#lads this was hilarious 10/10

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold. 

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug. 

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works? 

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” 

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really." 

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy. 

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours. 

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit. 

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you.  Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?” 

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by. 

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself. 

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill. 

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter. 

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it. 

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons. 

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical. 

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind. 

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session. 

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.” 

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?” 

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her. 

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.” 

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him. 

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams. 

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

-

-

-

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown. 

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood. 

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight. 

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen in mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light. 

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival. 

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond. 

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.” 

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment. 

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable. 

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unrealized. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her. 

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake. 

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose. 

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization. 

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her father struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you. 

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark. 

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

.

.

.

.

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it. 

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict. 

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door. 

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point. 

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes. 

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences. 

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him. 

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation. 

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home. 

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

-

-

-

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown. 

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath. 

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation. 

He exhales. Then winces. 

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it. 

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh. 

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left. 

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago. 

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware. 

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago. 

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil. 

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively. 

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer. 

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting. 

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable. 

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere. 

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists. 

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home. 

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

[ehlnofay]

yesterday I was assigned to go sign in the gaggle of thirty odd kindy kids and one little boy started to cry (missing his parents) so I crouched down next to him to go Ahh, mate, what's wrong. he gets half of a little wail out before he looked up at me and was immediately so fascinated by my hair ("It's green! Like grass!" and wanting to rub his hands on it) that he was in a great mood after that. fully distracted. did not cry for the rest of the afternoon. a resounding success

dyed my hair radioactively bright green again. very excited to see how the children react

[no1deepspacehater]

The DeepSpace Boys Getting High

A/N: I don't even like smoking, most of the time I have panic attacks but I've had like 1 or 2 good highs. anyway WHERE MY LADS 420 BLAZERS AT??? this ones for you guys <3

☆ Zayne

Has used CBD oil once or twice for body pain from his evol, has never really gotten high though. Other than that, not much experience.

Would prefer eating edibles over anything. Put an infused macaron in his face and he is folding immediately.

Is the type to go non-verbal once it hits.

And he gets really slow. Not like dumb slow but physically slow. He starts buffering like a youtube vid on bad wifi.

Both of you got high once and though you had called him numerous times, he only looked up from his work email after you touched his shoulder, he’d only typed “As per my last email,” within the 10 minutes he was staring at the screen.

☆ Xavier

His body is already on low power mode 24/7, weed is sending him fast asleep immediately.

Good luck waking him up within the next 24 hours.

Has some experience, but it’s not something he does often.

Doesn’t like the smell from smoking it, so you both drink it as tea or sweets as well.

Did give Jeremiah some seeds to plant once and told him it was tomato seeds as a ‘joke’.

Gets the worst munchies afterwords, so you both always have lots of snacks prepared.

☆ Rafayel

Experimented with it before so he could see how his art would turn out while high.

Needless to say, he would do anything but paint.

House? Cleaned. Paperwork? Take a hike Thomas. All four seasons of that new comedy you both started? Watched.

Speaking of comedy, when high, everything is instantly 5x funnier with him.

Thomas was scolding you both for something, and you both nearly pissed yourself laughing because Rafayel whispered. “He looks like a barracuda when mad.”

Thomas was not impressed and banned you both from smoking ever again.

☆ Sylus

Not interested, sorry.

Even if he does to humour you, he’s not doing enough to get baked, more like a light buzz.

Prefers alcoholism, like a true alcoholic.

He’s a bit more loose in personality when he does get buzzed though, his softer smiles showing up more, and he laughs at your antics more.

On a side note, the twins are hilarious when they’re high as well.

I have a small headcanon that Sylus can’t actually get truly drunk or high, since his body heals itself, kind of like a Deadpool situation, except he can get slightly buzzed or close to 'kind of' drunk, he’d have to focus on not triggering his evol though, and that’s just too much work.

[thinking-emoji]

While we're at it. Here's the Radio Adelaide interview!

Transcript under the cut!

Interviewer: What's been going on with me earlier today was I spoke with Dan and Phil, who are on their Terrible Influence tour at the moment. I think they're in Sydney right now. Even though I had to call them on the phone via England, they're going to be on at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next week, Monday the 16th of December. And these guys, they're a British internet- YouTube- radio hosts. They're critics of games. They're book authors. Dan and Phil, they're currently in Australia having their Terrible Influence tour which lands in Adelaide at the Entertainment Centre next week. And it's attempting to take back what the internet took from them. So it's allegedly a screamingly hilarious live stage show. I have no doubt that it is hilarious. They're older, gayer. Phil's gone blonde evidently and nothing is off limits. Now I was brought to the attention of them by some younger folk, who asked me to ask them some certain questions and throw some sort of slightly strange questions at them. And I haven't got time to include all of those questions. And also I had a call after the interview from one of the duo suggesting that “ehh, you might get trolled if you ask a question like that and people misinterpret it” because I was asking- I believe they've become a couple. I'm not sure if they've got married but they may have got married or they may just be, like, going steady but they're a terrific pair of comic lads. In the- in the vein of Kenny Everett, sort of. They don't have a TV show as such. They were both YouTubers, which means that they had little YouTube shows and then they started guesting on each other's show and then they eventually started doing stuff together. Very interesting lads. And I just really want to play the interview now.

Dan: I've got a mullet now that I'm in Australia because apparently that's what the people do. I just think Australians have more fun. So I wanted to appropriate a bit of the culture while we’re here doing the show.

Phil: I think it's more of a micro mullet, Dan, though. You know, you haven't gone full mullet, it's more of a micro…

Dan: It's a mullet without the T. It's just a mull-e.

Interviewer: (laughs) Mull-e. All right. Just with that sort of hard...

Dan: Without the T, yeah.

Interviewer: Hard E on the end. How has your tour been going so far, gentlemen?

Dan: It's been amazing to be in Australia. No offence. We loved having a great time in America. But we're very happy to be in Australia. Although – I know it's summer. Why is it so hot? Nowhere on Earth it should be this warm.

Interviewer: You haven't reached Adelaide yet, have you?

Dan: No, God. Don't tell me it's warmer.

Interviewer: Yes, yes. We're in the middle of a very dry, arid area. Very isolated. A long way from anywhere. But there's only about maybe 30 or 40 tickets left at your gig here.

Dan: We're happy for the people of Adelaide. You know, they're out here in that dry, arid desert. And there's nothing to do but come to the Dan and Phil show. And we love them for that. They're all making responsible financial decisions. So we're very grateful for all the people that are coming to the show.

Phil: And if there's 40 people listening, come hang out with us. It's going to be a fun time.

Dan: Yeah. What else are you doing on that night?

Phil: We're going to be pumping the air con out.

