#Ditch The Script

[wickedzeevyln]

✮ Clone ✮

“You don’t want to be left out in the cold, do you? Is that a nod? I thought so. Wise decision. Now shrink. Eyes on the ground. Drown your voice out.”They hiss behind your ears, poison the well where your aspirations come for a drink, and do the thinking for you. Don’t trust your own judgment. You’ve been warned. You are intravenously fed with ideas of which the interest compounds over time until…

[kod-lyoko]

now what is happening

[gothimgem]

okay but drakengard 2 has become a comedy to me at this point like my sides are hurting

[daz4i]

it's been awhile since i was in any production i forgor how much of it - esp when you're close to the end - is just. doing the same things over and over again. maybe changing outfits sometimes. Man

[misterbaritone]

Ok so Young Neil is making a movie based on the events of the book/film as they should’ve went. That feels me with uncertain feelings

[lizziesfirstwife]

YES!! Grace us with your masterpiece :P

Guardian Angel

jinu x fem!reader

warnings: hints of yearning, depressed themes, obsessed jinu?, clueless reader, use of Y/N, slow burnnn, suggestive language, not proof-read

word count: 3140

authors note: this is my first fic in a long time, so please bear with me as english isn’t my first language. have as much fun reading this as I had writing this! <3

preview to part 2 moodboard for part 2

Part 2

Jinu hated Sundays. 

Sunday was the one day of the week when most of the population made it comfortable at home, not putting a single foot outside. There was nothing wrong with it being Sunday itself. A few lone pedestrians stretched through the alleys of the metropolis, mostly nurses who had the bad luck of having to work on weekends and teen groups who used the calmness of the city to hang out undisturbed. 

Jinu hated Sundays more than anything.

They were quiet, forcing one to think about all the things that seemingly went wrong the past 6 days. He didn't want to think. A normal person would have used a free Sunday to meet up with their relatives, or spend a spa day in front of the TV. 

The deeper Jinu sank into his thoughts, the more dense and dark the clouds in the sky above him became. He wasn't human. He shouldn't think about whether it was worth getting up in the morning, if it was worth carrying on with the small flame of hope he managed to sustain all these centuries. 

Contrary to all religious and folklore beliefs, demons needed sleep. Jinu slept, but didn't dream. And he was glad. Because not even demons are immune to the ghosts of their past that haunt them. 

The road was clean, the puddles from last night's thunderstorm still deep in the ditch.  

He had swapped his usually colorful clothes for something dark. No colorful pants, no colorful shirt. It didn't seem right to him. He was lost in the small crowd of the city, blending in too well as if he were one of them. One of many aimless figures desperately seeking their meaning in life. 

Sunday was the day Jinu dreaded the most. Not just because it left him alone with his thoughts, but because of the people. Or rather the lack of them. 

Nobody went out on Sundays. Hardly anyone. Not even in this big city, where new gambling stores opened every day and small businesses had to close because the rents were too high. 

The people worked so much, that they spent the time they had left with their families. He wondered what it was like to come home to a warm meal, how it felt to spend time with people who expected nothing from you in return for their acceptance. He wanted to be accepted, deep down. But acceptance was a luxury. Tolerance was a prosperity that was easier to uphold, easier to manipulate. 

Sundays were the most unprofitable days for the soul hunters. Many stores closed on Sundays, almost no activity available for the lost souls of this city. 

And out in the vast emptiness of the city it was too dangerous to do what needed to be done. 

A warm light. Large white letters in cursive script.

✮⋆˙

Had the flour expired? The lettuce leaves looked strangely shriveled, didn't they? 

She had a feeling she would get fired soon because of the action with the cupcakes, but if not, her voluntary letter of resignation would be typed and sent away faster than she needed to get up in the morning. It was supposed to be a part-time job to finance her studies, a shitty minimum wage job as an untrained bakery employee. She had no idea how to even bake bread, because the last time she tried, she almost lost a tooth. 

But she knew how to get cinnamon buns out of the packaging, or how to make a sandwich with instructions. 

She loved Sundays. 

No one wanted to work on Sundays, which meant much-needed bonuses and an exceptionally quiet shift. Working in customer service was not for the light-hearted.

Yesterday, she tried a new hair styling cream that was supposed to have some kind of magical bonding system in it. Allegedly even Zoey from Huntix used it. Y/N was frustrated with her hair. Wearing it up every day for work and the heat from the dozen ovens didn’t help care for it. So she tried it out.

Only for her hair to end up in a low wispy bun this morning anyway. Work rules and such things. 

Y/N sighed. Luckily it was Sunday. That meant that after her shift ended, she could take home all the left over baked goods that didn’t sell that day. 

She wasn’t poor, she still had her parents sending her a bit of money every month. But she didn’t have a job yet. A real job, not this forced university funding job. A job which she could only apply to with her degree in archeology. 

Everyone has told her she wouldn’t find a job in the field, that only the far more experienced archaeologist experts would be getting booked on excavation sites.  Y/N sighed and dumped the weird smelling flour in the trash can under the front desk. 

She knew they were right. Surviving as an archeologist in South Korea was harder than in the USA or Europe, where she would’ve had better job prospects. 

Pulling out the chair behind the counter, she smiled as she sat on it, straightening her apron. She would find a way to get into an excavation. Do some internships, join a few archeological Facebook groups, and she would surely feel better. Fake it until you make it. 

The bell tinkled, announcing the arrival of a new customer.

✮⋆˙

The air in the small shop soured of cinnamon and sakura room refresher. Jinu scrunched his nose. 

He didn't know when he had pushed the door of the small bakery inwards, when exactly he had entered the small space. A few white wooden chairs stood in two corners of the store, accompanied by equally white round marble tables decorated with lacy white table cloths. Tulips that were starting to wilt, filled various vases in the small space. A warm lamp hanging from the ceiling, inviting dust so sit on it if not cleaned properly.

Demons did not have to eat human food. They could, but it didn’t make them survive. They had the burden of robbing people of their souls, their entire lives, who deserved it the least. People at their lowest point. Homeless people. Desperate teenagers who ran away from home at night because they had long since given up hope of a better life. Jinu wanted to feel sorry for them. On dark days, the only thing that kept him waking up from his dreary sleep was the small flame of hope he protected inside himself for all those years.

But what choice did he have, what choice but to take away the only thing they had left in their miserable lives?

A low hum interrupted the path of his wandering eyes, which scrutinized every detail of the bakery.

He turned around. He was used to people starting to scream, especially women, when they spotted him. When they saw the K-Pop star. When they saw the version of him that millions of people loved. Forced smile, clothes that no grown man would voluntarily wear, happiness basically tattooed on his face. These reactions soothed something inside him. 

On days when he wondered what it was like to be really liked by someone, or even loved... on those days it wasn't quite so bad to think about it. After all, he had fans who loved him, didn't he? Isn't that what counted? With every new fan, he reached thousands of others. One step closer to their goal. 

True love and affection, which did not have to be bought or hypocritized, did not exist. 

But she didn’t scream. She just sat there. He almost didn’t spot her sitting behind the counter, which displayed varieties of tuna sandwiches and some adequate looking baked goods. When she spotted him standing there all still, she quickly put her phone aside and stood up. 

