excited. And yet for now you remained composed, nothing but a small, media trained smile dawning your otherwise expressionless face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence was humorous, calling attention to the silence you had afflicted, and the lack of news upon your whereabouts. “Lando and I are finally home in Monaco for summer break, though I have to admit that I’ve actually been in Monaco for a few weeks now. I think some of you might feel that was a bit obvious given my absence.”

There was a high pitched chuckle off screen, it obviously being Lando out of frame as your eyes flickered over to the side with a playful yet mischievous smile, encouraging his reaction with your expression. It was a fleeting moment as your smile once again fell into something a little more vacant before straightening up and continuing. “I know a lot of people have questions, and I do want to apologize for the lack of communication on my end, I’ll explain, I promise but first I also want to say please don’t be mad at any of the other drivers for not speaking out, they were all just respecting my wishes in not saying anything until I was ready.”

There was a small pause as you took a breath, no sound emitting except for the slight breeze wafting through the room, further exemplified by the sway of the sheer curtains. This was so nerve racking, were you about to announce your departure from motorsport? Were you about to reveal a sickness you weren't aware of until now? The silence, though short lived, was deafening. 

“I-” Finally you spoke, but quickly caught it with a bite to your lower lip. It really seemed like you were processing your words, debating how to present your next statement carefully enough. “How do I-?”

Once again your gaze drifted off to the side of the screen, confused and cautious eyes quickly averting into a bright smile before a laugh escaped your mouth. “Don’t look so excited!” 

Lando, obviously beaming, clear by the tone of his voice, cheerfully yelled back, “Do you want me to say it?!”

“No!” you rebutted quickly with a laugh, “I told you I wanted to be the one to announce it, stop trying to take my shine!”

“Then go on with it!” He was so obviously really excited, impatient to finally announce whatever it was that had him so elevated.

“Okay well-” You stuttered for a moment, quickly catching yourself before continuing. “As many of you saw in Spain, I wasn’t feeling too well,-”

“-Hard to miss-.” Landos voice mumbled, a comment in which you swiftly ignored.  

“-And I hadn’t been for a few days leading up to it but I just took it as a stomach bug and planned to go on with it like usual. What I didn’t plan for however, was the doctor's visit I was forced to go to the day after.”

Your eyes glared off to the side once again, feigning annoyance but evidently not actually upset before looking back at the camera with a smile. “The good news is that we are very much aware of what was making me sick.” Your voice was reassuring, eyes slowly beginning to light up as you continued on. “The bad news is that I unfortunately will not be participating in the rest of the 2024 season, or the 2025 one for that matter.”

It was like you could feel the impending shock of everyone watching radiating through the screen despite it being pre recorded because your pause was almost comically dramatic. And yet it was so wholly conflicting, because regardless of the awful news, you didn’t really seem all that upset despite being such a passionate racer, it felt so out of character. This confusion was only exemplified further when your eyes once again drifted to the left, a large smile engulfing your features as you took notice of what had to be Lando's excited expression once more. “Oh don’t look so happy, you’re the one who still gets to race!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughed that high pitched laugh he does when he just can’t hold it back.

Your eyes flickered back to the camera, sitting straight on with a patient yet humorous smile, a single eyebrow cocked as you waited for Landos laughter to simmer. It took a moment, a moment you thought ended a time or two before he began again, but eventually the room became still again as your face grew just a little more in adoration towards the man everyone could see you loved dearly. It was like the energy had shifted just a little, from what felt so playful before, to something a little more familial and warm. 

“I think some of you may have put the pieces together, but for those who haven’t. Well… I’m pregnant!” Your smile was so big and sheepish, so conscious and just a little shy, it almost felt as if you were announcing it to a friend of many years and it was all just so heartwarming. You were okay! More than that, you were happy, and soon everyone else who would watch this video would be too. Lando's happy laugh from beyond the camera at the announcement finally being made was more than enough to express just how joyous the news was for the two of you.

“As heartbreaking as it will be to not be able to competitively race in the upcoming seasons, I’m not actually that sad about having to step down for a little.” You laughed heartily. “I proudly announce that in my place, the very talented Australian driver Oscar Piastri will be filling my position until I'm off from… maternity leave? I guess. That's a first for this sport.”  You laughed.  “But of course they just had to find the best to replace the best.” You quickly glanced over towards Lando out of frame, clearly expecting an agreement that never came. They could only imagine the disapproving look Lando was sending you.

Your expression never changed, but your tone dropped as you spoke darkly. “I’m carrying your child.” You spat, to which a loud “But of course!” sounded in response, followed by a laugh from the both of you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me around the track a lot considering this muppet,” you pointed to your left, “still gets to race.”

“Don’t be jealous,” the soft voice came from off screen. 

“No, I’ll confidently admit it, I’m so jealous.” You pouted, but the warmth in your eyes belied the playful tone in your voice.

Lando’s hand appeared in the frame for a brief moment, gently squeezing your shoulder before disappearing off-camera again. “We’ll be back out there together soon enough.”

You nodded, your smile returning as you glanced back at the camera, feeling a surge of excitement for what was to come. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to supporting the team from a different angle. It’s going to be a new experience, but I’m excited to do this as…”

“-As a mother?” Lando finished with a knowing smirk.

“As a mother.” You laughed, a loud one from Lando soon sounded to match your own, one so joyous it left you beaming. Suddenly, Lando jolted in frame, clearly excited as he leaned over the bed to tackle you from your sitting position down into a hug, leaving you both falling back onto the sheets. “Oh my god Lando!” You shout, a hand quickly moving to shield your lower stomach. “God! Nevermind guys, I think Lando just tackled the baby out of me, guess I’ll be seeing you all from my McLaren in Austria.”

“Oh!” Lando gasped. “Not funny!” 

[moonikabear]

Let's #SaveDeadBoyDetectives!

Hi everyone!  

As you’ve probably already seen on Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, or even the articles that are already written about how furious the fandom is right now, we are currently trying to fight for Dead Boy Detectives. 

There is A LOT that we can do to make some noise and so much is already being done that it’s all getting very overwhelming to keep track of. So I've made this masterpost listing all (or at least most of) the things people in the fandom are trying to do right now that you can absolutely help with too! Thank you to everyone who’s fighting for the show! <3

DO NOT cancel your Netflix subscription in a fit of rage because of this. Netflix does not care about that. Here’s all the things you can do instead to make some noise to reach the people who worked on the show and hopefully the people at Netflix as well:

Rewatch the show with sound on! You can just connect your headphones and leave it running in the background while doing other stuff.

Interact with the fandom online and share the Hashtags as much as possible! Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, wherever, spread the message as much as you can. The currently used hashtags are ‘save dead boy detectives’, ‘savedeadboydetectives’, ‘renew dead boy detectives’ and ‘revive dead boy detectives’. Try to boost the hashtags that are already used by the fandom but also feel free to create new ones on top of that or just generally tag the show etc.

We have sent out a tweet to Beth Schwartz asking her if there is any possibility of finding a new home or an alternative way of saving the show - if you’re on twitter, share the tweet by retweeting, quote tweeting, adding hashtags and tagging Beth in it! Here’s a link to the tweet: https://x.com/papysanzo/status/1829996492247220319

If you’re not on twitter, you can share the tumblr post about it and tag it using the hashtags mentioned above! Here’s a link to the tumblr post: https://www.tumblr.com/thepopsicle/760364779568300032/the-tweet-is-out-people-were-confused-about-the?source=share

There’s a petition for saving the show - sign it and ideally also share it wherever you can! Here’s the link to the petition: https://chng.it/M8dvDk9BcL

You can fill out the title request form and request Dead Boy Detectives Season 2 three times to let them know we still want it! Here’s the link to the request form: https://t.co/wkLf2DS06j

You can send (anonymous) asks to Netflix’s Tumblr account as long as they’re still open! Tell them how much you love the show and that the fandom wants more of it. Please remember to be polite in the message, rudeness won’t get us anywhere. Here’s the link to Netflix’s Tumblr account: https://www.tumblr.com/netflix

If you want to do more, you can send emails or physical letters to Netflix itself! Please remember to be polite here as well.  

Here’s an email address you can write to: info@account.netflix.com 

And here is the address you can send physical letters to: Netflix, Inc. 121 Albright Way Los Gatos, CA 95032, USA 

If you have a subscription, you can also sign into the app and follow these steps: 1. In the lower right, tap “my Netflix” 2. In the upper right, tap the Menu. 3. Tap “Help”. 4. Tap the Call or Chat Button.

We would love to coordinate big watch parties, fandom events and hopefully a big online meetup with as many people as possible! Please feel free to join any DBDA event you see shared online and of course also share the events you know about with others! 

And last but certainly not least, keep creating, interacting and sharing the love within the fandom! Even if all this effort leads to nothing in the end, we want to make sure the fandom stays active for as long as possible and that everyone involved can have fun and a good time with it despite the awful news we got. So keep the happy and positive fandom posts going as well as the fight for the show! <3  

Please don’t feel bad if you’re not doing every single thing on this list, but know that every little bit helps. 