Dan: Yeah, just come to have somewhere cool to sit in the theatre. You know what I mean?

Phil: Yeah.

Interviewer: Are you collecting things from your hangouts that you're going to discuss at the next show? Like before a show, if people hang out with you, give you a piece of artwork or a little letter or a note, something like that. Do you then discuss it in front of the next...

Dan: Oh, a big trendy thing these days. Yeah. Taylor Swift has started this trend of the bracelets that people spell out things on. So people would make like a little bracelet that says Dan or Phil in beads. And the other day I had someone that gave me a bracelet that said Vegemite on it. (Interviewer laughs) And I was like, what the heck? And they said, you don't understand. This is incredibly culturally important. So I was like, okay, thank you. I will cherish this Vegemite bracelet.

Phil: Yeah. I got one that said Koala Daddy. I'm not sure what that meant, but-

Interviewer: Koala Daddy?

Phil: Yeah. I think that's what they were calling me.

Interviewer: Have you actually dipped your tongue into any Vegemite as yet?

Phil: I have. I would have to say it was one of the most horrific experiences of my life. I'm sorry.

Dan: What, Phil, you don't like a yeast-based condiment?

Phil: No.

Dan: How dare you.

Phil: Dan loves it though. He's a bit of a…

Dan: I'm just a yeasty kind of guy.

Interviewer: Yeah. It's kind of up there with Marmite, isn't it?

Phil: It is, but I only eat sweet things, so I couldn't handle it. But Dan was eating his second portion of toast this morning. He loved it.

Interviewer: Yeah, yeah. It's good for you.

Phil: And last time we were in Adelaide, we did a vlog where we explored the town, didn't we? We got some Tim Tams. We did a Tim Tam slam.

Interviewer: Fun!

Dan: Yeah, the national sport.

Interviewer: The national sport, sucking coffee through a Tim Tam.

Dan: Hell yeah.

Phil: I can get down with that.

Interviewer: Yeah yeah. It's a lot of fun to do. You realise that our Premier is the one who started the ball rolling with the social media ban for under 16-year-olds? You're lucky that you're here now at this stage of your career rather than at the beginning of your career because there's a lot of young people who have grown with you who will be able to come and see your show.

Dan: Yeah, absolutely.

Interviewer: Are you relying on them sort of moving forward with you?

Dan: People have been with us for a long time and people tell us some things and it's very disturbing.

Phil: Yeah, we've had some people meet us that are like, I watched you 10 years ago, I'm still watching you now. I've got a whole child now and it's like, what is happening? (Interviewer laughs) Time isn’t real.

Interviewer: It's kind of a historic moment. You're probably the first English lads to have linked in to YouTube and the internet and gone off the way that you have.

Dan: No, we were, well, we come from an early generation. Phil has been doing it so long that you couldn't even make a career off YouTube yet. There was no monetisation. He was just doing it out of boredom. That's how terrifying it is.

Phil: I'm a YouTube dinosaur, so yeah, I think definitely I was one of the first ones to do it. And it's crazy that we're still doing it now, 15 years later.

Interviewer: It's basically become a career for you, hasn't it?

Dan: Absolutely. And none of it was planned. It's been a constant, you know, runaway train since day one. And the emergency brake’s gone off a long time ago.

Interviewer: What kind of experiences are you getting to have in your downtime while you're in Australia this time around?

Dan: Well, I wanted to go to the beach and then Phil said there's a high chance we're going to get eaten by a shark. And I was like, a high chance? I don't know about that. And then we asked a guy and he was like, oh, no, they're out there. I see them every week, so...

Phil: I'm hoping to look into the eyes of a wombat and have an emotional connection.

Dan: A deep spiritual moment, ok.

Phil: My favourite animal.

Interviewer: A wombat?

Phil: Yeah, I love a wombat.

Dan: Underrated.

Interviewer: Do you like the hairy-nosed wombat or just the plain old brown one?

Phil: I'm not sure of the difference. Maybe I need to find that out. Maybe that's going to be my quest in Adelaide.

Dan: You need to meet both and make a decision.

Phil: Yeah I will.

Interviewer: Yeah, if you come face-to-face or nose-to-nose even with a hairy-nosed wombat, he's more likely to roll over and let you cuddle his tummy. The other ones have got a wet nose -

Phil: Okay, good to know.

Interviewer: -and they're a little bit more aggressive.

Phil: Okay.

Dan: Sounds like me.

(Interviewer laughs)

Interviewer: Have the audiences been laughing at all the right spots so far?

Dan: Definitely. And they've been laughing at all the inappropriate spots where they're not supposed to as well. So we'll take it. You either have an audience that laughs all the time, even at inappropriate moments, or a quiet one. And I don't want a quiet one.

Phil: Also, the good thing about our show is we try to give everyone a recap of everything that's happened in the last 15 years. So if you're like, oh, I used to watch Dan and Phil a while ago, you can still come along and you're going to get right up to speed.

Dan: We know that people are dragging their husbands, their mothers, their older sisters to the show. And these people are like, what the heck is going on? So don't worry, we covered the base.

Interviewer: Sounds pretty darn good to me. I hope you have a fantastic time in Adelaide and you continue to enjoy yourselves.

Dan: Thank you.

Interviewer: Ride the wave. Don't worry about sharks.

Phil: Excellent. Well, yeah, we're looking forward to it. Thanks. Nice to speak to you.

Interviewer: You too. Cheers, lads. Dan and Phil.

Phil: Cheers!

Dan: Bye.

Interviewer: They'll be at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next Monday coming on the 16th. So if you are keen to see them do their thing live on stage, go and join the masses that have already bought their tickets. Get in while you can.

@dnp-described

[haveihitanerve]

We’re going down, down the sea lads. Hold onto your sheep!

The Lighthouse Commentary- (bc one of you lovelies suggested it :))

Sam’s face immediately starting strong because what XD

“... you cant close up a lighthouse.” Sam’s initial confusion. Oh brother this is gonna be fun…

Luke’s cackling off to the side as Tom grins

“I meant for me.” Quick save AJ, nicely done, very good

“Its quite late.” “it is really late!” Aj sounds ready to genuinely cry, i feel like this was performed at a really late time in real life and AJ wants to go to bed lol 

“Maybe this job isn't for yoUUU!” idk but i like the way he said it- also still feel like they’re referencing the comedy show/real life and not the characters in the play- idk why i feel like this but something about their speaking patterns lmao

“This job is for me!” >:( 

“Lighthouse-man.” “li-lighthouse-man?” “yeah. yeah.” Thats right Aj- stand your ground!