Jinu wanted to chuckle. Now he knew where the sakura scent came from. 

Her hair was tied together behind her head, some fashion strands hanging down her temples. It curled slightly, maybe from the heat of the oven behind her. Maybe it was just her natural hair texture. 

Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. She smelled of cherry blossoms and cinnamon, looked as if the word unhappy was not part of her vocabulary. 

Her fingers touched her necklace, nails embellished with pink nail polish. He had never understood why women painted their nails when hardly anyone would pay attention to such things. 

His eyebrows furrowed. 

They looked beautiful.

"Do you need help?" 

His eyes snapped up.

✮⋆˙

Y/N didn’t believe in angels. 

She didn’t have a hard childhood growing up. She had two married parents and an annoying older sister that moved out from home years ago and barely texted her anymore. While most of her friend’s parents got divorced in high school or throughout college and university, her parents stayed together. Simply out of convenience, or out of love that still lingered in their hearts from all those years ago, Y/N wasn’t sure what it was that kept them together for this long. 

They were busy working all the time, her father an architect that traveled abroad often, and her mom a veterinary nurse. Their marriage worked, but as the years went on, Y/N felt more and more invisible to their love. Their affection barely was enough for themselves, and she as their youngest child became forgotten. When she was younger, she used to curse out the devil for making her parents so successful in life. She didn’t believe in angels or the tale of every person having a guardian angel, because if they really existed, they did a really bad job.

But as she looked up to the customer who entered the small shop, ready to recite her studied standard greeting, she froze. 

He was tall. The smell of rain emitted from him, most likely from wandering outside in the still damp streets. But he didn’t say anything, he just stared at her.

He looked at her like she had the answer to all of his life problems, as if she was a puzzle waiting to be solved. 

His eyes looked mesmerizing. A deep brown, almost black, looked back at her own eyes, captivating her in a trance she was unable to escape. Was this how sirens lured sailors into their deathly embrace?

But he didn’t look evil. He didn’t look like the type of man to hurt you, just to feel malicious. 

She tried to speak, but the words didn’t want to leave her mouth. Her fingers wandered to her necklace, touching the small gemstone pendant hanging on it. It was a nervous habit she picked up during exam phase in high school, her fingers playing with her jewelry as soon as she got the slightest bit anxious. 

She certainly wasn’t in high school anymore, and she definitely didn’t know why she was uneasy, why she suddenly felt conscious about her hair, the stains on her apron, or that she forgot to apply mascara this morning. 

Shaking her head, she forced her fingers to let go of her necklace and instead grip on the marble counter in front of her. 

“Do you need help?” 

The man seemed to snap out of his trance, and shook his head. 

“No, no- I mean yes.”

Y/N crooked her eyebrow and hummed. Out of customers talking to someone on the phone, placing their card on the card reader without telling her they want to pay by card, and customers that complained about the prices, the ones who were unsure what to get were her favorite. 

“Any idea of what you want to get today? A sweet treat or a hearty snack?”

He shook his head. Jinu wasn’t prepared to talk to anyone, less a woman who he didn’t know why his words suddenly turned to thin air when looking at. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the displace of products behind the glass. He was a charming, young superstar, who never had to try to get humans to like him. They just did, annoyance and rejection foreign to him. He knew that that affection wasn’t real, but it was the best available for him at the moment. But this woman was blind to his charm it seemed, indifferent to his looks. 

Y/N wasn’t unfazed. She tried to appear that way, at the very least. Inside of her, she was screaming at how sinfully good he looked. She couldn’t afford to think that way about anyone. Love didn’t last, a curse doomed to dissolve under time. But God, if his eyes didn’t want her to jump into his arms, she didn’t know what do think anymore. 

Humming again, she tapped her foot against the wooden floor of the bakery. 

“Do you like it spicy?”

His head snapped up from where he was previously looking at, pupils widened.

“What?”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows at his reaction. How couldn’t he understand this simple-

“Oh! No, no, not like that! Oh God-“

Jinu chuckled, her reaction making him feel slightly bad for his uncertainty of what to get. 

“Yeah, I like it spicy.”

Y/N looked at the man who was holding back a laugh, and furrowed her eyebrows.

“Are you making fun of me?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, crossing her arms. 

“No. I mean it. I like spicy food. I don’t look like a liar, do I?”

Y/N shook her head, sighing and pointing to the left side of the food display. She was getting underpaid, and she only got 4 hours of sleep. She didn’t want to argue with anyone, less this sinfully charming Korean Adonis. 

“We have chicken sandwiches with gochujang, grilled garaetteok, or plain chili filled rice balls.”

Jinu pretended to think about which option to choose, but in reality he was just using the time to look at her from underneath his eyelashes. He didn’t know what about her made him curious, it just…felt right to look at her.

He straightened up again and looked at her, really looked at her.

“What is your favorite?”

Truth was, Jinu didn’t know how any of these dishes tasted like. The last time he ate food for enjoyment reasons was 400 years ago, the taste of everything he once loved long forgotten in his trapped mind. He didn’t know how to cook either. His mother always cooked for him and his little sister, refusing to let him do anything besides working hard on his career. He shook his head. Laughter echoed inside his head, the smile of a woman he didn’t recognize haunting his mind. 

Y/N didn’t know what to answer to that. No one cared about her opinion, everyone just expecting her to wrap up their food and give them their change. She put a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head. 

“I don’t have one. I don’t like spicy food at all.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what made you think I would like it?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “You look like the opposite of me. I don’t like spicy food, so I figured you might like it.”

Jinu looked her up and down. She was wearing faint pink colored jeans, a white blouse and over that her black work apron with a few stains on it. Her pink nails and jewelry only complemented her outfit. She was right.

While she was a star trying to shine, he was a meteor trying not to crash into earth. 

“So what do you like then?”

She pointed to a small brown baked sweet treat with white frosting on top, and dried honey in the shape of a heart draped on it. “This is the only thing in here I made myself. Everything else really is just ripped out of a plastic wrap and put into an oven.”

He nodded, not even looking at the other options. “I’ll take it then, your…” He squinted his eyes and looked down at the lettering in front of the item. “…cinnamon roll.”

Y/N smiled at that. She didn’t know what drew her to him. He looked strangely familiar to her, the level of familiar of someone you met in a dream you only dreamed once. 

She took a pair of tongs and placed the cinnamon roll in a brown paper bag. No one ever bought the cinnamon rolls, too special of a taste and too sweet for most people. That’s why she loved them, and the overwhelming taste of hope that came with them. Hope that she carried within her every day she came to work, every time she cried herself to sleep because of her dream job being unavailable to her. Every morning she would come to work early, just to bake the sweet treat over and over again, in hopes of not taking it home with her again like the last day and the day before that. They were the only thing in this store that she wasn’t happy to be able to take home on Sundays.  

She typed something in the screen of the cash register, the imagine for the cinnamon rolls popping up, and selected it. 

“That would make 7000 won (5$). Cash or card?”

He reached into his back pocket, and placed a crisp ten-thousand won note on the counter.

She was already typing it in the register, when he took his bag from the countertop and just shook his head. 