Also, a quick reality check: The chances that Netflix will actually reconsider the cancellation are probably very slim. However, we’re still fighting for any little bit we can get, whether it’s the show being sold to another network, an audio format for season two, some sort of podcast with the cast, getting to read the script, anything. It’s not impossible to get something out of this, even if it isn’t a regular complete second season of the show. We'll keep fighting, even if it's scary, and the odds are bad, and we might die horrifically.

So, on that note - Thanks for reading this ridiculously long post, remember to drink some water, take care of yourself, and have a lovely rest of your day! 

[rathockey]

Have some COVID resources!! I recently started looking into the current state of COVID when I saw that cases were surging again and realized I was pretty uninformed about the current state of things, so I figure other people might be too.

So I‘m linking a few resources I‘ve bookmarked that has some good info about COVID and how to protect yourself and others.

Few things that stuck out to me:

1. We should all be masking at the very least indoors and in crowded outdoor settings (like concerts/festivals/etc)! PLEASE please mask if you are able to. N95/KN95 if you can! Surgical masks and cloth masks are better than nothing, but really try to get the respirator masks. You can reuse them as long as they don‘t get wet or crumpled.

2. The vaccine helps with severity but is actually not that great at preventing infection. Another good reason to be masking up - reducing the viral load you get exposed to helps the vaccine out.

3. Advocate for air purifiers in indoor spaces. We should be breathing clean air!

4. All COVID infections are severe or should be treated as such- ‚mild‘ cases included. Any infection is going to do damage to your body, and repeated infections increase your risk of Long COVID.

5. If you get COVID and you are able to, REST! Mind and body. This will go a long way to preventing long COVID. I know not everyone is in a position that they can do this, but take whatever time you can and let your body rest and heal.

And here are the resources I‘ve found:

This has a great PDF with a lot of good info and sources for all of it, as well as a small zine version you can hand out - https://linktr.ee/act_up_mask_up

This is a map with wastewater data, so you can see how things are trending nationwide (US only sorry!) and in various regions. Check and see if your state or city has its own tracker as well - I know Chicago does.

And here is a site that provides information to some questions/statements people say in attempts to get people to „move past“ COVID. This also has a lot of good information about the current state of COVID.

In conclusion (because this is a middle school paper now i guess)

MASK!

Get the boosters! There are new vaccines being developed that will hopefully help us stay ahead of these variants that keep evolving, but the best way to help those are to mask! Less infections mean less variants :)

AND ADVOCATE FOR BETTER COVID PROTECTIONS AND PROTOCOLS!!! We can only do so much as individuals, we have to lobby for governmental and systemic changes.

Also pls reblog this (and feel free to add your own resources! especially if you have resources for non-usamericans, mine are all pretty US focused unfortunately)

[secret-engima]

Kumo Thoughts

So this will hopefully be quick but the most common take I see for Kumo in the Naruto fandom is that it's a overly militaristic hellhole (pardon the language) that kidnaps and forcibly breeds any bloodline it can get its hands on and like.

I get it?

the Naruto ninja world is absolutely messed up enough to accommodate a village like that. Especially with- *waves at Kiri*, *waves at ROOT*, *waves at Ame*, *wa-*. But I feel like personally I think that's. The shallowest take? Like if that's how you wanna world build it! You can! Lots of angst and interesting subterfuge down that way.

But we seen in canon that shinobi who live in Really horrible villages do tend to go missing-nin en masse; Kiri is the poster child for this, but Iwa and Suna both have some ... pretty noticeable defections. On the flip side the only REAL Kumo missing-nin we see, iirc, are the Kinkaku brothers.

From The First Shinobi War.

Like- what are things we know about Kumo *really* from the show/s?

and the one everyone harps on in worldbuilding- they tried to kidnap Hinata and Kushina.

HOWEVER. The rest of the things we know about them are:

2. Their Raikage is allergic to doors. He refuses to acknowledge doors. He can and will smash through any wall, window, or other non-door entity in order to exit or enter a room when at all possible. This is not the behavior of a Strict Rigid Militaristic Man this is the behavior of a feral gorilla someone stuffed in an office and expected to do paperwork. Which, granted, A is fully capable of doing his paperwork, by all accounts he's actually really good at running his village. But again. This man is allergic to doors or manners and anyone who is willing to arm wrestle Senju Tsunade to get medical assistance for his own men can't be all bad let's be real.

3. Killer B exists. I feel like he alone is enough evidence against the "military breeding program hellhole" fanon but to break it down. This "brother" of A is not actually his brother. In canon, B is literally just- *some kid*, AT BEST a cousin of the previous Jinchuuriki but that is not confirmed iirc, that was among several other kids that were all lined up and told "we need a new Jinchuuriki and A needs a fighting buddy, run at this training dummy and see if you can help him decapitate it" and when B was the one who succeeded they went "congrats you're his brother now, here's your complimentary octopus monster". And like everyone just accepts this? Not a SINGLE person calls B as a fake brother or points out that he and A are not actually related. Not to mention B has the strongest and most stable relationship with his Biju until Naruto and Kurama work out their bromance, and B was rocking that friendship with his biju *years* before Naruto even knew Kurama was a Thing That Existed.

4. B is also beloved by his village. BELOVED. The people adore him and his weird rapping nonsense. And yeah there's flashbacks in the anime to that not being the case when he was first introduced but B was actually able to work on changing their minds. You really think "small feral child rapping at civilians to make them warm up to him" would have flown in Kiri? In Iwa who canonically keep abusing their jinchuuriki to the point of running off? Nope. No sir. B is also allowed to have a team of his own, and seems to not only be an accepted member of the village but also a much trusted and beloved one who is even allowed his own team? Even Konoha doesn't have that good a track record lbr. It took Naruto face punching the guy who just committed genocide on the entire village for Konoha to go "you know what? We like you now".

5. One of the only other jinchuuriki we see that has fully mastered their Biju state and is on good terms with their Biju while also not being a missing-nin (or brainwashed and then immediately dead) is ALSO a Kumo ninja. Namely the holder of the Two Tails. Now on the wiki it says that she was put through a "detestable" training program but we all know how inconsistent Kishi is with... everything worldbuilding ever. And if we go off behavior alone from the brief scenes with her, Yugito Nii is?? Really stable??? And solid with her Biju??? She gave her pawprint for an Uchiha child's book of cat paw prints for crying out loud.

6. throughout the entire show, Jinchuuriki are consistently treated as the lowest class citizens. In basically every village. Naruto in Konoha, Kushina cried when she realized Minato was going to make Naruto a Jinchuuriki and put him through what she went through growing up as one so you know she didn't have a great time either, GAARA is his own entire dissertation on Jinchuuriki treatment and stability, Fuu was raised by the village leader of her village but had zero friends and was canonically super lonely and isolated, Han and Roku straight up ran away from Iwa because of whatever they were put through, a maneuver only repeated in another village by Utakata from Kiri. But in Kumo we find two jinchuuriki who have mastered their biju, are well respected by their peers and fellow citizens, and are basically treated like any other really weirdo ninja from the village barring needing to be monitored with bodyguards in B's case, which is mostly because he keeps running away to go train under rap artists so you can understand why A is ready to go frothing at the mouth feral at his brother sometimes.

All I'm saying is that if even the village's "monsters" are treated that way, why does everyone stick with the fanon that they're a breeding, bloodline stealing hellhole?

Imo it would be WAY more fun to world build Kumo as the feral mountain ninja-mandalorians of the Elemental Nations, who have a reputation for bloodline theft because they keep finding Actual Strays, Refugees from other villages, and Illegitimate bloodline children and going: YO ANYONE GONNA ADOPT THIS? and not waiting for an answer. Your a missing ninja from Kiri and you're fed up with both them and missing-nin life and want to come work for us? Great. Oh you also have a valuable kekkei genkai that can be inherited? Awesome have you heard of our red light district and child support program or better yet our tax deductible program for marrying one of our lovely civilians and raising a family here where no bloodline purges will ever happen ever. Oh you're a stray Uzumaki on the run from bloodline hunters? Well we may have been involved in destroying Uzushio (depends on your fan interpretation since canonically we do not know which villages did that other than Not Konoha) but we also have hot food, good housing, high ninja standards of living, and free weekly entertainment in betting when our Raikage is going to launch his desk at his brother like a high speed missile because B's rapping got too cringy.

Let Hinata's and Kushina's kidnapping either be the exception to their usual playbook of how they acquire bloodlines (hey it's not their fault if the other villages can't keep it in their pants/can't inspire loyalty) OR have it be seen, culturally in Kumo, as something more akin to a rescue mission. Yes these two girls are useful and have useful bloodlines, that's tactically wise, but also have you SEEN how Konoha treats their jinchuuriki? They have seal master princess and are treating her like a dog on a leash! And literally everyone knows what the Hyuuga do to their own kids if they aren't main branch, and we can't rescue any of those kids without their eyeballs exploding and them dying but hey we can snag the heiress and then any kids she has won't have to be branded so-.