“Im doing this on internship-” “you're doing an internship-” glad you both got to say it boys, really solidified the internship bit, nice

“I've never seen a woman. I don't- what's that?” AJ making everything more drastic and chaotic, perfect, that's what i like to see XD

And breaking Sam along with it, beautiful

“The LIGHT!” reaches for it- ok aj, commit, nice :D

The eyes rolling allllll the way into the back of his head is totally not terrifying-

“The light is great. The light keeps sheeps- ships-sheets-” AJ breaking fully as he explodes a laugh but trying to maintain character at the same time is hilarious he looks like he's shitting XD

“There's nothing like the light of a woman's laughter.” damn sam. That's poetic. If my future partner don't say that i don't want ‘em

Tom’s little sheep mehhrrr is beautiful

“A rumspringa.” Sam purposefully using words he knows AJ doesn't know what they mean- asshole XD

“You know the amish.” “...yeees?” “.Go on.” Sam you menace XD

AJ throwing a glance at Tom for help

“Why are you telling ME to go on? You brought it up!” Fair point, very fair point, Sam’s just being mean lmaoo

Ok AJ does not, in fact, know who Amish are, but its fine, after a quick little giggle break Sam is incorporating a family called Amish into the story, so its fine XD

“Going down… down the sea.” I appreciate his commitment i gotta be honest

“Do- do you mean South?” They just cant let AJ have anything can they? Lol

“Do you know what happened?” Sam: “...i think i can guess” LMAOOO

“Through the smoke..” “the smoke?!?!?” Sam is genuinely concerned lol. “Through the smoke, cause there was fire on the ship.” “oh shit!” Sam did not see that coming XD

“Through the- it was really bad!” Now aj feels the need to explain his story, wonderful 

Luke giving flashback noises, and AJ just repeating them??? Brilliant teamwork boys, 10/10 lol

Tom, of course, cant be excluded: keep going DOWN lads!!! Keep going DOWN the sea!!!

Luke and Tom have casually taken over the scene now XD

“By the way- by “down the sea” do you mean south???” They just really cant let Aj live!!!! Lmaooo

“My brother passed away.��� oh my gods Aj what kind of lore are you giving yourself????

‘“MY SON! MY ONLY SON!” Luke, no no, Aj is still alive- “APART FROM MY OTHER SON!” There you go, now Aj keeps going- “WHO I DON'T RESPECT AT ALL!!!” now that just seems unnecessary - XD

“THE CONSTANT DISAPPOINTMENT!” Oh luke is still going, oka- “I BET HE’D RATHER BE ON FUCKING LAND!!” Luke!!! Let him finish his traumatic backstory about why he wants to be a lighthouse keeper!!!! Come on!!! XD

“So I don't care- bout how fucking great women are!” the smile as he says it because ohhh noo thats not how he meant that to come across at all lmaooo XD

“Im just saying… give it a go.” And that was too much for AJ and we get another quick laugh, beautiful 

Sam casually stealing the chair luke was going to sit on to force him to grab another one lol

“Oh the sheep aren't shitting like they used to.” I love how unwilling they are to let a single mistake go, its absolutely fantastic lol! Also Sam’s sheep impression is spot on

“Daughter.” “oh!” Tom was not expecting that to be his role, but ok then :) 

“Like someones- shutting the curtains randomly!” Side eyes AJ hard 

[sheep panic]

[sheep straining] love how sams automatic reaction is to just do the opposite of what luke said lol

“The sheep are just too inbred.” Sam:... *wait a fucking minute*..? He took that personally lmaooo

“That ones got a mostly bald face.” Luke: *looks at Aj* Sam: *also looks around* Tom: no you you fucking idiots-

[sheep baas] fuck you -sam really did take it personally, but then again, Tom also made it personal XD

“The easen- eastern portion.” “the easen-eastern portion yeah.” Tom XD

“Look at this sheep holding another sheep!” Tom, i just don't think thats what his stagecraft is lol

Sam: *contemplating how to do this*... wasn't what i was going for, but…

Luke's explosion of laughter and the way Tom made direct eye contact with Sam when he said it lol

“Oh no my eyes betray me!” *waits expectantly for a clue as to wtf sam is holding*

“The quality of the wooool is poor.” He really needed to emphasize that word lol.

“Fuck you.” are those the only words this sheep can say???XD

“Going under? You mean its going- “down the sea”??” Tom really missed not being a part of the first scene i think…

“South you might say.” But only might! ;)

“Maybe we could send the sheep?” Tom sounds genuinely surprised that he himself suggested it

“I would be up for, sending the sheep *starts giggling* to be the main character!” *sam preparing himself, fastening up a tie and grabbing his briefcase* “of this story!” i love how both Tom and Sam are fashioning it in a way as though they are asking Luke for permission to do it XD

“Are you sure? Cause i was throwing it out there but..” of course now you backpedal Tom- make it his fault if the plot fails XD- smarttttt

“Why don't we go together?” “ahh fuck.” Sam really hates this storyline lmaooo

“You know i've never seen a man!” Sam’s absolutely done with all of them lmaoooooo

SAM! For legal reasons i will not be transcribing the action he did, but i shall give you the captions- [;)]

“They want one☝️thing!” “And whats that?” “se-ee-ex.” Luke’s disappointed turn around to look at Sam while he barely holds it together XD

“Well where are they gonna get that???” Tom, you beautiful beautiful child, his only purpose right now is to piss off the other three and i adore that for him

HES LITERALLY GIGGLING- this man is too cute omg-

Sam: *in sheep gesticulation* please just send me, i don't care that i have to play two characters in one scene, and that one of them is a sheep, tom is out of his fucking mind, please luke you know its smart- 

Or at least thats what i got from it

Luke’s little giggle and pat of Sam’s arm when Aj cuts their scene 🤧 so cute-

“Whats it like up there?” “Sorry?” *gets terrifyingly close* “whats. It. like. Up. there.” Aj looks disgusted and mildly put off but not totally concerned and i love that for their friendship :) 

“Its fucking dark though.” Luke is bamboozled. “Oh its fuck- you think its fucking dark up there??? With a great big fucking light?!?!” he slipped accents there for a sec and went into distraught Luke lol (i don't think aj knows how a lighthouse works, or what it even is, and if the boys knew that then they are evil and brilliant, and if they didn't then its still amusing as hell XD)

“Shining *starts laughing as AJ also breaks* in your eyes???” AJ is struggling to get the story right lol. “Do you have any idea what you do for a job???” I think Luke is genuinely curious lmaoo

Sam now having to step in because AJ has confused him too much so he has to clarify it too XD they're such idiots and i adore it

Tom joining the scene because he feels left out- classic

“Ill settle this honey-” oh sam 🫣

“NO IT WAS-” “AAAEEHHUUHUHAA!” Mocking each other like proper siblings XD this is the best thing ever

“I just wanted some fresh air :(“ leave him alone sam! “In the basement.” ofc the last jabbed parting words XD