“Keep the change.” He opened the bag and took a bite out of the roll, eyes widening briefly before looking at her. “It’s worth the money.”

With that, he turned around and exited the store, leaving behind a baffled young lady and way too much change.

Y/N looked down at the note and put it into the till. She took out the change, and carefully dropped it into the tip jar on top of the counter. Employees weren’t allowed to take the tips customers gave them home, instead having to put them in the tip jar to be divided under all employees every week. But since it was Sunday and she would be closing the shop, the jar was all hers.

She dropped on her chair she was sitting on earlier, her arms hanging still beside her. Her head felt like a void, empty and shouting simultaneously. 

The strange feeling inside of her lingered, the premonition of this not being the first time they met. Her mind couldn’t put a finger on where she could possibly know him from, and it killed her. 

She shook her head, and wet a rag before wiping down the countertop. 

She didn’t know he was watching her. 

She didn't know that he now had his eye on her.

Y/N didn’t believe in angels, especially not in guardian angels. 

She just didn't know yet, that she now had her very own, very special, guardian.

𓍯𓂃ᥫ᭡.

Thank you for reading! If you liked reading this little piece of fiction in any sense, I would be more than happy about a like, reblog, or a comment! I absolutely love this movie, and it’s a shame how they ended it. But I’m sure we will get a second part, with the way the last scene teased it. <3

Comment if you would like to be tagged in a potential part 2! Requests for this movie are open ۫ ꣑ৎ

Who wants a preview of part 2? Let me know here! .ᐟ>ᴗ<

Vote what my next fic should be about!

What do you think will happen in ch.3? Vote here!

tag list: @yoihoshi-maki @kristinthegeek @zozoparsnips @mackenzielaw15 @lunaria1 @blobs-away @thaliasnicket @bakugousimpofawif3 @yoongiprongs @franbowidk @lorain07 @jetblackw1ngs @thesimppotato11 @aubreeiscool @ivorria @iamatinydinosaur

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[ni4lovesu]

s/o scenarios to script ⊹ ｡ﾟ･

୨ PREDATING EDITION ୧

— it's winter and they're waiting for you inside in the warmth so as you step inside and meet them you place your hands on their cheeks so they can "feel how cold they are"

— flirting and the tension between the two of you being palpable

— them telling you a love song you adore reminds them of you and getting that fluttery feeling in your chest

— them teasing you and you jokingly turn to walk away but they grab your hand and pull you flusteringly close

— you notice something in their hair and, without warning, gently remove it, leaving them flustered and blushing

— stargazing and you both turn to look at each other at the same time, your faces just inches apart

— them being afraid of heights but they try to be brave to go on a rollercoaster with you and you can tell they’re nervous so you hold their hand the whole ride

— lying on their bed listening to music together and gazing into each other’s eyes before realising what you’re doing and getting flustered

— getting super excited after winning a game and impulsively hug and kiss them on the cheek, leaving them dazed and blushing

— comparing your hand sizes

— them getting jealous seeing how much you interact with other guys during an event. later, while you’re talking with your future s/o, a male friend of yours walks by and says something to you, but you just give a hum of acknowledgment to them, never tearing your eyes away from your future s/o

— surprising them from behind and linking your arm through theirs

— the two of you ditching school but as you’re sneaking out a teacher catches you. you both take off running, laughing, and holding hands, stealing glances at the teacher struggling to keep up

— you (half jokingly) flirting with them and getting really close to their face so they pull your beanie over your eyes so you don’t see their crimson blush

— them asking you to say something in your native/second language and saying “my heart belongs to you” in that language but refusing to tell them what it meant

— having nicknames for each other that only the both of you call each other

— them picking a flower and putting it behind your ear

— sparks when your skins brush

— getting forced into 7 minutes in heaven together and the both of you leaving the closet blushing furiously

— you and your s/o walking together as they push your bicycle, fresh flowers nestled in the basket at the front. the ground is scattered with fallen blossoms, and petals drift gently from the trees, surrounding the both of you

— them seeing you from afar and getting super nervous and trying to fix their hair and look nice for you

— being surrounded by a crowd of people and finding your bodies practically pressed against each other

— them trying to hide their smile everytime you do something cute

— “and less than 20 feet away from me was ___. MY ___. with ___. she’s laughing. what was she laughing about? how could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?”

— them dragging their friend to spy on your date and them eventually getting so jealous they resort to shamelessly crashing your date

— falling asleep on their shoulder and their whole face getting incredibly red as they try their best not to freak out or move

— accidentally touching their hand when you go to sit next to them and the both of you getting nervous

— studying together and them pretending not to know almost every single question and asking you to explain just so that they could hear your voice

— you getting drunk and them taking care of you and making sure you get into bed safely

— sharing milkshakes together and your faces getting a bit too close in proximity

— their friends asking them if they wanted to go to an event and they initially say no but when they realise you’re going they immediately change their minds

— both of you being in a group and you talking and after that your friends tell you that your future s/o looked like they were about kiss you

— hugs and eye contact which last a bit too long

— your friends forcing the both of you on a ferris wheel and you end up getting stuck at the top for 30 whole minutes

[konbupie]

sab i love you and your art but please stop giving asagiri ideas

at this point im gonna die before bsd ends

Im gonna be 98 on my deathbed and great grandchildren of mine will come to me like "great grandma they finally defeated the tripolar singularity"

"What about that rodent cuntfuck" I will ask

"Turns out he lied about his ability again and he's actually an alien and just contacted his planet so now the ADA has to fight a bunch of his kind... Soukoku r still waiting for Sigma to wake up."

And then i will say "fuck" and die

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Bonus Chapter: A Win in Monaco

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

I do keep my promises. Thank god, I was not that person on Twitter that promises to bake a life-size Oscar Pizza lol

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

It had been a long, chaotic, champagne-drenched day.

Lando had won Monaco. From pole.

His first win in Monaco. 

 The kind of fairy-tale ending kids dreamed about, and that somehow, impossibly, had come true in the heat and drama of Monte Carlo’s twisting streets.

A perfect weekend: fastest in qualifying, composed through chaos, crossing the finish line with his name echoing through Monte Carlo’s narrow, sun-drenched streets.

It was the kind of Hollywood ending people wrote movies about.

And it was real.

Lizzie had spent the last hour brushing glitter out of Mara’s fur and peeling herself out of her dress with the dull ache of adrenaline still running through her chest. Her hair still smelled like champagne, and her cheeks hurt from smiling.

Her voice was nearly gone from shouting during those final few laps. The city still buzzed below, all neon and noise, the heartbeat of celebration pulsing beyond the glass doors of their apartment balcony.

She could still hear people chanting Lando’s name outside. She wasn’t sure they’d stop anytime soon.

The team had begged him to keep partying. One more club, mate, just one more. And he deserved it. All of it.

So Lizzie came home. She let him have his night.

And honestly, she hadn’t expected him back until sunrise.

So when the door slammed open at 2:43 a.m. and he half-shouted, “BABE,” she nearly dropped the mug of chamomile tea she was holding.