Like I feel that would be so much more INTERESTING? Instead of having Konoha be the only "nice" village and make this weird tonal dissonance for how the "nice" village has the most incompetent leadership (Sarutobi) and underground atrocities (Danzo and Orochimaru) while every other village is Horrible All The Time For Everyone why not have Kumo be actually Really Functional and treat their shinobi and Jinchuuriki well and their horrible reputation is *mostly* (not entirely, because. Ninja.) be cultural clashes between the feral mountain ninja and Everyone Else and propaganda from the other villages who would like their shinobi to STOP DEFECTING TO KUMO PLEASE. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAVE DENTAL.

Seriously I feel like there is so much more you could do with that angle than just "yet another shinobi village that is Bad and Awful and Needs The Power of Friendship yet somehow has this really stupid goofy jinchuuriki man who loves his brother and his village shut up don't think about it".

[tgmsunmontue]

WHAT TO WRITE WEEKEND

(27th - 29th September)

THIS IS AN OPEN CASTING CALL. All numbers and letters are free game. Have at it. 1, 2, A through to T - give me up to three (3) and I'll give you a minimum of 250 words on each. Tracking words here.

WRITING GOALS:

To post a minimum of three things. ANY three things. Some things might be short and sweet. Others longer.

Sagas of Solitude 13/21 - IceMav with side Hangster AU - angsty Nepo!Baby (Last updated 22nd September)

Season to Taste 21/? Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin (Last updated 26th September)

A) Upon which our souls touch - 6/? - Hangster Fantasy AU (Last updated 7th September)

B) Never knew I was missing you - 1/? - Hangster AU with Jake a naval aviator and Bradley and A-list Hollywood star. They meet on a dating app. Famous and cat fishing that isn't cat fishing because online relationships are rife but...? (Tumblr idea) (Last updated 21st September)

C) To wake, perchance to dream - 4/? - Jake wakes up in the future, gets a glimpse of what their life could be and then wakes up back right before being called back to Top Gun for the special detachment (e.g. TGM). (Tumblr post and the beginning of the fic) (Last updated 1st September)

D) IceMav with unknown about children because the US Navy is evil and produced offspring because of genetics being a THING. (Tumblr ramblings)

E) Cyclone/Maverick - Cyclone is struggling to deal with being attracted to the most annoying person he's ever met. Why does he like him so much?

F) Olympic AU - Jake and Javy are the Flyboys, a synchronised diving pair. Bradley is a gymnast.

G) Party of 5 AU - Jake raising his younger siblings and trying to run the family business and grieve the life he had started to build at College.

H) From the top 2/? - an Ice/Mav epistolary fic where Jake and Bradley matchmake them, not realising exactly who it is they've matched together. AU divergent ish. (Last updated 23rd July)

I) Bradley runs away and joins the circus. Tumblr ramblings.

J) Barista Jake? Fleshing this out into a proper length fic? (HERE)

K) Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide - 8/?Transformers cross-over for help me @yeagrave is 110% to blame for me adding this... (related to this post) (Last updated 13th September)

L) Hangster Sports Team AU with Hangster being ex-es and the trade deadline coming in hot and Bradley being traded in and all hell is about to break loose... Ramblings

M) Practical Magic AU (Tumblr ramblings)

N) Two guys in the mines hooking up... (Madness)

O) Long-distance/Zoom D&D players. (Madness)

P) Rooster is a shapeshifter trapped in his animal form? Crackity crack crack. (Madness)

Q) EMPTY SLOT 😱 OR IS IT???

R) IceMav Bingo of the Florist and Undercover agent variety.

S) Jake leaves Bradley at the alter and everyone is heartbroken. Including me.

T) Bradley a mechanic and Jake still an aviator. Hopefully a short little ficlet which is actually short. (Tumblr prompt/idea)

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation. 

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax. 

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

[clarionglass]

for those of you keeping up with the sam reich!master/game master cinematic universe currently being masterminded by the delightful @northernfireart and my good self: oh BOY there's a part 3 coming, and she's a doozy, currently clocking in at 9600+ words with a decent chunk still to go. the end is in sight, though, and while i might split the final post into two or maybe three parts, depending on how i'm feeling, hopefully i'll be able to get the first of those parts out on sunday/monday (time zones...) to fill the hole left by the game changer episode that should be released at that time...

however! delayed gratification is for chumps! so to whet your collective appetite, i've put together a "trailer" of scene fragments >:3 feel free to read on its own, or while listening to this particular track for added ambience!

trailer starts under the cut for those who want to launch into part 3 when it comes out without spoilers :)

The Doctor ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

\\\

This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, the Doctor found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm.

///

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came the host’s voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. 

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam Reich announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

\\\

—and then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

///

“I’m going to hate this so much,” Brennan muttered.

“So’s he,” Grant smirked, then raised his voice. “Oh, Daddy,” he started in a breathy singsong. “Daddy, do you want to make us play for you, huh? Do you want to degrade us, Daddy? Hurt us?”

\\\

“You’ll never get to them all in time,” came the voice through the speaker, dangerously soft. “You can try, of course, but if you die up here, well. That just leaves your new human friends alone with me while you regenerate, and goodness knows what I can do in that time.”

“You don’t get to do that,” the Doctor growled, even as another detonator deactivated. “You don’t get to hurt them because of me.”

For a moment, only laughter echoed into the room. “Better make your decision now, Doctor. Two detonators down, eleven to go, and they’ll reach spark point in ten… nine…”

///

“But you won't, don't you see? Nobody can win a rigged game—the best you can do is run it through to the end. You're standing at that podium, and we're over here, and that's why you can't win. Because no matter how many points you take away from me, you never had points at all. You want to beat me? Then play.” 

\\\

“Run?” Brennan suggested.

“Run!”

///

“And lastly, Doctor.” Sam’s smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

“You can’t be,” the Doctor breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

[enid-rhees]

Rosita Espinosa x reader where rosita and reader dated before outbreak but got separated shortly after it started and was found by Glenn at the beginning, and were reunited again. Reader has changed and matured a lot due to thinking she loss rosita turning her more quiet and alert.

I don’t see much of rosita nm </3

i absolutely love this idea and the song is so good for this !! hope you enjoy !! 🫶🏻

warnings: besides like killing walkers, none!

a/n: hope you all enjoy! i’m working on a ton of stories that’ll hopefully be posted throughout out the week so stay tuned for those :))

you breathed heavily, and sweat dripped down your face as you looked up, facing the hoard of walkers coming towards you. there were already multiple dead by your feet, but they still wanted more.

your right hand raised, the grip you had on the rusted machete tightened. when they got closer to you, you started to slice their heads off with ease. you didn’t care about the dead blood splashing onto you in that moment.

before you could slice the last walkers head off, someone had beaten you to it. you looked over with a glare, “who the hell are you?”

“i’m Glenn.” he spoke cautiously, almost like he was slowly approaching a wild animal. “okay, Glenn. what are you doing here?”

“my group has been keeping track of that hoard. i went to check on it but i saw they were all coming after you. figured you needed help.” he explained.

“i don’t need your help. or your groups help. you can go back to them now and leave me the hell alone.” you hissed out.

“are you out here alone?” he asked, ignoring everything you just said. “yeah, i am. why the fuck does it matter to you?”

“if you come back with me, you’ll be safer than you are now. we have food, water, and everything you’ll need.” he offered, he had a trusting voice, but you couldn’t give in so soon.

you scoffed, “how dumb do you think i am? for all i know, your entire group are just a bunch of freaks waiting to kill me right when i get there.”

“we won’t kill you unless you give us a reason to kill you.” he stated firmly. “we know the difference between good and bad.”

“good for you.” you told him. “now leave. i don’t need your help.”

“you don’t have any food or water, what are you gonna do when you can’t find any at all? give up? if you want to live, then come with me and my group. we have what you need to survive.” he said, his voice raising slightly.

the two of you stared at each other for a long while. you didn’t know what to think. Glenn was certainly the nicest person you’ve run into in this apocalypse, but something inside you just kept telling you to run and stay away from them.

“you don’t have to trust us right away.” Glenn spoke up again. “but in this world now, we’re the good guys. whether you see it or not, we are.”

“fine.” you spoke. “i’ll come with you. but if any of you try to hurt me, i’ll have every single one of your heads sliced off your bodies in seconds.”

he chuckled, “you’re definitely gonna get along with someone in my group. what’s your name, by the way?”

“Y/N.” you responded as you started to follow him to wherever he was going. it still felt insane to do this, but you couldn’t turn down food or water. especially since you haven’t been having any luck in finding any. 