AJ’s annoyed grin. “Alright- fucking- im outside now!” LMAOOOO

“Will you stop standing with your hooves on your hips?” Sam: *casually strikes a pose and baas annoyingly with a grin because he knows itll piss Tom off more* XD

Again, for legal reasons, not going to transcribe that 😑

“Excuse me-?” “oh!” Tom’s little gasp that makes Luke have to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop laughing. Gorgeous boys 

“Its a man..” The quiet awe- tom you're brilliant omg never change

“What the fuck are you?” YESS!!!! Both sides XD this is the best thing in my life 

“You're- you're a woman.” even tom cant stop his grin- they are such cuties omfg-

“Supposed to be a man are you?” Sam, never one to let an insult aimed at AJ go unnoticed: [baaa] nice ✋

“Thats right im a lighthouse keeper.” “[baa] what?” Sam cocking his head because wow Aj you just casually stole his job and lied to the first woman you've ever met. Tsk tsk

“Whats your name?” “poppy.” ok aj you're off the hook because now Sam is looking at Tom judgmentally lmaooo

“Oh its cause your sisters called poppy oh alright.” ….. Excuse me for one second. *leaves to go scream into the void* im back….. They just FUCKING- KNOW?>?????? THE NAME OF HIS SIST- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH *im gonna go die of cuteness for one sec gimme a moment* idk why but the subtle reminders they are friends and actually know each other kill me. Anyway carry on-

Luke loosing it as Tom connects the dots and Tom motioning the “gears turning” to AJ to try and get him to get it too XD

(Atp they've just abandoned the “yes, and?” joke and started a “aj said one thing wrong once and now we’re gonna make this entire play all about it” and honestly, im here for it)

Also atp they're just competing to see who can make Sam stay in the scene and stand the longest and who can annoy the others the most and i am even more here for that lol

“My dad named me after the sheep.” the way Sam’s tongue is in his cheek as he watches Tom incorporate it into the story and his slow turn away

“Shes an old sheep now.” Sams eyebrows shoot into his hairline

“My names Clint.” “Clint?” Tom’s eyebrows are also in his hairline. “Are you sure?” (psst, Master Ybobb! Its bobby)

Tom treating Sam’s [baaing] as the translator game and just going off the rails lmaoo

“But the lights inside the curtain.” and thats too much for Sam- the way he leans against Tom for emotional support is so cute- 😭💗

Sam is soooo close to ripping his hair out, Tom is thoroughly enjoying whatever the hell i going on, and Luke is just laughing at them all

“Are all men this stupid?” Sam’s head bob as he points to Aj- help😭 hes trying his best guys! (seriously tho, what does Aj think a lighthouse is?)

“Are all women like you?” AJ had to come up with something didn't he lol

“Im just trying to be a good lighthouse keeper and im new at it!” poor baby. “Well you're clearly not.” ooooooohhhhhh. Damn tom. Ruthless

“My sheep will deal with you.” Smart Tom, very smart

AJ just casually stemming his hand against Sam’s forehead XD

“One.. two… three.” Sam, baby i just don't think hes gonna pick up on that 😭

“Im not sure whats happening.” yeah…

“Oh please know what this is.” Sam sounds genuinely distressed, poor guy😭😂

More cocaine, poor sam 

Sam and Tom are done with him 😭

“I've just got this bitch here-” AJ thoroughly enjoyed caling Tom that lol XD

“You cheeky fuck.” Aj though he could sit down lol

“Its nice to have a female presence in the lighthouse.” “thank you.” Turns judgmentally to Aj

“Your intern? Your INTERN, is it?” wow Tom, not holding back at all, very nice XD

[one more!] audience member i love you- especially because its funny but also because it made luke laugh lol

“Someones right on the rule of three :D” *seems genuinely overjoyed at this fact* “don't give it to em” “I wont!” oh come on guys!! “Make them wait for it!” thank you sam “Ill make them wait- THE INTERN!” diva turn and he gave us what we wanted, perfection

Ajs grin when it happens too, Sam might be suffering, but the other three are thoroughly enjoying this lol

“By the way whats his name?” “clint.” oh no sam not you too!

“Clint.” Tom sounds so judgy 😭

Sam: they say his father was a sea-men Tom: *eyebrows shoot up, then back down* thats how all little boys are made, aye

TOM!!! XD

“Sorry who- who offered you any part of it? I DIDN'T OFFER YOU ANY PART OF IT!” gorgeous work tom, flawless

“But he never talks about his mum.” guys, its almost the end of the play, why are we adding more plot???

“It seems like you want to give me some sort of backstory.” some people might call this meta, but if i were having a convo with a dude and they said this line, i would also think they want to give me backstory lol

“The light!” “the curtains!” at least they picked up on both stagecrafts. “Why would that make any difference?” “why both-?” “why both?” “why not just one of those things- *starts laughing*” they really cant let aj rest at all can they?? Lol

“Now the light isn't getting in from the outside!” Tom’s spin, now hes starting to get a little done with AJ just like Sam lol! “Oh! If only the curtains were open, this lightbulb would be giving light!” poor AJ 😭😂

“-head like a fucking egg-” fully breaks character and shatters the fourth wall XD

“Hey you! You bald fucker!” Sam: *gasps as though he hasn't just said the literal exact thing only slightly less bluntly* :0

“Yes? Can i help you?” Luke annoyed now too, glorious XD

“Grant i don't need you, fuck off grant.” “i feel like we've bullied him a lot today.” you don't say XD Lukes helpless shrug. “I know but hes pissed me off!” I love the way Aj just stays out of frame lol- hes not getting involved until he has to 

“You called me a bald fucker.” AJ’s strut onto the stage is iconic “i've got a whole head of hair in this scene you little twat.” Luke and Aj both laughing at each other- cuties. 

“Hey!” now Tom joins, because the scene wasn't chaotic enough. “What are you calling this 6’5 muscular powerhouse a little twat for?!?!” XD i cant anymore-

“Im gonna leave again!” you do that King

[sheep running off a cliff]

[sheep landing SPECTACULARLY]

“The one who gets made fun of. *brilliant mocking of Sam follows, beautiful*” theyre such siblings your honor its wonderful

“Stupid egg!” Sam’s cackle off stage is amazing

“What do you mean they make fun of you?” AJ’s grin as he circles luke- luke you literally started the scene with “you bald fucker!” like come on, XD

“James, the lighthouse keeper. And this new *starts laughing* bitch woman that i just met!” 