Lando stumbled into the apartment like the human embodiment of champagne and adrenaline, cheeks pink, curls a mess. There was glitter in his hair. His smile could’ve powered the entire Côte d’Azur.

“HELLOOOOO,” he shouted, arms raised like a victorious cartoon character who didn’t quite know where his limbs ended.

Mara barked once. Lizzie blinked. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m Monaco Grand Prix winner drunk,” he corrected proudly, kicking his shoes in two entirely different directions and dropping his McLaren jacket on the floor like it had personally betrayed him.

“I can tell.” She stood up, brushing pastry crumbs off her shorts. “You smell like celebration and regret.”

Lando pointed at her with the kind of uncoordinated gravity only a tipsy F1 driver could pull off. “You. Sit. I have a speech.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered—but sat anyway.

He wobbled, turned too fast, then dramatically dropped to one knee beside the coffee table, hand landing on the floor with a thud. “Elizabeth Louise Treshton.”

Her eyes widened. “Lando—”

“Wait, no, let me finish,” he slurred, blinking up at her like she was a constellation and he was just lucky to have found her. “Liz, you are… you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re smarter than me, cooler than me, and frankly, too hot for me, and somehow you still love me—don’t laugh, this is serious—”

She was biting her lip, heart thudding like the Monaco start lights. “I’m not laughing.”

“Good,” he said, nodding with exaggerated sincerity. “Because this is a proposal.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“A real one?” she whispered, startled. “Right now?”

He nodded solemnly. “Very real. And very now.”

There was no ring. No script. No camera. Just him—still glitter-dusted and flushed from glory—kneeling in a wrinkled polo and grinning at her like she was the prize.

And in that moment, she understood something simple and shattering.

He meant it.

This wasn’t a champagne-fueled joke or a post-race high. This was Lando, in all his wide-eyed, golden-hearted chaos, laying his entire self in her lap and asking her to say yes.

“Yes,” she said, quietly.

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yes.”

And the look on his face—pure joy, pure disbelief—hit her like the wave of the crowd when he stepped onto the podium.

Lando looked briefly stunned, then delighted, and then promptly collapsed sideways into her lap with a triumphant groan. “Smashed it.”

She laughed, brushing her fingers through the mess of curls that still smelled faintly like podium champagne. “We’re doing this backwards, you know.”

He hummed into her hip. “Mmm. We can redo it tomorrow. With the ring.”

Her heart fluttered.

“What ring?”

“It’s in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. Behind my socks. Been there since... I dunno. February?”

She blinked. “You’ve had a ring for three months?”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled. “But you kept being cute and I panicked.”

Her fingers stilled in his hair. “You panicked?”

“I kept waiting for a big romantic moment, but then you’d do something like... refill Mara’s water bowl before your own tea and I’d get all overwhelmed.”

She blinked rapidly, heart cracking open in ways she hadn’t expected tonight.

“I love you,” he mumbled, already slipping toward sleep, voice thick with exhaustion and affection. “Even when you steal all the duvet and yell at me about my sleep schedule.”

“I only yell because I care,” she whispered, smiling so hard her face hurt.

“I know,” he sighed. “That’s why I’m marrying you.”

And then, in the quietest moment of the wildest day of his life, he passed out in her lap—soft snores muffled by her t-shirt, his hand still curled loosely around her knee.

Lizzie sat there for a long time, hand resting protectively on the side of his head, the night finally still around her.

***

Lando woke up face-first on the living room couch. 

The first thing Lando noticed—before even the pain—was how incredibly dry his mouth felt. Like someone had poured an entire sandbox down his throat and sealed it shut. The second thing was the pounding in his skull, like a jackhammer was going off behind his eyes in sync with the early Monaco sunlight bleeding through the balcony doors.

The third thing was the glitter sticker stuck to his cheek.

It crinkled as he peeled it off slowly, groaning. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt. That’s new, he thought dimly.

He didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch. Didn’t remember coming home. Didn’t even remember how many night clubs they'd hit after the race. Bits and pieces floated back to him like puzzle pieces from a box someone had shaken violently before throwing it across the floor.

Confetti. More drinks. One of the McLaren Engineers giving a karaoke performance of I Will Survive so impassioned it may have summoned Cher. Someone—not him, he hoped—moonwalking through La Rascasse. Sunglasses at night. And Lizzie.

Oh God. Lizzie.

He sat up with a groan, blinking through the pain as his eyes adjusted. His entire spine cracked in protest. Mara was sprawled luxuriously on the couch like she was the rightful heir to the Monaco throne. And—

And there was Lizzie.

Sitting at the kitchen counter in one of his hoodies, legs folded under her, sipping coffee and scrolling through her phone like it was just another Monday morning.

Except it wasn’t.

Because when she looked up, she didn’t just raise an eyebrow.

She raised her left hand.

There, glinting in the warm, golden light, was his ring.

Lando’s brain stalled like an engine without fuel.

He pointed, eyes narrowing like it might disappear if he squinted hard enough. “Did I…?”

Lizzie took a long sip of coffee, then set the mug down with infuriating casualness. “Oh good. He lives.”

“Lizzie.”

“Morning, fiancé,” she said, voice syrup-sweet, holding up her left hand so the little gold band with the oval shaped opal that glowed orange and red if it caught the sun just right. “This look familiar?”

He squinted harder. His memory did a slow, lumbering reboot. “Wait. Wait. Did I—did I actually—last night?”

“Oh yeah,” she said cheerfully. “Big speech. Very heartfelt. Slightly slurred.”

He buried his face in his hands. “No.”

“There was kneeling,” she added helpfully. “Zero ring. You told me to fetch it from your sock drawer while you face-planted into my lap.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Then you told me you’d planned to propose since February but kept chickening out because I was too cute.”

He groaned and let his forehead drop onto the coffee table with a dull thunk. “I was going to do something special.”

“You did,” she said. “You did Monaco. Then you did me. With tequila breath. And honestly?” She grinned. “Kinda iconic.”

He peeked up through his fingers, mortified and completely in love. “You’re not mad?”

“Are you kidding?” Liz walked over and kissed the top of his head, soft and sure. “I said yes.”

His heart stuttered.

“You said yes?”

“I put on the ring, didn’t I?”

Lando sat up straighter, blinking at her like he was seeing her properly for the first time. The fog in his brain lifted just enough to let the full weight of it sink in. He’d proposed. She’d said yes. They were—officially, horribly, perfectly—engaged.

And she was still here. Still teasing him. Still barefoot in his hoodie. Still smiling.

Still his.

“Okay,” he said slowly, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dizzy with disbelief and stupid joy. “Okay, but just so you know—tonight, I’m doing it properly. I’m taking you out and asking again. With less tequila and more brain cells.”

Lizzie crossed her arms. “You better. I deserve at least one sunset.”

“You’ll get two. And a string quartet. Maybe a yacht.”

“You hate yachts.”

“I’ll suffer for you.”

She grinned. “Good. Because I’m already planning our registry. And if I don’t get a milk frother, I will riot.”

He groaned, rubbing his eyes. “God help us.”

From the couch, Mara let out a loud huff, as if to say she was trapped in a sitcom and so over it.