“Y/N,” he repeated. “we’re not far from where we’re staying right now. just a few minutes away.” you nodded. while he walked mindlessly through the woods, you kept checking your surroundings.

the rest of the walk was silent. and after a few more minutes, a barn came into your sight. “we’re staying here for now. until we find a safer place. but we just escaped some bad people so this was the best we could find.”

you shrugged, “it’s better than any place i stayed in.”

he stopped at the door, and put his hand out in front of you. “stay here for a moment. everyone gets defensive when there’s a new person.”

“oh, good.” you mumbled under your breath. Glenn opened the barn door lightly and peeked his head in.

“hey, guys? i uh, i found someone.” he spoke hesitantly. he then motioned his hand for you to walk inside the barn with him. you walked in slowly.

immediately, everyone had raised every weapon they were holding at you. you dropped the machete and put your hands up to show you weren’t going to hurt them.

“guys, this is-“

“Y/N?” another voice cut Glenn off. the way they said it was so familiar… and so comforting, but it couldn’t have been what you were thinking. that’s impossible, right?

you looked over in the direction of the voice, and then they lowered their gun and their face became visible. “oh my god,” you choked out.

“Rosita.” you whispered. she stepped out from where she was standing, and didn’t waste a second to run at you, engulfing you in the tightest hug. “you’re alive.” she cried into your neck.

“you know each other?” Glenn asked. Rosita removed her head from your neck, taking your face in both of her hands and pulling you into a deep kiss.

Glenn looked at the others with wide eyes, and they all mirrored the same look.

“are you okay?!” Rosita asked worriedly after pulling away from the kiss. “are- are you bit? or scratched or-“

“i’m fine, Ro.” you chuckled, your demeanor completely changing within those few minutes. “just a bit bloody. was fighting a hoard.”

“i found Y/N fighting the hoard we were keeping track of. almost couldn’t get her to come back with me.” Glenn told Rosita. she turned back to you, “why were you fighting it alone? do you even have food? or water?”

you shook your head. Rosita looked over at the rest of the group, who were still looking at you like you were an alien that just flew down from space. “can someone get a bottle of water and a can of something?”

one guy stood up and started to dig through one of the many bags that lied around the floor. while he did so, Rosita pulled you into a corner of the barn.

“why were you fighting it alone?” she asked, “you could’ve gotten hurt. or bit, Y/N. and with no food?!”

“i had nowhere to go and they just kept coming. my only choice was to kill them. and- i couldn’t find any food. i haven’t for days. even the fucking squirrels are gone.” for a reason you didn’t understand, Rosita laughed at that last sentence. you furrowed your eyebrows and was about to ask what was funny, but then the man came up to you with food and water.

“Y/N, this is Rick Grimes. he’s the leader of our group.” Rosita explained as he handed you everything. “Rick, thank you.” you told him.

“of course. is it… okay if i ask you a few questions?” you opened your mouth to respond, but Rosita talked first. “not now, Rick. just let me be with her for a while.”

he nodded understandingly. you sat down on the floor as you opened the can, digging right into the food. you didn’t care what it was or how bad it tasted, you would eat anything that was offered at this point.

“i thought you died.” Rosita said quietly. “i-i went to your house after it broke out, and you were already gone. it was empty.” her voice cracked slightly as the memory came back to her.

“i spent so long looking for you. and- in order to think clearly about this, i had to assume you were dead.” you set the can down and moved closer to her. she leaned her forehead on yours, “i thought you were dead, too.” you admitted in a whisper.

“fighting like this, i did it for you. staying strong no matter what the truth was, i’m still here because i did it for you.”

Rosita connected your lips once more. you forgot how heavenly this felt, her lips moving in sync with yours perfectly. “i love you so much.” she whispered against your lips.

“i love you too, Ro. i’ll never stop loving you.” you whispered back, connecting your lips once more.

[whakkicat]

i am leaving

i made a post on my twt about this, but i should make it here as well.

this is my last text post before i archive this account and start elsewhere. video about what’s been happening at some point.

this post will be a personal note to friends, mutuals, communities, etc, and what will happen from here.

brief warning for mentions of abuse

1. i want to start with a word towards the rain world community. first off, i want to thank rain world for giving me a home. for starting me off as an artist. i had never actively participated in a fandom before this, and it was a wonderful experience.

the game brought me and so many of my friends together, i met a lot of amazing artists, some of which i’m still shocked they’re my mutuals, and rain world itself changed my life for the better, i believe. it gave me hope and something to live for when nothing else did.

i’ve always been quite afraid of voicing myself, as i had never participated actively in a fandom before, therefore had never gotten used to talking in one. but to those who’ve stuck around, who have enjoyed my content, thank you.

2. to the people who have been there for me during the worst, who have let me know i am not alone in my suffering, it means so much to me. i really hope that i can still keep contact with many of the people i have met on here.

there have been so many kind people on this platform and it’s been a joy talking to you all. if this is goodbye, to some, i wish you all the best. it’s only what you deserve.

3. i will be reaching out to the main people who i owe art to, regardless of cmms or not. it is unprofessional of me not to keep track of myself and keep everyone waiting. my ADHD has not made it very easy for me. i apologize.

4. this point will mention abuse, so cw dealing and getting out of abuse this year was extremely hard for me, and is still taking its toll on me. it’s part of the reason i can’t stay, because i feel they still have power over me, even if they’re not actively in my life anymore.

as i move on, i don’t want to completely abandon my past, and everything that came out of that abuse in the first place. i am not abandoning myself, or forgetting what i went through. i want to grieve my younger, naive self as i go forward as an artist.

this doesn’t mean i’ve let them win and break me down. i won’t give up on myself. i need to be kinder to myself and heal, so being away from this will help. this also goes out to anyone else trapped in their friendships, relationships. you will be okay. talk to

please do not silence yourself for the sake of other people. your own feelings are just as valid and important as anyone else’s. don’t let people make you feel bad for feeling your own feelings.

5. to mutuals who’d like to stay in contact, i have a priv account on twitter i will mainly be using from now on. it won’t be used as much as it used to, considering this is a hiatus, but it will be where i will reside. you’re free to ask me in dms.

6. i’ve already begun starting over, i won’t be gone completely. if you happen to recognize me in the near future, please do not pester me about it. simply accept that i have restarted, as a brand, as an artist, and i’d like to start over from square one.

7. this account will also be public for the remainder of its existence, however i may clean it up for archival purposes. i don’t want to simply vanish, i am proud of some of the work i have published, and i don’t want it to be forgotten.

it’s a bit odd, considering most of my art is composed of doodles, non-serious jokes, and mostly fanart. hopefully i can make self indulgent art in the future. i’ve always wanted people to know my characters, but was always too afraid to actually talk to people.

closing point i’m sorry if my absence upsets anyone, if you are disappointed in me. i can’t stress enough that this year has been hard enough on me, and being here is hard enough. i want a fresh start. i want to be okay.

i love my fellow artists, my friends, everyone. there’s so many talented people i’ve met and i don’t ever want to forget them. my last post will be my video talking about my experiences this year, previous years, because i feel it’s important for me to come out about it.

this is a goodbye. i will miss many of you. here’s to hoping the rest of the year will be good for everyone! until our paths meet again. good luck out there

[sundaymorningdew]

TRACK FOUR: ARABELLA | Jeon Wonwoo (M) | Preview

pairing: 80s!wonwoo x reader

genre: opposites attract!au, 80s london, angst, fluff, smut.

synopsis: Bookish and quiet, wonwoo very much keeps himself to himself; finding comfort in the dusty shelves of the local bookstore he remains as inconspicuous as he wishes. That’s until one rainy night you come tumbling into the store; leopard print, cigarettes and whiskey, loudmouth of the party, you’re everything he’s not so why can’t he help the way his heart thuds a bit harder when you set your galaxy eyes on him.

teaser length: 1301

now playing: Arabella by Arctic Monkeys [X]

a/n: im slowly going to start teasing the tracks im happy with, but enjoy, this is my favourite one to write so far! hopefully ill have one out by christmas <3

series masterlist |

London, 1989

“There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, except the dripping of the rain.”

Wonwoo never loved the rain, he never loved the way the watery whispers from the sky could change everything they touched; nor did he love the way that it could chill him to the very bone and nip at the skin of his hands like aquatic parasites leaching off his warmth. But it was on nights like this, where the winter forced the sun to slink its way back into the horizon early, pulling the inky hue of the night into the sky that he found himself liking the rain. Perched with his arms crossed in the window of Hatchards Bookstore in Piccadilly, Wonwoo found himself enjoying the way the rain reversed itself into the sky as it bounced itself off the pavement in a million tiny thunderous tumps.

Even though it wasn’t the latest in the world, 6:30 pm during the winter might as well have been the middle of the night with the way the sun shielded itself for the day. The flickering lights of London could be seen blooming from the puddles of the pavements; the cracks filling up to give the world a different view if anyone looked closely. It was rare it rained like this, no wind in sight but Wonwoo was sure that you’d be frozen to the bone all the same if you were to step out in it.