“I hope you're not talking about my daughter!?!?” “Was she tall?” “Aye.” “like freakishly tall-” trying desperately to level the playing field XD help aj- 

“Aye, like me! 6’5!” Luke really enjoyed Tom’s addition didn't he lol

“Weirdly tall.” “yeah yeah yeah, weirdly tall yeah. HUGE adams apple.” oh so now theyre teaming up on tom, i see, i see- theyre such fucking siblings dude XD

*laughing at their skilled insults together*

“My mother was wonderful.” “...okay.” yeah Luke, just smile and nod, good plan, who knows what to answer to that in these situations because i sure don't

“It seems like you wanna give us some sort of backstory…” sneaky sam, sneaky sneaky…

*exits while baaaing* AJ: *no no, we cant let this go* no you come here *the finger flick he does- help* Luke: *because he is a gremlin agent of chaos* no no you come here,

Poor sam doesn't get a break from a single scene 😭 thats what he gets for trying to be a cheeky sneaky little shit tho lmaooo

“She said “go.” *makes direct eye contact* “go down the sea.” yes AJ!!! SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

Sam singing quietly in the background, not sure what hes singing but its great, adds ambiance

“Anyway what’d you want?” *forgets what scene hes in* “Im having a stroke over here.” luke please help him out XD

“It was my wife.” *dramatic gasp* Sam: *obliterates the fourth wall as a sheep* what a twist

“Good thing he didn't fuck your daughter.” Sam go back to being a sheep and baaing please-

AJ’s small smile as he appreciates Sam’s joke

“I wish this sheep would run off a fucking cliff.” getting his anger out for all the jokes XD

LUke laughing- with the tongue in his cheek- ahh hes so cute

Sam just flipping Aj off and making him laugh before finally getting to leave a scene XD

“Mario come back!” Tom having drag Sam from the chair because fucks sake he just got to sit down- but nope! Hes gotta be in every scene lmaoooo

“You're gonna be here til the bitter end.” Sam’s head hang of sadness as Tom breaks the fourth wall lol

“Father, have i missed some plot details?” I fear you might've poppy. Also sam rubbing his nose as an aside to pretend seeking cocaine again, brilliant

“I saw you die that day.” “no- no” “no-” “oh gods.” they're all so disappointed its wonderful XD

“Ill use all my human bits okay?” So the inbred joke did grant some uses didn't it Sam?

“Whats wrong with your sheep?” AJ taking joy in pointing out their mistakes now lol

“We gotta finish this show in five minutes-” Sam is done lmaoooo

“Im getting madness from the lighthouse-” The way sam pauses his struggle to actually laugh at that and grabs AJ’s waist, idk why i guess he just needed to hold onto someone to keep from falling apart at the seams-

“I am a sheep. *deep inhale* I’m gonna do some cocaine.” i think that was just sam and not sheep sam… XD

Sam: *finally gets to sit down* “You are my half son-” Sam: *fuck* no- no- no -NO

“You- nothing- NOTHING!” real sam coming out again… lmaooo

“So you, you're my cousin!” Tom fully understood what was happening, he was the only one who remembered bobby’s name- he was just being a litte shit and i fully believe that- AJ’s grin reveals he knows it too- fuckng hell- and Luke’s little jump as he screams “NO!” is adorable

AJ and Tom grinning at each other like dorks while Sam loses it and Luke tries to separate them

“WILL YOU-” AJ and Tom making eye contact and nodding, because hell yeah this bit’ll get ‘em goooood “MARRY ME?!?!” 

Sam explodes, Luke finally decides to end the chaos, and Tom and AJ are thoroughly enjoying themselves

Tom’s little backrub for Sam at the end… awwww

And luke’s consoling pat as AJ just grins and Sam tries not to murder them all XD

@flamingbluepanda @snek-of-eden @dawn-speckled

Sooooo an alternate title for the video could just be “Four Best Friends Competing to Piss Each Other Off The Most” but, y'know, i like The Lighthouse too. 

Anyway this was one of the most chaotic, belly aching, cheeks hurting play of theirs i have seen up to date and i loved every minute of it. AJ was just adding more plot and plotholes, Tom’s only goal was to antagonize everyone who stepped into his line of vision, (specifically Sam), Luke was somewhat trying to follow the plot but mainly just going for insults and gremlin activities, and Sam was losing his mind. :) beautiful. 10/10. 

(also, the way that this is one of the only plays where they forget to say “and hopefully an end” is kinda ironic lmaoo)

anyway hope you enjoyed it as much as i did :)

[wisteriagoesvroom]

📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️

been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!

just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.

'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁

p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡 

let's gooooo--

objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight) charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e

listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)

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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison) charles/max. 40k words, rated e

max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.

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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris) oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e

this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.

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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire) oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t

leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*

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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g

max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.

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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e

i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.

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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs) george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e

i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.

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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george) charles/max, 16k words, rated e

i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.

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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint) nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g

also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.

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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.

p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛

BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)

xoxo, -- wizz

[medicetwork]

Mercs if they had modern day cellphones!

Heavy:

The screen is too small and his fingers are too big.

The screen also tends to hurt his eyes after a while but he absolutely refuses to turn down the brightness, saying it would make it even harder to see than before

His main favorite functions are video calls with Medic or his family and listening to music.

His life is complete when he discovers E-books

He can’t read them on the screen but he loves being able to clean Sasha while having his favorite book read to him

Medic:

Really doesn’t use it for much else than phone calls and the occasional google search at first

When he discovers mobile games that takes his interest though!

He becomes a candy crush mom.

Oh you have a broken arm? Wellll…You can tough it out, champ. He’s on level 7,229 right now.

He would make all the other men get Life360

Scout:

Total social media zombie(I say as if I am not one)

Surprisingly he’s very popular on apps like Twitter and Tik Tok. People think he’s hilarious!

Unfortunately somewhere along the way he says something less than respectful about something and his account gets banned

Eventually he’s on account number 6 and trying to regrow his following

It never recovers

He finds out about NFT’s

Sniper:

Mainly uses it to watch youtube and play music

His phone is always on silent and Do Not Disturb

He loves those videos where those guys go out into the middle of the woods and just start building a fucking house out of clay and sticks.

He prefers texting to calling, finding it much faster(he just like me fr)

Baffled by just how much porn he has access to now….

But he’s not complaining.

Soldier:

He doesn’t use it because he just keeps breaking his phones.

They’ve been dropped, blown up, set ablaze, dropped in water, eaten by a bread-tumor monster, eaten by Soldier(???) and run over.

Even if they didn’t get destroyed within 3 days he still wouldn’t use it for much else besides setting alarms and sending confusing group texts.

However, with each new phone he has gotten he asks Pyro for stickers and sticker bombs his phone just for fun

Has an American flag wallpaper

Pyro:

Watches a lot of Youtube!