Lando let his head drop back against the counter again and just lay there, grinning into the wood like a man who’d finally hit the jackpot.

Hangover and all, he couldn’t stop smiling.

He’d won Monaco. He was getting married. To her.

And no champagne-soaked, rug-crashed, sock-drawer-ring-fetching version of that would ever make it feel less perfect.

[littlelamy]

Rafe x Girl next door type/Sweet!Pouge Reader: He sees her at a party and he sets his eyes on her, wanting to hook up with her for the night and ditch her the next day. He gets surprised thought when he actually talks to her, how kind, sweet and genuine she is # and to also find out that she is the relationship girlfriend type that would never have sex with someone random # but does not end it right there with him then trying to find someone else for the night but actually find himself drawn to her and wanting to take care of her/protect her and offers to drive her home (and whatever else you can think of, just a suggestion)

lamy's notes: i hope you like it, angel!

the party is in full swing, neon lights flickering against the walls, bodies packed tight with the heady scent of sweat and liquor thick in the air. rafe cameron leans against the kitchen counter, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers, half-full of something he’d stopped tasting an hour ago. his sharp blue eyes scan the crowd, predatory, practiced, already picking out his next conquest.

then he sees you.

it isn’t like the other girls he usually finds himself entangled with. no plunging neckline, no practiced sultry gaze or desperate attempt to get his attention. you’re different—sweet-looking, soft around the edges, the kind of girl who smiles at people like she means it. the kind of girl who doesn’t belong here.

and fuck, does that make him want you more.

you’re laughing, head tilted back just slightly, talking to a couple of your friends who don’t seem nearly as enthralled by you as they should be. you aren’t drinking, he notices. just standing there with some soda in your hand, cheeks flushed but not from alcohol. from joy. genuine, untainted joy.

rafe smirks. this will be easy. the sweet ones always melt in his hands, naive enough to believe whatever story he spins, desperate for that kind of attention from someone like him. he pushes off the counter and makes his way toward you, predatory confidence in every step.

“didn’t peg you as the party type,” he murmurs, sliding in beside you. your head turns, and when those warm, wide eyes meet his, something in his stomach twists.

you smile. actually smile at him. no coyness, no pretense. just a simple, friendly, fucking devastating smile. “yeah, i guess i’m not,” you admit, a little sheepish. “but my friends wanted to come, so here i am.”

rafe arches a brow. “and you’re not drinking?”

you shake your head. “not really my thing.”

his usual lines, the easy teases and flirtations, catch in his throat. there’s nothing to latch onto here, no feigned innocence waiting to be shattered. just…you. real. unaffected. completely unlike anyone else in this house.

“not your thing, huh?” he echoes, tilting his head. “so what is?”

you give a small shrug, your fingers curling around your soda cup, you begin to ramble about random things. “i don’t know. movie nights, bonfires on the beach, making pancakes at midnight just because. you know, wholesome stuff.”

wholesome.

jesus christ.

rafe hasn’t felt this off-kilter in years. he came here tonight looking for a quick fuck, someone to drag upstairs and forget about the next morning. and yet, here he is, utterly hooked on you talking about making pancakes at midnight.

“you’re not from around here, are you?”

you laugh, light and warm. “born and raised.”

“huh.” he studies you, trying to pinpoint exactly what makes you so different. maybe it’s the way you look at him, not like he’s some trophy to be won or some cautionary tale to be avoided, but just…like a person.

he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“so,” he tries again, leaning in slightly. “if you’re not into parties, what’s keeping you here?”

you tilt your head, studying him right back. “good company, i guess.”

rafe isn’t used to being caught off guard. isn’t used to having the script flipped on him like this. but instead of pissing him off, it just makes him more intrigued.

for a split second, he thinks about cutting his losses, about finding someone else who’d be easier, who wouldn’t make his chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with lust. but the thought of walking away from you right now?

doesn’t sit right.

“let me drive you home,” the words are out before he even realizes he’s said them.

your brows lift slightly, surprised but not suspicious. “you sure? i wouldn’t want to take you away from the party.”

he smirks. “believe me, sweetheart, nothing here’s worth sticking around for.”

you hesitate for a moment, then nod. “alright. that’d be nice.”

rafe has never been interested in nice before. nice doesn’t get you anywhere. nice is weak. but as you walk beside him out of the house, trusting him in a way he knows he hasn’t earned, he thinks—

maybe nice isn’t so bad.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

[midnitetech]

Noteworthy Notebook

Step away from the screen and let your Sims embrace the charm of old-school writing with the Noteworthy Notebook Mod! This versatile and interactive paper notebook is packed with features to keep your Sims busy and inspired:

Handwritten Hustlez: Take on gigs from the new custom (and Base Game compatible) job board and earn simoleons the pen-and-paper way. For players with the Seasons DLC, you'll find gigs tailored to the current time of year! Seasons is totally optional, though.

Journal Entries: Write down your feelings with entries tailored to your Sims mood. Re-read them to gain catharsis, or simply relive the moment! Not the secretive type? Upload them to your blog to share with the world!

Custom Notes: Personalize your notebook with reminders, bios, or anything your Sims need to jot down. Edit and view them at any time straight from the inventory!

Notebooking Skill: Unlock a hidden writing skill with rewards like entering competitions, new writing interactions, and more.

Write Anywhere: Craft any book type, previously limited to computers, directly in your notebook, and explore brand-new exclusive mini-genres! Publish all books as usual through the mailbox or computer, or unlock the exclusive Quill & Coin Publishing House!

Write Letters: Level up by writing heartfelt letters, or even apply for a job the old fashioned way; by snail mail!

Write Articles: Craft engaging articles, and if you're not totally tech-adverse, transcribe and upload them online, or sell them to a Freelancer Agency. Want to stay off-the-grid? Send them off to a magazine or newspaper for some extra § instead, via the mailbox!

Child-Friendly Section: Even younger Sims can get in on the action with their very own writing features. Now they have their own genres too, and can take part in the unlockable Writing Competitions!

Custom Aspiration & Reward Trait: Complete a special writing-focused aspiration and unlock a unique reward trait for your most ambitious scribes. (Teen+)

Skillful Scribbles: Skill up using brand new interactions! Some even benefit career performance!

Whether your Sims are journaling their dreams, penning their next bestseller, or hustling for side cash, this mod lets them ditch the tech and bring creativity back to basics. Historical and off-the-grid players rejoice!

PS. This notebook looks great with @vixonspixels Default Pencil Override!

Find the Notebook in the catalog by searching 'Noteworthy Notebook' or look under Hobbies & Skills!

⚠️REQUIRED⚠️ 🌐Lot 51's Core Library 📁midnitetech_modlibrary 🎮Required DLC: None/Base Game Compatible

Optional: ⛅ Seasons DLC

Get help, reach out, or explore more of my creations—all in one place!

Download to C:\Users\....\Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 4\Mods Don't forget 🌐Lot 51's Core Library and 📁midnitetech_modlibrary—script files must be no more than 1 folder deep.

PATREON (free)

[gguk-n]

Jokes In The Cloud (Carlos Sainz x Comedian!Reader)

No Face Claim. All the pictures are from Pinterest.