He felt glad to be within the warmth of the shop as he watched the people in the streets without protection skitter around like helpless animals looking for shelter; newspapers and briefcases alike held above heads in a makeshift refuge from the watery beast in the sky, the shoulders of lovers damp with purpose as they huddled together for warmth, and the lone soul that didn’t care if he got drenched or left to dry because it wouldn’t change their day either way. It was interesting to Wonwoo to watch how people reacted to situations out of their control, and his spot from the window was a prime people-watching space to do just that. He’d never been a people person, a close group of his choosing was all he needed, but every now and then even he liked to see how the other side of the coin lived.

Wonwoo supposed that in many ways, standing here in the window of the shop had many meanings; this wasn’t just his job, he felt a sense of calm when he was surrounded by the astute sound of nothing but the old building and gentle tinkle of the radio, with the smell of dust and paper clinging to the air, he felt still when he got to work alone with nothing but a smile given to the odd person that would come up to pay. The bookshop to many just looked like another store, but to Wonwoo, that faded green door with the croaky bell was the first step into his world.

It was a contemplative and serene home for any the entered it, it held no judgment and there was no signature to who could and couldn’t enter the place. Wonwoo saw everyone from the youngest of kids to the oldest of the old walk through the door, all with the same interest in mind, finding themselves in the pages of somewhere new. He liked the temperance of knowing that he could play a small hand in helping them with something new, it was a pause from his usually busy days out of the store, it was a second home.

Life for Wonwoo outside of that faded door was weirdly monotonous; he was only really in the city for university, and even then, he found himself in the libraries of the old college, swamped readying old classics that no one else dared to touch, finding stories in the fraying bindings of texts. He wasn’t a social man, he had his friends he would meet up on the weekends he had free, but he wasn’t a recluse either; Wonwoo didn’t love the rain, but he however did love walking in the frozen still mornings, Lady Frost licking at the skin of his nose as the blood rushed to the skin to soothe the biting kisses. He loved walking on his own and experiencing parts of life on his own, the people he needed would come into his life when they were needed themselves.

Most of all, Wonwoo didn’t believe in fate, even though he read pages upon pages of dreamers slewing their wants for a fated life, the man himself didn’t think reality worked like that; if fates were reality, then why were they confined to pages for others to read? He believed in the things that were tangible and real, like if he touched the edge of a page too hard, he’d get a cut, or it he held his skin to close to a flame it would blister, he didn’t believe in things he couldn’t see.

What he didn’t expect to see, ironically, was the presence of the faded green door flinging itself open with a screeching ding; the old bell above it desperately needing replacing. It must have been comical really to see the man of 6ft jump in place at the sign of a small bell, but his people watching, and day dreaming had been so intense he neglected to remember he was still on the clock.

He wasn’t a judge, he didn’t care how people dressed or acted, it was the end of the 80s people had lived through enough that other’s clothing didn’t faze anyone anymore; but even Wonwoo could find his own brow quirking as he took in the cause of the noise.

He felt his arms loosening from his chest as he gazed at you from your spot by the door, drenched and dripping onto the hardwood, he supposed the leopard print coat you wore once had more life to the moving fibres as the rain matted them down and clumped them in a way that made you look like you’d be pushed face first into the river. To be frankly honest it was like the rain had soaked the life of you, Wonwoo took care in spotting the way the mud stuck and tangled itself from your gator skin boots to the ripped and tugged netting that grasped it way up your thighs, the way the dress you wore probably floated and danced around the skin of your hips and thighs before the weather got its hands on you.

What struck him though, even though you hadn’t said a word or moved an inch from the spot by the door, was the way your hands grasped themselves in a fist by your hips; knuckles a sheen of white, the muscles in your covered arms shaking slightly as you pent up whatever feelings inside to the point your skin turned a nasty blush as your fingers cut into the inside of your palms. It was only then he took a look at your face, his shoulders softening slightly as he caught wind of what was up with the bursting through the door.

He wasn’t sure if it was the rain or the way your lip warbled with emotion that tarnished your face; the black running down your cheeks till they smudged into a sickly grey, and the faded brown around your mouth from where he imagined a pretty lipstick once lay, he softened up completely at the distraught look on your face, much like the weather outside you were storming with something too.

“Please tell me you’re still open,” Your voice was bubbled and thick with something he couldn’t place, like something was lodged in your throat and creeping out, “Please god tell me you’re still open.”

[zombeebunnie]

💜Trembling Essence:Happy spooky month + It's cabin time🧡

Helloo guys and welcome new followers, it's been a while! I'm still fairly busy so future game development posts will be every 1-4 weeks depending on how things go. :[]

Happy spooky month! >:]

We're finally back in the cabin!! You know what that means.. >;]

It is time to explain what will happen next!

Starting off with quality of life changes:

1. One of the main things I'm going to fix up is the different situations you can get depending on your interactions with Noah before he goes to bed.

As time went on it became difficult to keep track of everything since there's different ways to approach the cabin and interact afterwards. To remedy this I'm making a layout where your amount of closeness with Noah can place you into different categories instead of it all being under one scenario. I don't know how else to explain this without adding spoilers but hopefully this makes sense!

2. Another thing that needs fixing is what choices effects Noah's closeness with the player(Y/N).

I didn't mess with them in the [Extended Demo] to avoid breaking the game but there's some choices that will updated. Noah's reactions to some of the player(Y/N)'s decisions didn't line up well which caused him to lose closeness when he'd really be neutral instead.

3. The cabin is getting a update!? -Gasp- :[]

I can't say much due to spoilers but this originally wasn't going to happen until I started adding more depth to the story. It won't be anything drastic but for right now, only the living room is getting this.

4. But what about The Swamplands?! >:?

It's somewhat done outside of a few CG's but I need a break from cleaning it up. I'll fix it up again later. :,,D

5. Optimizations images! :[]

I found away to lower file sizes when making CG's / sprites / animations etc. There's certain parts of the game that will be animated and this is one of a few I really want to add without making the game file size too big. :,]

If you like what I create, please consider supporting what I do on kofi! All donations and tips help tremendously while I continue to work on the game. Thank you to those that optionally bought the [Extended Demo] and the March 2023 demo on itch.io. :,]

Q&A / Ask box is open:

To know and understand Noah through Asks and random posts about lore, they'll be under #Get to know: Noah ! :]

**Some asks won't be answered if it contains spoilers but I do appreciate what I receive. :,,]

If you have any questions about Trembling Essence/Noah feel free to ask here or on itch.io please. This makes it easier for me to see and answer accordingly! I enjoy hearing from you guys!

This update is getting a little too long so I'll stop here. Thank you to everyone for your continued encouragement and support and have a happy spooky month! >:]

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP, am really really interested to read your thoughts on Seven!

*

Ask 2: Hey bpp, can i be honest?? Ive been checked out of the fandom but still keep track of any music releases. So i didnt know abt any rumors abt 7. Imagine me being kind of disappointed that it’s another english song from jk when i watched the mv😅 it feels like his most promoted songs since last year has been all eng song… idk i wanted & expted something diff… i didnt like l&r, dreamers and now 7… it’s back to back lol. Tbf i didnt like My You too and thats in korean. At least not enough to listen!again after the first listen.

Im happy that still with you is finally on spotify tho. I’ll still be waiting excited for his album whenever it comes out. Hopefully ill find something i like in it!!

**

[BPP Note: Both asks above were sent before my "I don't like it..." post. The asks posted below were sent afterwards.]

**

Ask 3:

Same here

All the hype didn't matched with the song

1. rest members songs had so much depth and substance to it while this was the cliche boy chasing a girl song. Like we always dont need deep songs but the quality could be so much better. This was like just another pop song.

I think I'll put this on same level as BAD DECISIONS. But for bad decisions, atleast the chorus was staying on my mind while for this nothing was catchy enough for us to humm. Just because it's JK it will get hype but otherwise it's so generic. I think I liked LEFT and RIGHT way better than Seven. Even the rap portion felt so unnecessary and boring.

2. MV was kinda nice because of the production but concept was too shallow, the stalking and chasing was so outdated. In my country we have like 9293928843837 MVs in this same concept that not many make the same theme songs again.

3. The choreography. We haven't seen the full version. But for tiktok they do the highlight portions if that's so mediocre idk how rest will be. It was again giving the same mediocre showing off choreography and for me backdancers ruined it with their awkward moves.

4. they wanted this song to be played everywhere around the world. But there was nothing catchy enough to attract gp or go viral on tiktok, even if we sped it up. The only way to make everyone listen is to shove it down their throat but doing payola. But idk if investing in payola is worthy for the song. I also doubt the longietivity, as for me it was boring after 2 listens. I'll rather listen Like Crazy or wildflower or closer 20 times than listening this once.