They love art tutorials, cooking tutorials and those videos with the guys that put molten hot metal balls into water and those videos of people crushing things in Hydraulic presses

Their search history is so fucking strange:

“my little pony free episode”

“my little pony movie free”

“how to draw clouds”

“gasoline cheap prices”

They follow Scout’s pages and always send him nice comments and like his videos

Engineer:

Loves listening to music and watching movies on his phone

Eventually learns how to code and make his own apps

This is also how he discovered he could jailbreak his phone and turn it into a universal remote for his sentries

Very slow texter

Uses way more emoji’s than needed

“Hello yall 👋🏻 going to the hardware store today 🔨let me know if yall need anything while im out👋🏻🚶🏼”

His most used app is the settings app

Spy:

Of course all of his phones are burners.

He never uses one for more than one week

Loves pirating movies on it and watching them in bed

He has no contacts. No personal information and keeps his location off at all times

Likes to pretend to be different people and play around with Google and Youtube’s targeted ads and algorithms

One day he’s an 86 year old woman that’s recommended nothing but metal bands and funeral home ads

The next week he’s four years old and getting recommended Mario and Minecraft let’s play videos

He uses twitter

He’s doxxed many people on Twitter

Like Scout he has MANY banned accounts and has also hacked and stolen many accounts

…He hacked one of Scout’s accounts and got it permanently banned

Demoman:

Loves watching Top 10 videos

Also loves having so much ease and access talking to his lads

He video calls his mother often even she just nags him the whole time and keeps accidentally hanging up

Is frequently texting the other team’s Soldier and laughing at what he says back

Uses Discord and Reddit and is in many servers and communities that focus on paranormal activity, urban legends and cryptids

Actually makes his own youtube videos searching for said cryptids

Frequently comments “cringe” under Scout’s posts

[tavolgisvist]

We didn’t think of Merseyside as special in those days, and didn’t really appreciate the emerging talents of the Beatles, we were just too busy getting on with our lives, I suppose. Actually, the London groups playing in the Cavern were much more appealing, and had super accents!! I was visiting one at the Cavern one night when the Beatles passed by in their break. The room was only 10 feet by 10 feet, so they graciously moved me aside while they had a ciggie on their break.

I was dating a disc jockey, Clem Crabtree of the Iron Door Club, which was located next to the Cavern. This was where we met one grey rainy day, for coffee. Alone, we envisioned a peaceful and romantic interlude in the tiny, empty ballroom. However within five minutes we were rudely interrupted by four belligerent lads, complete with sets of drums, wires and microphones they set up their ‘gear’ amid exaggerated noise and laughter.

Clem loudly shouted as we departed, "give them a job and they get big headed!" The Beatles were unfazed.

Another incident at the club, involved a loud pounding at the door one evening, Clem as night manager excused himself, in order to investigate. Upon returning, he explained that a lad named Ringo was frantically trying to gain entry in order to join his ‘band,’ but obviously was in the wrong club. He raced next door to the Cavern, albeit late for his ‘gig!’ Clem just shook his head in disbelief. <…> During one of Clem’s work nights at the Tower Ballroom where he was a disc jockey, we spotted the Beatles arriving for their ‘gig.’ Four little black headed figures in black leather jackets were coming to the stage to ‘set up.’

They owed Clem money, three pounds to be exact. The conversation became heated, so out of curiosity I joined them.

My boyfriend demanded repayment, and did all the talking as they humbly bowed their heads, barely saying a word. Paul suddenly pulled out the lining of his pockets and said “sorry we don’t have it mate. Honest!"

The Cavern became a Mecca for the local students. It was a small underground cellar of an old warehouse, in a dark dismal alley. At night it became a sea of faces and bright lights. Our front, folding metal seats often vibrated with the pounding music.

Groups from London often played the Cavern and seemed more prestigious than our local lads, at this time.

The floor literally shook as we sat dangerously close. It seemed that Ringo and his drums would bounce from this tiny stage, and land in our laps at any given moment.

Ringo’s musical talents were impressive, although his silly vacant expression was hilarious. He spent many an evening ‘making eyes’ and pursing his huge lips in my direction as my friend and I danced the twist!

My sister Jean admonished, "if you ever bring HIM home, your mother will choke you!"

As an art student, I worked part time at the Tower Ballroom café as a cashier. The lads often brought their trays laden with cellophane packaged goodies through the check out. Ringo’s attempts at flirtation were more amusing than annoying!

Remembering my sister’s warning, I remained aloof!

Manning the Tower spotlight one evening was John, the manager’s son. He fell for every girl who showed him attention, and was smitten with me for around two weeks. On this particular night, he ‘spotlighted’ myself and a friend several minutes at a time while we danced, leaving the "Fab Four" in total darkness.

The language and yelling, which emanated from the dark and gloomy stage was unprintable!

Paul especially, reacted angrily when the swooning teenage girls excitedly grabbed his ankles in an almost successful attempt to extricate him from the stage. He became ‘heated’ quickly, and his language was crude leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

John was more patient but prone to being quick tempered and very sarcastic.

Ringo the ‘clown’ was dopey, adorable, and silly.

George was painfully shy and kept quietly to himself, barely raising his head to ‘view’ his surroundings.

I was a sensitive sixteen year old. My best friend Diane and I enjoyed a rum and blackcurrant in the Tower bar one evening. We were seated in the almost empty room next to the Beatles. Shortly an ex boyfriend entered. He was a bouncer for the Tower, we were not on speaking terms, so he loudly stated that at sixteen I was underage and had to leave.

The group of four at the next table snickered, giggled and nudged each other as I made a hasty albeit humiliated retreat, glass in hand.

(Rag Days, Beatles & the Tower by Glen Vollmecke for Mersey Beat)

[macybeckham7]

Reader works for England, both men and women’s team, and she is well known for being like a sunshine and everyone loves her. During the tournament she is seen riding the bike and being ‘flirty’ with Jude, and then they celebrate after games and then she comforts him after the lose but you both make it clear that you are work mates and friends