CONGRATULATIONS TO CARLOS ON WINNING HIS SECOND GP THIS SEASON!!

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user and 2,389 others

punchlineprincess Vacationing with the people who get on my nerve the most

y/bff/user you forgot to take me😔😔 punchlineprincess y/bff/user sorry bbg, next trip with you alone😘😘 y/cousin/user you annoy us more🙂 y/mum/user not a nice thing to say Y/N punchlineprincess y/mum/user I was joking😅😅 user1 if someone saw her IG they would think she's a model😍😍 user2 God I've seen what you've done for others, when is it my turn🥲🥲 user3 pretty and funny. I want her!!❤️❤️

{Reader's POV}

The gears in my head my turning, I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I still had to refine my script; I was sure I could do it if I have a few hours. "Sweetheart, dinner's ready" my dad called out from the bedroom door. "Dad, I have to leave" I stated. "To where?" my dad asked, walking in. "You know that Netflix special I was gonna film" I began, he nodded along, "well, they want to film it on Monday" I finished. "That's in a day" he stated. "2, since it's in New York" I explained. "Cassidy will send me my tickets, but I think I'll be leaving now" I spoke. "Sorry about ditching the family trip. I know how important it was for you" I mumbled. "It's okay, darling. This is bigger. This will catapult you to fame like you always wanted, I mean I'm already so proud of you but this is still bigger" he explained trying to calm me. "Me and your mum will help you pack, come on" he said and called my mum.

The two of them helped me pack my bags. He explained how my Netflix special would be filmed soon and I would be leaving soon to everyone. All my younger cousins and nieces and nephews were so excited. Cassidy sent me the tickets. I made sure to pack everything while my mum fed me, it was chaos in the best way possible. "I'll be leaving now" I hugged my parents good bye. "Can't wait to watch it" my aunt spoke patting my back. "Mention us" one of my younger cousin's spoke. "I'll try" I laughed. My niece kissed my cheek wishing me good bye. My nephew wasn't ready to let me go yet, my brother had to pull him off me.

I waved good bye as the taxi left the resort, my family waving back as I disappeared. The ride to the airport was short, I was too busy going through my material to notice when I reached the airport. I paid the taxi driver and hauled my luggage to the check-in desk. The person behind it, checked me in and I was headed to immigration. This was the first time I noticed that I was sitting first class. When did my manager have this kind of money to book first class. I'd have to bring it up with her once I had the time.

I got done with all the formality and headed to the waiting area, where I spent my time going through my script and tweaking it ever so often. I downed a RedBull to try to align myself to New York time, so that I can combat the jet lag.

As the speaker's announced the boarding for my flight, I grabbed all my stuff with the plan to finish it up on the plane. The air-host lead me to my seat. I noticed a man sat on the seat next to mine, he looked an awful lot familiar, until it hit me that it was Carlos Sainz; my heart started pounding. I walked up to my seat, put my luggage away and sat down. My hands were shaking by the time I sat down, pulling my laptop out. I started typing away with shaky hands. "Is that a script?" a voice came from beside me. I turned around to find Carlos with his head turned, trying to figure out what's written. "Yeah, I'm a comedian, this is a script for my show" I tried to speak as confidently and calmly as possible. "That's cool. I'm Carlos, Carlos Sainz" he introduced himself. "I'm Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N" I shook his hand. "I'm a Formula One driver, maybe you'e heard about me" he further elaborated. I know, I've been obsessed with you for years, my poor brother has to listen to me talk about you for hours after every race, analysing the whole race. I have a fan account called carloslover, were the thoughts running through my head. "Yeah, I must've heard about Formula One some where" I said tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Well it's nice to meet you" Carlos said. "It's nice to meet you too" I said with a smile. "I'll let you get back to your work" Carlos said pointing at my laptop.

I spent a couple more minutes working on it before I was disturbed by Carlos, not like I was complaining; "I'm sorry but I'm kind of curious about what the script your working on is about" Carlos spoke slowly. "I'm filming a Netflix special in New York. So, I'm fine tuning my script" I chuckled. "Oh, sorry for disturbing you" Carlos replied sheepishly. Damn, he looked so cute, I caught myself fawning at him. "Ah, it's nothing." I quickly looked away, "I love when people are interested in what I do" I smiled. "Then, I will continue to annoy you a bit" he laughed. "Be my guest" I smiled back.

A few more tweaks and a good hour later, I was able to close the laptop, happy with the script I had at hand. "I'm guessing you're done" Carlos chimed in. "I am" I said stretching a little. "Maybe you could practice a bit with me" Carlos suggested. "I do want to practice my crowd work" I thought out loud.

"So, Carlos are you really a full time driver or a model? I can't really tell" I said. Carlos's face turned red, "Is this how you do crowd work?" he trailed. "I, no, can't let the opportunity to flirt with a man as handsome as you go" I smirked. Carlos's blush only deepened, "So, I'm special" he laughed. "Obviously" I shrugged. "If it's anything, I thought you were a model and not a comedian" he retorted. "I get that a lot. But doesn't work in my profession when people don't think pretty people tell good jokes" I retorted back. "I've never heard any of your jokes, but I'm sure you're funny since Netflix wants you" Carlos said. "Hope so" I said holding up my hands with crossed fingers.

I felt like the time flew by, as Carlos kept me company. Just as the flight was about to land; "Will I see you again?' Carlos asked hopefully. "You could, if I had your number" I remarked. Carlos pulled his phone out and handed it to me. I put my number in and called myself. "I'll see you soon." I winked as I saved Carlos's number. "Can't wait" Carlos replied, smiling at me as we grabbed our luggage to leave.

Cassidy was waiting for me as I exited the airport. "I'm so sorry, I should've checked my emails" she apologised grabbing my bag. "It's fine, let's go. I'm exhausted" I replied grabbing my bag back. We caught an uber back to the hotel. I rehearsed my script with Cassidy for the next few hours, trying not to memorise it so it would sound genuine.

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user and 2,378 others

punchlineprincess Done filming my first special, can't wait for it to air🥹🥹

y/bff/user I'M SO EXCITED🤭🤭 user4 I'll watch it just to see that outfit😍 user5 so pretty😍😍 y/mum/user so proud of my baby💖 y/dad/user my baby's all grown up😭❤️