5. I HOPE he'll bring something fresh to the table for his album and don't involve this mediocre producers who uses the same formula and same superstar persona to make a song successful. He is so much talented to sing a song which is so rich in melody and lyrics. And he can produce way better songs by himself.

Prolly a 4/10 for me

*

Ask 4: troye sivan's rush (which also came out last night) is exactly what I wish Seven was. I don't mean that in a 'I expect the things JK to make to be gay' way just in the way it's a fun, very danceable, sexy summer song that doesn't pull its punches. Something about seven feels too run through a commercial sanitizer a few times, even with the explicit lyrics.

***

Hi Anon(s),

Jungkook likes to fuck.

Rather, Andrew Watt likes to fuck and thinks Jungkook can relate.

JK has been talking about wanting to show more mature and explicit sides of himself for a good long while now. So I’m glad he’s finally gotten to do that, confirming for us why he keeps getting noise complaints from his neighbours since the mattresses all over his apartment don't help.

BTS has made songs explicitly referring to sex before (though it's been mostly the rapline doing so). So it's nothing new but I guess it's cool JK gets to share with us that he too has sex.

The question I posed to my friends immediately after watching the MV is, “Do you know who's been doing A&R for BigHit since 2020? I really need to know who is doing A&R for BigHit in America because they’ve been doing an appalling job lately. I'm starting to wonder if it's an inside job cause this song is kinda ass.”

That was me ~11 hours ago.

I didn’t like the song.

I’ve streamed Seven about 20 times since then I think, took a break from the song for a few hours, watched his GMA performance, caught a few minutes of the Wlive, then listened to it again just before writing this post and…

I still don’t like it.

Jungkook did a good job on the song, Latto's verse wasn't terrible, and while the song itself isn’t bad… the song isn’t good either.

It’s painfully, and at this point it’s a pattern so I have to add, predictably, mediocre.

Reserving judgement for the album, but Anons, I agree with you for the most part. The suits at BigHit are trying but they are woefully out of touch with the reasons BTS blew up in the West in the first place. I don't even feel like spending any energy doing a review or even trying to explain what I mean. So I'll just ramble on for a bit but try to keep it brief.

---

I have to give BigHit some credit because I can see what they're going for here. Andrew Watt is a very celebrated producer in the US, he won the Grammy award for Producer of the Year in 2021, he's got A listers in his portfolio. So, he's not a cheap name to book and I can see why the suits at BigHit thought he's the genius to gift them a song clinically designed for American radio.

But that pandejo phoned it in. There isn't a lick of creativity to be found anywhere in all 3 minutes and five seconds.

It reminds me of VIBE by Jimin and Taeyang, as the closest analog to the vague dissatisfaction morphing into annoyance and then pragmatic rationalization I experienced in that same sequence when listening to it the first few times.

The song is disappointing because we've all heard it before. Too many times, and we're bored of it. We've heard JK sing this sort of song for years, as covers mostly. So on one hand, while I guess it's nice JK gets to have an American summer JB-reject pop tune of his own, it's not good enough to be the track that introduces him to the world as a solo artist.

It's fine for any white, blonde, blue-eyed heartthrob that can ride on a pretty face and implicit bias to rack up accolades, it's not good enough for Jungkook.

And BigHit needs to start using whatever leverage a US$10.6 billion market capitalization buys you in Hollywood, to insist for songs that are at least as good as the songs made by BTS members and produced by their in-house team. It's a waste of money and everybody's time to fly a battalion to LA just to record 2014's summer hit in 2023.

In my opinion.

Still With You > Stay Alive > My Time > Stay > Left & Right > My You > Dreamers > Seven

*

All that said, I can't ignore JK has a taste for songs like this, and it's not his fault the song is shit (he didn't write, compose or produce it), so technically he shouldn't be punished for it. And the song is made for radio, while it's not my personal taste a lot of people really like the song (one of my friends likes Seven the most out of all the BTS releases so far), and it will catch on with some support. So, ARMY will support it including me, just to a lesser degree than I've done so far. Fingers crossed JJK1 has something solid on it.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi there!

I hope you're doing well. 🙂

My random question is (because I think you've mentioned DND) : For someone wanting to start playing dnd, what advice would you give?

Thank you for asking! Always exciting to see somebody else getting into D&D. I haven’t played as much as others, but hopefully this will help get the ball rolling.

First rule everyone should know: No D&D is better than bad D&D

We’re all here to have fun, so if you're not having fun then you should stop

It doesn’t even have to be because you’re having a problem with a person at the table, it could just be the story everyone is telling is just not one you want to participate it

We have a limited time on this earth, don’t force yourself to do something you don’t really want to do

Next, don't do a paid campaign for your first game

There are a lot of paid campaigns online and while I'm not opposed to the idea, you're still learning and so shouldn't have to pay for a DM

If you don't have somebody to play with in person, check out your local gaming store to see if anybody is running a game, failing that, roll20 and D&D Beyond forums are a good place to start

Once you find a group, make sure to communicate any boundaries or triggers you have early

This is a role playing game and depending on the game, things can get intense, so make sure you're at a table that will respect those boundaries

After that, talk to the DM as much as possible

DMs want you to ask about the story they're trying to make, you're not bothering them with questions, I promise you

If you're having trouble figuring out a backstory, they're the best person to ask; and if they're being cagey about helping you, that's red flag

Also, try to get to know the other people at the table before game time

If you're playing with strangers, you should have a session zero allowing everybody to chat and get a feel for each other

These are the people you're going to be telling this story with, take the time to listen to them and ask about their characters

This is collaborative story telling, so communication and listening to each other is essential

I'd also recommend starting with a low level campaign (levels 1-3) to get a grasp of the rules

Staring with a martial character (barbarian, fighter, rogue, or monk), might also be best too as you don't have to keep track of spells

Of course, if a martial class isn't fun for you, disregard, I'm sure you can figure it out

I'd also say that at the minimum you should buy The Player's Handbook. The rest can come with time and necessity

D&D Beyond is also a really good resource when it comes to character sheets and creation

Also, remember that the game you're going to play isn't going to be like a live play or Baldur's Gate

You're a bunch of nerds playing make believe with more math; chances are a lot of it is going to be derivative, and that's okay

So long as you and everyone else at the table is having fun, that's all that matters

[toointojoelmiller]

please don't go: a last of us fic

after David / Silver Lake / post-episode 8

angst, Joel & Ellie bonding, 99% canon compliant

rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, gore, more

The best found father-daughter duo help each other recover, work through their trauma, stay alive - hopefully a satisfying fill in for things we didn't get to see after winter !

if you're after a long read here's one for you

work in prog! +100k words

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | ch 9 | ch 10 | ch 11 | ch 12

I'm no longer copying this over to tumblr because it got way too long and it's too much!!!! Read on ao3 for the updated chapters

please don't go: chapter 1

Ellie’s frantic eyes finally seem to focus on him, and he can see her body language shift immediately. The hard adrenaline fuelled tension in her muscles sinks away as her face falls into unsettling blankness – he didn’t think it was possible but she somehow looks even smaller. Her lips start moving but she isn’t saying anything. Only low, halting sounds, whimpers and soft gasps of air that slice into his gut with a hurt nearly as sharp as the sewn up hole in his side. 

“It’s me,” he hears himself repeating. Never feeling more useless in his life, except for - it feels wrong to think of Sarah right now, with Ellie so immediately in need in front of him, but the image of her pink t-shirt soaked in blood swims up in his mind anyway, crystal clear even 20 years later, her heaving and jerking belly so small it’s easily covered by the width of his hands until it suddenly stills. He learned a long time ago that he’s helpless to fight it when this moment flashes back to him. 

This is what is written in the stars for Joel - his girls, too good and too sweet to know better than to trust him until that mistake catches up and they pay with their blood. It’s what he deserves. But - he’d seen it coming with Ellie - he’d known he wasn’t going to be able to keep her safe - Tommy would have never let - why the fuck does he keep existing when he’s so goddamn weak, worthless, worse than - poison, ruining everyone he - 

Ellie moves towards him and presses her face into the crook of his neck with more babbling - a word too this time, “He-” - and the weight of her, the warmth of her cheek against his is the only thing that could possibly bring him back into his body.

He feels his blood pound in his head as he wraps his hand up around the back of her neck – so impossibly small – tangling his fingers through her knotted hair, holds her against him like she’s made of glass. Her whole body is trembling.

“It’s ok, baby girl,” he says in a breath as he shuts his eyes, trying to keep himself upright against a surge of heartache. He hears the words as if someone else has said them, like they didn’t leave his lips – but immediately feels the truth in it. The wall he’s tried to keep up between Ellie and Sarah, the nothing-but-bullshit line he’s drawn to try to somehow separate what they are to him is gone. There’s no more pretending. She’s his to take care of – that’s how she ended up here shaking and bleeding, after all, isn’t it?