Ugh can we please get a a full length version of this it was so good

part one

‘There you are’ Stonesy smiles at you as you walk into the chill out area, he pulls you into his arms and smiles over at Jude who was playing table tennis with Trent. ‘Do you have a favourite player? Because alot of people think it’s Jude’ he says while Kyle, Phil and Luke look at you. ‘I don’t do favourites’ you tell them which just gains eye rolls from them. ‘I treat you assholes all the same’ you claim which makes them laugh. Stonesy wasn’t happy as he claims that he thinks you prefer ‘golden balls’. ‘I’m jealous’ he admits as you walk away from him. Everyone has started to notice the two of your friendships, how you seemed close to all the lads but even closer to the number 10. During the Lions Den your name gets mentioned quite a few times as the guys say it’s nice to have you around, with ‘sunshine’ and ‘little sister’ was being thrown about. After the final with you looking out for Jude, you post photos of the guys throughout the tournament, most people commenting a ship name of your names combined. No matter how many times you say you were just friends, they didn’t believe you and it didn’t help that Trent found it hilarious. A month went by and Jude had been trying to get ahold of you, you both spoke about going on holiday together. But you hadn’t answered the messages or calls. ‘I think everyone has pushed her off me’ he says looking sad. For him he did find comfort from you, you were so happy go lucky and it was nice to see you when he was feeling uncertain. He hated that everyone shipped you and didn’t believe that a guy and a girl couldn’t be innocently friends. So when you were reunited at an International dinner, he spots you sat next to Leah Williamson, you notice him walking over to you and you try to stay calm. ‘Thought you had dropped off the edge of the earth’ he jokes as he kneels down beside you, when you look at him he was giving you his smile that made everyone swoon. ‘I am sorry you got swept into a shit storm’ he tells you honestly. He tells you that he doesn’t want to lose you as the tournament was one of the best times of his life as well as career and that was down to you. ‘Us against the world’ he smiles as you wrap your little fingers together.

[alexandraisyes]

What happened in TSBS Discord server?

Oh god. A lot.

Someone ( @polaris-stuff ) decided to "rally the troops" so to speak about the post I made yesterday about "What if I could write for TSAMS". And they have just completely fucking infiltrated my thread.

It's fucking hilarious. But also terrifying? Like stars, there are so many people in there showing very loud verbal support about actually putting me on the team when the post I made was just a silly little "what if" situation. Like don't get me wrong, I am beyond flattered, and if somehow the VAs saw and heard that would literally be the funniest outcome possible. But also I had no idea that people enjoyed my writings (collectively, both for the show, my own FNAF stuff, and fanfics) that much.

Polaris has asked me not to talk on the thread for a bit while it goes down for the sake of mediation, but the urge. Ough the urge to go call them all mad lads is strong. Because it very much does feel like madness to me, I'm just a guy fr. I'm a little fucked up in the head and sometimes I say something profound, but I'm still just a guy. I'll probably get cleared to yap at all of them later today, but I'm honestly just curious as to what the fuck they're planning in their entirety to interrupt them. While they do whatever they're doing I'm just gonna be catching up on the lore so I can burst in there with my usual 10-20 pages of analysis and yapping once they're done with their schtick.

[thezoneoftruth]

hi hello for the love of god hello

#1. my personal dislike for this episode should not be equated to:

1a. disliking silly episodes unrelated to the plot

1b. not understanding the references or jokes

1c. bashing the second season

1d. missing the point and spirit of the dndads podcast as a whole

#2. the most aggregious sin this episode commits is that it’s mostly boring with milquetoast funny moments

2a. dndads is audio entertainment, i was just not entertained and that’s ok

2b. we are strangers, my personal boredom of this episode will not stop you from enjoying it yourself

2c. i’m much more excited for the next episode bc good or bad, at least i know it’ll be engaging

#3. stop sending me weirdly aggressive anons

3a. it’s annoying & idc to read some of your novels

3b. if you can’t find your answer or a possible reply in this post, your ask is too off the walls even for me

today’s episode was…..a choice…….

[duchess-of-oldtown]

HotD Thoughts Season 2, Episode 4 "The Red Dragon and the Gold"

Just clarifying, these are my own thoughts, you don't like them, don't bother telling me so. Also, I'm not a book purist, I like adaptions taking putting their own spin on things - if it makes sense to do so. So, here were my thoughts. Obvs, this post is dark and full of spoilers.

Daemon's nightmare sequences are top notch for ambience but can we dispense with the whole Daemon vs Rhaenyra?

We are getting The Lads.

Just Oscar being Oscar. Simon patting his lil shoulder.

I love Rhaenys hair this season.

Also her interaction with Alyn was excellent. There's so much unsaid but relayed and it's masterful.

The Grand Maester being slick af.

But Alicent firing off loaded questions, girl why are you trying to get the man beheaded??

Baela and Jace, serving face and the country.

BAELA READ THAT OLD MAN

Did we really need Corlys stepping into the Council just when Rhaenys was about to headbutt that old man?

I would have really liked to have seen Duskendale.

Lord Darklyn, reading that Cole Bitch, is top short king behaviour

Gwayne still being a lil bitch is iconic

Aegon throwing a tantrum at the Small Council, you kinda have to feel sorry for him, he is trying his best.

Aemond and Aegon fighting over the pins was peak sibling behaviour.

Aegon not knowing better Valyrian just makes me sad.

The Small Council watching them fight was hilarious, it's like Judgement Wimbledon

Alicent making ye olde heating pad

Larys "Feet Finder" Strong is really giving "m'lady" vibes today and it's giving me the eugh.

I did not care for the "Daemon-Aemond".

I just got to say it, Alys is too funny to end up with Aemond.

The Small Council are hilarious, they just don't give a fuck

Aegon vs Alicent was cruel because on one hand, he's really trying to do his best but he doesn't know how to do better and then he tells his mom and she just reads him, because she's hurting. It's giving Nero and Agrippina.

Criston Cole is that one manager who sees you finishing up early and decides to do a deep clean

Rhaenys, the Queen who never Was but Stood on Business.

Rhaenyra telling Jace about the Song of Ice and Fire is just *chef kiss*

This is why we needed more dragon time. Meleys and Rhaenys bonding, Sunfyre and Aegon bonding, it makes us care about the dragons too. We need more time with them.

Vhagar just needs naps, let her sleep. But the scene of her waking just reminds me of Jurassic Park.

Sunfyre is so pretty.

Rhaenys deciding to fucking end Aegon

ACTUAL DRAGON FIGHTING

The size difference of the three dragons, it just shows how terrifying they all are.

RHAENYS, I know how this ends but still, you're throwing fucking down, Visenya, Rhaenys, Rhaena and Alysanne would be proud of you

The little belt thing, FORESHADOWING

Meleys looking at her Rhaenys and Rhaenys looking at her 😔😔😔

FUCKING AEMOND AND HIS STEALTH ATTACKS

RHAENYS YOU DIED ADMIST FIRE AND BLOOD AND WE NEVER COULD REPLACE YOU

A thousand arrows, a hundred fleeing soldiers, two dropped dragons, a decimated field and CRISTON COLE IS STILL FUCKING ALIVE

Sunfyre protecting Aegon 🥺🥺🥺

Rating: 9.8/10

[ghostsandmirrors]

DO ME my url lol

Send me your URL and I'll tell you...

(under read more for length)

...My Opinion on; Character in general: I love Wanda, man. she got fucked up by the MCU writers and didn't deserve it at all but she's still like... one of the best and yours is one of my fave versions though I've only rped with like 3 Wandas but still. I usually put that in the next section but that bitch is already going to be too damn long.