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user, carlossainz55 and 3,289 others

punchlineprincess Joked my way into his life🫣🫣

y/bff/user ooohhhh who is this??👀👀 y/dad/user what is this behaviour y/n??? user6 OMG!!! I love this❤️❤️ user7 the best couple ever and idek the guy😅😅 user9 y/n being sporty wasn't in my bingo card🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ user10 the golf date!!!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 user11 I want to go to an art museum with my lover and imitate art like that😏😏 user12 this is so Carlos coded plus he's in the likes😣😣

punchlineprincess

Liked by y/bff/user and 5,378 others

punchlineprincess I may have gone overboard for the premier at home🥲😅

y/bff/user I'M SCREAMING WHILE WATCHING IT🥹🥹 y/mum/user my baby❤️ carlossainz55 so proud of you ❤️Liked by Author user13 what does Carlos mean by that, like he knows her🙂👀 user14 the funniest shit i've watched in a while🤣🤣 user15 loved this so much!!!❤️🤣 user16 finally the real comedian that's getting the recognition she deserves😂😂

punchlineprincess

Liked by carlossainz55, y/bff/user and 1278,340 others Tagged carlossainz55

punchlineprincess Sorry I'm not normal about my boyfriend winning his second race this season😭😭

carlossainz55 I think having you there was my lucky charm🍀❤️ punchlineprincess carlossainz55 aww!! but it was your big brain and hard work❤️❤️🥹 y/bff/user aww!! watching both my babies win respectively 😭😭Liked by carlossainz55 and punchlineprincess y/dad/user good job Carlos👍 Liked by carlossainz55 user12 I should've known after those dates🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ user20 seeing her hug his mom when he won was so cute😭😭 user21 the most unlikely couple🥹🥹 user22 I get it Carlos, I get it😍😍 user23 Vamos Carlos!!👍👍 user24 I want a full timeline how everything went down😩 user25 I'm so happy I got to witness this race😭😭 user26 she was so sweet to all the fans and even took pictures with us!!😭🥹

After the race win celebrations on the podium and the team, after the interviews when I finally got him all to myself; "I'm so proud of you baby" I whispered as I pressed a kiss on his lips. "I'm so happy you got to see me win" Carlos mumbled not letting go. "I can't believe instead of watching you on TV I got to watch you in real life" I said pulling away. "I don't know why you lied to me when we met" Carlos laughed. "Well I couldn't tell you I'm @ carloslover on Instagram and Twitter and I've been in love with you since you debuted" I laughed. "I think I wouldn't have paid much attention since you're so pretty" Carlos smiled running his hands down my sides to rest on my waist. "Well I'm a Carlos lover and I am Carlos's lover. It's a win win" I smiled, "You and I both, princessa, you and I both" Carlos captured my lips in another, yet steamy kiss pulling me closer so my body was touching his, "You are all sticky and smell of champagne", I mumbled against his lips trying to pull away but Carlos pulled me closer, "No" he muttered and continued kissing me. He walked back to sit on the couch pulling me down with him, straddling his lap. He pulled me closer, our bodies touching, his hands roaming mine before they found home on my ass. We pulled away slightly breathless but Carlos than started his assault on my neck, sucking on my sweet spot near my collar bone while pushing me down on his lap. I could feel him grow under me. I pushed him away, "Nope" I said firmly. "No?" he asked cocking his head to the right with his big brown puppy eyes, "We're not doing it here. Let's get back to the hotel, maybe after you smell a little less like alcohol, I'll think about it" I said getting up. "Y/N" he whined holding my hands as I stood in front of him. "Not even for today's race winner" he pouted. "No. Baby, this is your work place. I will do anything and everything you want but out of the paddock" I said. "The car?" Carlos perked up. "Carlos, darling, we'll be on the headline tomorrow reading Carlos Sainz Jr knows how to celebrate his win in Mexico with girlfriend in his black Ferrari" I said. "Fine, Let's go back soon. I can't wait" he humphed before going to change out of his race suit. "I love you" I called out. "También te amo" he called back.

[zephyr-ro-emenki]

Random Batfam Headcanon's #11:

Jason ends up running into old highschool classmates once he's back in Gotham as Red Hood, and they're happy he's back, but they're upset with him. Not for anything he did before he left, it was the fact that he was the Drama Clubs star actor of their next play (it was the Lightning Thief Musical) and he disappeared and died a week before opening night.

_______________________________________________

Friend #1: "wait, Jason? Jason Todd??"

Jason: *confused Hood noises*

Friend #2: "that's him. JASON, YOU MONTIQUE FUCK, GET YOUR RAT ASS BACK HERE!!!"

Jason: "oh fuck..."

_______________________________________________

Friend #1, seeing Jason's white streaked Lazarus pit hair: "My, what white bangs you have."

Jason: "what better to fit in with the fashion trends with."

Friend #2, seeing Jason's now green eyes: "My, what green eyes you have."

Jason: "what better to read from the script my dear."

Friend #1: "You son of a Bitch..."

Jason: "what now?"

Friend #1: "did you ditch us, ditch Gotham entirely, change your eye color, dye your bangs, and let your family think you were dead... Because you were method acting for your role as Percy Jackson in our fucking Musical?!?!"

Jason: "..."

Friend #2: "You motherfucker..."

Friend #1: "YOU FUCKING WOULD WOULDN'T YOU!!"

Jason, Panicking, because he did none of that: "...um, yes?"

Friend #1: "MOTHERFUCKER, YOU FUCKING LEGEND!!!"

Friend #2: "KING! KING! PLEASE TEACH ME YOUR COMMITMENT METHODS!!!"

[twistedpink]

Mc inserts x TWST characters pt.2 (OG post) (Pt.3)

(non-yuu pairings that fit into the plot of twst, if you like this then you might want to look at the first part!)

Savanclaw!Mc x Cater Diamond

Enemies to lovers with your favourite diva!! The two of you compete constantly through magicam and spelldrive, getting progressively pettier until the only solution is to kiss it out.. You’re trying to keep an ear out for your junior, and it just so happens Cater’s sniffing out your plan to go for gold in this year’s tournament. You might as well take the chance to mess with him! It’s so easy to love the face he makes when you give him the slip, and you’re totally making it your wallpaper when this is all over.

“Yo, Babe! If you’re in the same dorm, then you know Ruggie, yeah? We need to have a chat”

“Ohmigod you totally think all beastmen know each other, don’t you?? cancled :)”

Shroud!Mc x Vil Schoenheit

Ids attached himself to engineering and gaming pretty early, but your passion is fully unattainable. You’d clung onto pop idols and the art of stage makeup from an early age. Your longest running interest by far is Vil Schoenheit,, He rescued you from destructive habits and encouraged you to value self improvement. You’ve probably invested millions into his career (every thaumark sent anonymously, you’d die if he started to recognize your attached messages). Supporting Ortho in his SDC audition is your official reason to talk with him, and all the teasing from Idia will be so worth it when your Schoenheit debut palette gets signed! You’ve kept it in mint condition behind glass for years admiring it- and waiting for THE day.

“Mr. Schoenheit? My younger brother performed for you today, and uh, your signature please?”

“Normally I’d send both of you home for this. I’m sure you’re well aware of my paparazzi policy, However, I haven’t seen this particular relic in years! Just what have you done to preserve the quality?”

Pomefiore!Mc x Ruggie Bucchi

You’re #1 in the business of pissing off your parents- shopping copious amounts and then going to school across the country satiated you for awhile, but they’ve done something particularly revenge worthy now. The best scandal you can think of is getting a trashy boytoy to bring home for the break, but you’re not really into idiots.. Ruggie can be a very good actor given the right motivations, and he might even fool you into a real relationship before next semester.

“C’mon it’s not like I’ll need a script, sugar. I’m a natural, scout’s honor!”

“Either way, it won’t hurt to rehearse for convenience :/ Kiss me now so we don’t look stupid later.”