His penance for failing Sarah is a life sentence, but Ellie’s still here, in the flesh and breathing (he thanks the god he’s never believed in). She needs him present more than he needs to hate himself. There’s a future full of self-loathing stretching out ahead of him - time for that later. For now he just needs to get her safe.  

“We need to leave, baby,” he says, clearing his throat as it strains from the lack of use. He feels the urgency as the words leave his mouth – they don’t stand much of a chance if more men are coming after them, and though he’d die before he let anything (else) happen to her, who would be left to take care of her then? He pulls back from holding her to look at her face again, eyes tracking over the hollow look in her eyes and the fresh blood splattered on her skin. He’s never seen anyone who needs to be taken care of more.

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” He waits a moment for an answer that he knows isn’t coming. Ellie’s little fingers twist and pinch on the sleeves of his jacket as she holds onto his arms, but she’s still standing. He sees the moment the shakiness that he felt running through her body moves from invisible to visible, and on instinct he quickly slips off his pack, shrugging off his jacket to wrap around her. She’s swimming in it.

“I’ve got you, honey, let’s go,” he says as he shifts to her side, wrapping his arm around her as he begins moving through the snow. Walking again makes the ache in his side throb angrily and he clenches his teeth to keep from groaning out loud.

Ellie starts shuffling along next to him, thank fuck – he’s sure he couldn’t carry her now – but she’s unsteady. After a few steps she falls against his side, leaning her weight against him like she can’t stand on her own. He hates that he’s so weak he feels his body start to do the same. His brain conjures up an image of the skyline as they left the Boston QZ so long ago – two crumbling buildings fallen inward, holding each other in place.

Ellie stumbles and he tightens his arm around her to keep her upright. She makes a noise, half choking and half swallowing, sounding like the air is being pushed out of her lungs. 

“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” he keeps saying. It’s all he can offer. “I’m here.” It’s not enough.

---

Going back along the road towards the suburbs seemed like a death sentence – they're moving so slowly, and clearly the area was within the boundaries of where the group they’re running from was willing to go. If anyone was coming after them it would be the first place they’d look. But the longer they push forward with nothing in sight the more he’s convinced he's made a mistake that will kill them.

It's near silent in the aftermath of the snowstorm, and it’s rough going along the edge of the woods with patches of snowdrifts occasionally blown so high they nearly have to climb their way over. They’ve both sunk down half way up their shins more than a few times and their wet jeans are freezing against their skin.

He doesn’t know how they’re still going. They’ve been moving for hours.

The only noise is the occasional whistle of the wind, and it’s not enough to cover up their heavy breathing and slow, shuffling steps crunching through the snow. It makes it obvious when Ellie starts to flag, the cadence of her steps shifting as her feet start to shuffle and drag more than stepping, and he tries to swallow down swelling, suffocating dread as he scans around them for somewhere to rest. Time is running out – the sun, he’s horrified to acknowledge, has started to dip behind the tree line. He’s hurting more intensely the longer they walk, and he’s sure Ellie is too. Her breath is coming in pants and whines – she sounds so young he aches.

When snow starts to fall again around them, softly first and then steadily picking up, he fights back the urge to start screaming.

They’re fucking doomed – their bodies are running on empty. They’ll stumble soon and find they can’t get up, and he won’t be able to do anything at all other than pull Ellie close to him as they wait to freeze to death. No sooner has the thought crossed his mind than Ellie crumples at the knees and his mind goes empty with terror. He tries to squeeze in the arm around her when he realizes she’s sinking but he’s too slow. She thumps down hard onto her knees on the ground and is only spared from ending up face first in the snow by the way her upper body slams sideways into Joel’s legs.

“M’ sorry,” she’s mumbling, he realizes in horror as he drops down with her and grabs her shoulders to stop her from collapsing. His wound is fucking ripping as he kneels. He tries to soothe her as she keeps trying to get words out.

“Sorry, I ca- I –” seems to be all she can manage before she falls back into silence. Her teeth are chattering and she’s weakly grabbing onto his pants as if to pull herself up, even as her lower body remains motionless. She’s too weak, too tired. She’s done. 

Joel takes a breath, and then another, and another. His vision is tunnelling as he drowns in the fear. This can’t be it.

“Gotta get up, baby, we can’t stop here, gotta get you somewhere warm,” he’s saying, knowing damn well that no such place is around. Ellie closes her eyes and leans her head into him like she’s falling asleep. An angry sob catches in his throat. 

He closes his eyes and leans his face down into the top of her head, breathing her in and out, sliding his numb fingers into her hair to hold her tight against him again, and looks around asking a miracle.

And finds one.

From the slightly lower vantage point, he can see just a few feet further into the trees, below the bottom branches of a cluster of pine trees, and there it is, undeniably - wood. Pressure treated. It looks like the edge of – a porch?

He shifts sideways to see more and really tests the limits of the stitches in his side – fuck, fuck, fuck – and he’s flooded with relief. It’s not a porch – just a couple wooden steps, leading up to what has to be the bottom of a door. A cabin? It can’t be more than 50 feet away.

“Ellie, look,” he croaks out, and she doesn’t move. He points. “Look, there’s a building – we just gotta get there and we can rest, ok?”

For a moment he thinks she’s still not responding, and she doesn’t turn to look where he’s pointing, but he feels a small nod as she moves her head, and she mumbles a quiet “’Kay” into his shirt.

He’s breathless with pride – she’s so goddamn tough, the strongest person he’s ever met – and the fresh surge of adrenaline is enough for him to stand and tug her up on wobbly legs, to tuck her back into his side and move them forward, foot by shaky foot, moving away from their almost-grave in the snow.

-----

working on transferring from ao3 to here but here's the ao3 link if you want more now - updates regularly on ao3 (36 ch so far!)

[ghostieagere]

I usually don't ask...

But i tonight my legs hurted so much at each movement i did and i couldn't calm down...

Can you write about Mountain having problems with his legs but not wanting to ask for help because he's strong enough (he's the one who care about everyone not the one to care about, he can't be weak,no?) to deal alone with that, suffering in his room till Aether founds him?

[i dont know if it's a good idea for writing but... feel free to ignore this 🥺, sorry to bother]

hi, loves <3 i'm sorry to hear both of you have been having a rough time recently :( hopefully this can help you both a tiny bit <3 (and you aren't bothering me at all, anon !!)

cw: mountain struggles to walk, severe leg pain, mountain loves fried rice, brief mention of accidentally skipping a meal, regressed (child, not toddler) mountain, cg aether. mightn't be the easiest read for littles.

~

The hill leading up from the greenhouses to the Abbey is a decent size. Mountain has never really thought of it as big, but he knows the littles get adorably exhausted trying to climb back up it at the end of a long, exciting da with him in the greenhouses. He always delights when their faces light up after he offers them a piggyback. When it's him who's struggling to climb back up the hill with no one to offer their help however, he thinks it's much less adorable.

Each step he takes has his knees screaming at him for putting them under so much pressure, joints wobbling dangerously in their sockets as he moves forward and upward. The path under his feet is slippery with loose stones and gravel, which means that with his weakened legs, every step he takes sends him sliding back another two. It's always an impossible task getting back to the Ministry on a bad pain day, but Mountain doesn't remember ever having quite this much difficulty, even when he regresses.

Speaking of, as he gets more and more frustrated for not being able to make his way up the hill, he feels his mind slipping slowly into a horribly familiar void of fog and annoyance; a mirror of his actions when his legs give out under him and he slides back to the bottom of the hill, all his progress lost. Again.

He tries again and again, and each time ends with him falling flat on his face, knees giving out from underneath him as he cries out in pain over and over again. Once it's clear he's not going to make it if he walks, he tries crawling up, but the path is so rocky that he scrapes his hands and knees barely five metres into his attempt.

He curses himself for not bringing his crutches or his cane down to the greenhouses with him earlier. Not that they would be much good on the sliding, unstable gravel, but maybe if he'd been using them during the day, his legs wouldn't have become this painful. Alas, his imposter syndrome never stops reminding him that he doesn't need mobility aids all the time, therefore he shouldn't be allowed to use them at all. It's a thought process he's trying to break, but he never seems to have much luck with it. One day he'll be able to break it, and he can only hope that day comes soon; he's getting tired of having to spend his nights alone in a freezing greenhouse.

He sighs, tears of annoyance in his eyes as he slowly makes his way back into the main greenhouse. His knees buckle and legs give out under him at least twice, but the earth ghoul is so exhausted from trying to climb back up the hill that he can barely keep track of putting one foot in front of the other, let alone how many times he wobbles on his feet.

Once he's inside the greenhouse, he collapses, sobbing. He hadn't properly registered it while he was walking, but now that he's stopped, he hurts. His knees ache, feeling like they're on fire and pressed up against dry ice all at once, the hot and cold mixing not to create a perfect balance, but a hellscape of pain and sensation. Once the sobs subside, Mountain crawls very slowly over to his makeshift bed on the greenhouse floor and tries to get comfortable; this happens often enough that he's had to create a space that's comfortable enough for him to sleep on several nights a week.