How they play them: for people to fully understand the scope of how long we've been following each other in one form or another; I remade Bucky's solo blog in like what? 2018? and we were mutuals over there, then I made this blog in 2019 and we became mutuals again, and then you made your blog again and we became mutuals again. I would not have stayed mutuals with you across both my blogs and yours for this long if I didn't like your version of Wanda or how you write her.

I think you're one of the like three people since I started this blog whose threads I've read because I love your Wanda, man. I love her. she's hilarious in any thread (the little 'oh fuck' in the one with agentsterling tickled me) and she's so cute in every single thread we've had, and ofc it's because of how you write her. the word choices in her dialogue, the actions, even just the way your posts flow. it creates her in such a way that she feels so Wanda but also so your version of her, if that makes like any sense at all.

I wish I read more of your threads. but also I want to say that my favourite part I've read of anyones' threads is probably Wanda calling Ghostface 'Daddy' because that shit's hilarious. I read it at the time and then I went back to read more shit so I could ramble about how goddamn good your writing it and it's somehow funnier the second time round, I think because I forgot. I forgot she did that. it's so good.

we don't even thread that much, I just like watching her occasionally pop up on my dash and going 'hell yea'.

it's 5:32am at time of writing this bit here. Idk what the fuck you expected when you sent this.

The Mun: ok firstly, ilu but also for anyone else seeing this, I gotta tell them.

so, 'hoy lads, listen; this cursed motherfucker sent me some fuckin tiktok and I don't even remember what the fuck it was but it made me reconsider having a tumblr blog for a good minute or two.

but also I said 'goose mommy' and didn't get blocked so I love this mun. 10/10.

nevermind. I remember what it was. 0/10. I'm blocking you. /big jk I would never.

Do I: RP with them: I don't think so. unless you count the measuring as a thread which would be very funny. 'yeah we rp but our only thread rn is bucky measuring his dick and wanda trying to guess the length in inches.'

... we 100% have a thread rn and it's that one.

Want to RP with them: always. I don't have a single specific idea, I just want to write with you.

What is my; Overall Opinion: the mun is a babe and the muse is incredible and one time you helped with the Spanish on Duo's DBD verse so I'm forever in your debt. also you and Wanda gives me the vibes of like, 'canon couldn't give you what you deserve so I'm gonna do it' and as someone who did the same damn thing with Bucky, who watched l-ethiferous do the same with Danny, hell yeah. give her everything she deserves.

gonna go piss on the lawn outside the mouse's house, too. (for legal reasons, this is a joke; idk where the mouse lives.)

[cheesecakeislazy]

Disventure Camp All Stars Episode 19 opinions-

Spoiler Warning!! This post is short cause this episode was meh

SO ITS JUST CANON THAT JAMES AND AIDEN FUCK IN THE MOTEL? OKAY. 😀

I’m not a Jaiden shipper so this episode to me was to see if they could finally give James a personality. No, they didn’t. Again, James is made for fanservice. What are his personality traits again? Dates Aiden, Loves Aiden, Would Do Anything For Aiden, Social Media Star, Is Kind. WHAT THE FUCK IS HIS PERSONALITY?!

Despite it being canon- Jaiden isn’t even in my top 5 DCAS ships. On the other hand- I really missed my lad Tom (TwT)

So glad that we got some Tom screentime, and you Jam/TomJake shippers are going crazy because he finally admitted to still being in love with Jake- #NotMyShipButSlayIGuess

TomJake is in my top 3 favorite ships, but nothing is beating Jakeden. There’s chemistry that isn’t forced, it’s not just fanservice, it can’t be destroyed by ONC and make it canon. ONC was too pussy to make TessxAllyxHunter canon, so they wouldn’t even dare think of shipping two twinks together!!! 😱😱

This episode was decent- made me chuckle a bit, there were some good Aiden lines. And the scene of Jake? Hilarious. Which now means, in my fanfic? Jake is going to be EVEN MORE terrified of James being his helper >:)

Also “I’m only doing this for Aiden..” DO YOU DO ANYTHING NOT FOR HIM?! PLEASE GIVE THIS MAN A PERSONALITY!! HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE CRUMBS!! FEED THE POOR “FLESHED OUT” CHARACTER!!!

Anyways all in all this was a mid episode, 7/10. Aiden and Tom carried this episode and Grett burning Yul’s face made it 10x better. I’m actually gonna start working on chapter two of my fanfic because the show is boutta end and I haven’t even gotten to chapter two yet 😅

[ordinaryschmuck]

And now here's a current ranking of the Modern Doctors

This is just based on the ones I've seen. I've just recently started watching the classic Doctor Who episodes and will give more of an official ranking another time....Anyways...

#13. No offense to the actress. She nailed the goofy, eccentric scientist who will fight with her last breath...but never had any good material to work with. It's a shame that she never had a good head writer, really...

#9. His appearance was off-putting, but he set out to justify both his and the revival's existence, doing FANTASTIC at it when bringing The Doctor bringing the modern era. I just wish he didn't look so...early 2000s.

#12. He started off too cynical, but really grew on me as his run went on. Peter Capaldi got to live the fan's dream, wanting to be a companion but ended up as The Doctor and having the time of his LIFE with it. He got the quips, the hilarious moments, and the speeches that made his Doctor great. I absolutely loved his final speech before the regeneration, saying the things that The Doctor and a true fan would want the next one to be...It's a shame that 13 wasn't a lot of those things, but she at least tried her best. And so did 12.

#10/14. Might as well lump these two together because they're basically the same. David Tennant's IRRADIATING charm where he could say anything and I'd be smiling. Plus, his off-the-wall maniac energy was a delight, and you can tell Tennant had the time of his life with every scene he's in, stealing the show at every opportunity. It was great to see him as Ten, it was a great surprise to have back as Fourteen, and it really is brilliant to use him as this transitional Doctor before the next guy takes over. Got to draw fans back in after five years of crap before making The Doctor Black (which some are likely already upset about for dumb reasons).

And #11. My GOODNESS, #11. He's just so...GOOFY, and I love it! Matt Smith has Tennant's enjoyment in the role turned up to eleven (ha), with him being this mad lad that brought a ton of humor but still a lot of heart and badassery. He'll leave you chills as he intimidates an enemy and leaves you laughing as he treats his bowtie as the most important thing in the universe. I couldn't get enough of him, and 11 will always be how I picture The Doctor no matter what face he takes next.

Speaking of new faces, 15 is already off to a great start. I just love how he's almost always smiling, as if he's experiencing life for the first time with new eyes and is having the time off his life with every facet of it. I can't wait to see 15 in a leading role and we get to see how well he'll do for this new age of Doctor Who. I'll be waiting with every episode, and it feels SO GOOD to finally say that again.