The bed is a humble thing. Straw, spare bags of fertiliser and layers hessian bags make up the mattress, and Mountain has brought down his least favourite pillows and blankets to keep him relatively comfortable throughout the long, painful nights. Usually, this is fine, but the fog clouding his brain hasn't gone away—if anything, it's getting stronger with every movement of his legs that shoots pain right through his whole body—and all he wants is comfort; his favourite blankets, his non-lumpy pillows, maybe even the weight and warmth of that microwavable plushie Sunshine bought for him the other week.

He sighs. Wishing for any of these things won't make them magically appear. He'd better get as comfortable as he can with what he's got here. As soon as he tucks himself into the bed, pulling the scratchy blankets up to his neck, his stomach rumbles. He's hungry; hasn't eaten since breakfast, accidentally continuing his work in the greenhouse well into the afternoon until it was too late to go back up for lunch. It's a choice he's really starting to regret now. Unable to climb the hill and return to the Ministry, Mountain won't be eating tonight. He lets out a decidedly kit-like whine at this realisation; normally he'd be embarrassed but since there's no one around to hear or help him, he can't find it in himself to care.

When another rumble sounds from his stomach, he wraps his arms around his middle and curls in on himself, crying quietly. He's all alone, and no one's going to come help him. Even if they did, how could they help? He's in too much pain, he's crying, and everything is so big and so much that he can barely stand to think about it, let alone handle it.

He's so in his head, vision so blurred by his tears and hearing obscured by the sound of his sobbing, that he doesn't notice Aether until the quintessence ghoul is crouched right in front of him.

"Oh, eden, what am I going to do with you, hmm?"

"Ae– Aether...?" Mountain doesn't want to sound too hopeful. He's partially convinced that the ghoul in front of him is some hallucination provided by his mind to give him some comfort. Either that or the fumes from the fertiliser are starting to get to him.

"I'm here, sprout," Aether assures him, reaching out to gently caress the earth ghoul's cheek. "I'm here."

Mountain breaks down all over again, sobbing so hard that his head begins to hurt. He's so relieved that someone is here. He's not going to be left alone. He's safe now.

"M– My legs are hurting and I– I couldn't get up the hill and then I am crying and– and– and–" He cuts himself off, heaving big breaths in between his sobs and sniffles.

"Hey, shh, love. Slow down, one thought at a time, little eden," Aether reminds him. "Breathe with me, c'mon. Yeah, that's it, love, iiiiiiiiiiin." Aether inhales slowly, and Mountain does his best to mirror the quintessence ghoul's actions. "And now we breath ooouuut..."

Mountain lets go of his breath in a huff, making Aether chuckle.

"You need to breathe out a bit slower than that, eden. As slowly as we did when we breathed in. D'you want to try again?"

Mountain nods, biting his lip as he stares up at Aether.

"Okay, follow my lead again. That's it." Aether leads the two of them through the cycle of in's and out's as many times as it takes for Mountain's tears to slow and for his breathing to even back out. When they're done, Aether smiles at him widely and leans down to press a gentle kiss to Mountain's forehead. "Well done, little eden. I know you're hurting, and you're being so brave."

Aether's praise brings tears to his eyes all over again, and he only just manages to keep them from spilling over. "Th– Thank you, Aethy..."

"You're welcome, love." Aether kisses his forehead again, pulling a quiet laugh out of Mountain. "And, oh!" Aether exclaims suddenly. "I almost forgot! I brought something for you, love."

Mountain cocks his head in question, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to imagine what Aether could have possibly brought.

The quintessence ghoul reaches behind him and pulls out a tupperware container and a fork. Mountain's eyes widen and he sits up immediately. "You broughted food?"

Aether hums the affirmative and opens the lid to show the little earth ghoul the contents of the container. "Rain and Cirrus made fish, but I know that's not really your favourite, so I swiped some fried rice from the main kitchens."

Mountain barely lets Aether finish his sentence before he's grabbing the container and messily scooping the dinner into his mouth. "Iths good Aef!" He says, grinning around a mouthful of rice.

Aether smiles. "I'm glad. I figured you'd be hungry, you skipped lunch, eden."

Mountain has the good sense to look ashamed as he swallows his rice. "I know... Wan'ed to finish my plant things... 'M sorry, Aethy."

Aether hums and reaches out to stroke Mountain's hair softly. "I know your plants are important, but you're important too, little eden. You gotta take care of yourself as well as your plants, even if it's hard."

"M– Maybe," Mountain considers. "Maybe if I had comed up for lunch, I would not be stuck in here now...?"

"Maybe," Aether says. "But it's best to not think about what might have happened, yeah? Better to think about what's happening now, love."

"Well, I have got my rice and my itchy blankets and my Aether now," Mountain grins. "But I do not have, um... Being warm...?"

"You don't have being warm?" Aether clarifies, clearly amused as he continues carding his fingers through the little earth ghoul's hair.

"I don't have being warm!" Mountain repeats. "I wanna go in the warm, but I can't go up the hill..." He can feel the pout in his voice as he leans into Aether's hand on his head.

"Well..." Aether starts. "How about I carry you up the hill?"

Mountain gapes. "You can do that?"

Aether assures him that he can, pretending to flex his muscles and making Mountain giggle uncontrollably. "I know the hill's very steep, but if we need, I can get someone else to come down and we can carry you up together, okay?"

Mountain nods, already excited by the prospect of not having to spend the night in the cold, damp greenhouse. "Can I eat my rice more when you carry me?"

"If you can hold onto me and eat your rice at the same time, you can absolutely eat the rest of your rice as we walk up," Aether assures him. "But if you can't hold on, you need to promise me that you'll drop the rice, okay? I'd rather have to clean up rice than clean my little eden up from off the ground."

"I can do that!" Mountain says enthusiastically. "Do I drop the fork too?"

Aether nods. "You're all over this, love! A master of fork and rice safety, that's what you are."

Mountain grins and puffs out his chest proudly, holding his arms out ready for Aether to pick him up.

"This might hurt a bit while I get your legs in a comfy position, okay, little eden?"

Mountain nods, wincing as his legs change position when Aether gets his hands under the little earth ghoul's armpits and lifts. He lets out a quiet cry of pain as Aether repositions him in his arms, but once he's settled, the pain disappears. Without the warmth of his blanket covering him however, he starts shivering in the quintessence ghoul's arms.

"You ready to go, love?"

Mountain nods, burrowing further into Aether's arms for warmth while simultaneously still trying to eat his fried rice.

Aether laughs affectionately at his antics. "You comfy now?"

"Uh huh. 'S good."

"Great! Alright, my little eden. Let's go get you warmed up."

[fallenclan]

How do you keep track of all the cats? I’ve been looking at clan gen blogs but it seems overwhelming to keep track of so many characters.

How do you know which interactions are important enough to note. I know romance, death, kits and new clan cats are notable but beyond that it seems hard?

Is your play session one moon at a time? Or are you able to do multiple moons?

Hopefully this is not too much at once I’m just hoping to get a bit of advice ig

no problem! not too much at once at all lol

for keeping track of all the cats, i don't find it too difficult just because i spend so much time with them--drawing them, writing little bits, thinking about relationship dynamics and family trees and such. for people who aren't as autistic about them as i am, i imagine its very difficult to keep track lmao. best suggestion i'd have if you're having trouble with your own cats is just to have a document with their name, maybe a brief description, and a few bits of lore. for instance: "Goldenstar (long furred golden tabby tom) - mate [Morningbloom] died in childbirth, was made deputy at a young age, was leader for most of his life" stuff like that!

for interactions, its mostly a personal preference thing. obviously i show favoritism to my cats and so i'll draw more interactions involving them. or if i see an interaction between two cats that aren't my favorites, but the interaction is interesting, i'll draw it! or if it's something like, say, otterslip and stormsight not getting along, i'll hop back a couple moons (i usually have a few posts queued up) and sneak in a few negative interactions, just so that the crux of the relationship (in this case, murder) doesn't come out of left field. i also draw patrols that are interesting to me, and (as i've mentioned before) usually avoid drawing every time a cat gets a sprain or a runny nose. if i did that, i would be so burnt out lmao, i usually only draw serious injuries like a broken back or clawed eyes

my play sessions! personally, i have a little rule that i need to have (at least) 3 drawings per post. they don't have to be extensive drawings, but i like to have them, so i just do as many moons as is necessary. sometimes i'll just have one moon per post, other times 3, or even more if one or two of the moons doesn't have any interesting events! i try not to skip ahead any further than one full post, because personally, if i see All That Stuff i have to draw with no gameplay in between, it'll intimidate me into not drawing at all. i encourage you to try out what works for You, though, bc what works for me won't work for everyone :)

have fun! lmk if i can help with anything else