Scarabia!Mc x Floyd leech

God you hate that fish faced idiot >:( It’s bad enough that the housewarden’s moodswings guaranteed your holiday plans were all shot, but now Jamil’s getting hounded by the mafia! It’s your responsibility to get them off his back, but it’s not like you’re enjoying it. Somehow it’s even worse to watch Floyd when he’s playing dumb, and his emotional roller coaster keeps you walking on eggshells. The show must go on though, and if you’ve gotta play “wrestle until the biting stops” then you’ll do it :/

“Floyd, it’s dinner time, and I will tear you a new one if it means you’ll get moving.”

“PLEASEEEE tiger sharky just one more round :( I’ll even give your pen back!!”

Octavinelle!Mc x Kalim Al-Asim

You’re probably one of the most talkative of octavinelle students, and definitely a solid salesman. Kalim’s a prime target for resales and marketing practice, so naturally you join the pop music club. A year of “playing nice for the jackpot” leads you to lie awake at night, terrified that he’ll see through your facade and ditch you- it would cut off your best friendship, you’d be forced to leave the club! At some point you realize you’d stopped selling him things months ago, and your worst nightmare happened right under your nose. You fell in love.

“Hey, that solo was so inspiring! You’re really making progress!”

“It still isn’t on par with yours, though. Are you available to keep practicing after school? I’m sure Jamil would appreciate the break, and I would enjoy the company..”

Staff!Mc x Lilia Vanrouge

Of course your first job would come with some pet bat, it was too good to be true :( Full time at a bits and bobs shop near one of the best schools in the country WITH flexible hours? You must’ve been desperate to accept without reading about your babysitting in the footnote. He comes in everyday during your shift (regardless of the hours you take, it’s like he has a sixth sense), and has the audacity to exist in your space! It’s not like he even does anything to get banned!! He just stands there. Menacingly. You’re waiting for the day where he leaves convincing evidence that he’s there to traffic you or something- because if you didn’t know better you’d think he has a big, fat crush on you.

“Darling, how is the shop? I’ve taken care of those juvenile delinquents for you!”

“Taken care of? Whatever. Get back to class, kid.”

[amermaidsecretdiary]

I'M QUITTING + MY VOID STATE SUCCESS STORY

Hello guys, it's been a long time since i have posted something or in general be active here which was mostly because of personal reasons (just focusing on myself), although one of them had to do with our community.

I personally joined loatumblr at the middle of 2022 (from a previous anonymous account i had) but i started posting much later. Back then, the community was at it's peak ngl. The bloggers and the way they explained stuff was honestly, at least for me, so helpful and enjoyable. After the end of 2023 - beginning of 2024 this community started dying. I really didn't like this since I loved scrolling through specific blogs and reading their posts. I tried to post some stuff to give a little bit of life in there and i guess it did help a little.

Quick note; Please don't get me wrong, i'm not saying that the current posts and blogs running right now suck.. what i'm saying is that this community used to be way more alive back then.

One of the reasons why this happened is because people applied and got what they wanted. So they logged off tumblr. When I realised that, I decided to seriously focus on loa and start applying myself. And i ended up manifesting some good stuff, and I was good with it. Although, after some time, i decided that i wanted to manifest a completely new life from scratch, which it was what i wanted to do from the first time i joined tumblr but i ditched that thought and ended up changing some stuff about my current life.

My goal back then was to enter the void state (which im pretty sure it was 95% of the people in here goal too), but i didn't understand it properly so i couldn't 'enter'. I ended up ditching it and manifested without it. But after some point, i did my research and fully understood the void state or better, pure consciousness. If you go through my blog, you won't see much stuff about pure consciousness because i choose to not talk about it in here. The way it is treated it loatumblr just pisses me off. If you post a void success story, people will immediately run to you and ask you basic stuff like 'how did u do it?' when all the information needed about it is already posted. People tend to see it as something 'huge' and believe they can't succeed in it which is bs. If you do a little bit of research on pure consciousness you will understand how simple it is. Although, even if the 'void state' is seem like something that people overcomplete this doesn't mean that you can not use it. What i'm saying is that there are some people who really dislike the concept of it and will recommend u not to try it. Look, everyone has their different opinions and beliefs but if you want to manifest your dream life in the void state, go ahead. After all, it found you for a reason.

So coming back to my experience, since it was always my 'dream' to manifest my dream life in the void state, i decided to do it now. I'm pretty good at lucid dreaming (i've been lucid dreaming 3 years now) i decided to tap into my pure consciousness during a lucid dream. So i did my usual routine, had a lucid dream in which i closed my eyes and found myself floating in a void. I affirmed that i have lucid dreams everynight and then i got out. I did this 4 days ago, and i have had around 3-4 lucid dreams every single night, without doing any practise at all. Also, i have been scripting my entire dream life and i'm preparing myself to finally experience it. I have decided to make a looottt of big changes but two of them are the 'biggest' for me; numb.1 i will manifest that i will completely forget about my current life (i will also not remember anything about the law, for personal reasons) and numb.2 i will go back in time around 30 years ago (again for personal reasons). I mentioned this to make it clear to you that i won't be able to post my 'success story' after manifesting it, since i will not remember anything about me manifesting stuff and also even if i did, i wouldn't be able to post it since i will not have access to tumblr or current technology in general. So my success story is this one. This days, when i find the right time for me, i will have a lucid dream as usual and tap into my pure consciousness again which from there, i will finally manifest the life of my dreams. So that's my final post you will see from me. I hope you all never give up and get what you want because trust me it's worth it and all this found u for a reason. If you really want it and you stay consistent, then it's all yours. My words can not describe the way i feel right now, knowing that i have my dream life right in front of me and i can just grab it and give it to myself anytime, after this big journey. Goodbye everyone :)

[insirisarts]

Poppy Avenue: The Auditions

Original concept by @babyblankyerror

Expanded by @aroace-get-out-of-my-face

This was a bad idea, Stanley Pines decided.

Come on, what was he thinking? Voice acting, really? He had been smoking since 17 and he thought, even if only for a moment, that he could voice act. And it had only taken that stupid little moment for him to decide not only that he could do that, but as a puppet for a kids show. A. Kids. Show. No wonder everyone thought he was an idiot.

Stan wanted to run and go die in a ditch somewhere. Hell, that may be just what he does after whatever producers tell him to fuck right off. What was the studio called again? What was the show even called? Pepper str- no, sesame…  road? Whatever, it didn’t matter. All Stan knew was that he was royally screwed.

Why did he think he could do this again? Maybe it was nostalgia, remembering all of his favorite kids shows. Maybe he thought that he could sham these show folks out of their equipment. Maybe… He just wanted a chance at something normal. He was getting nowhere with his StanCo products, and wasting all of his money on new commercials wasn’t really in his current budget. Besides, it wasn't like he was really risking that much here.

The production was small. Very small. The fact that the flyers stapled throughout the city stated that they would take anyone willing to lend their voice or hands was proof enough. The fact that they let Stan, in all of his smelly, dirty, homeless glory, inside was proof enough. Although, he probably shouldn't have been that surprised. Hardly anyone else was at the auditions. Granted it didn’t help that this was happening early on a Wednesday. Not to mention, all of them were young. Stan was probably the oldest guy there. And it was also likely that, like him, no one here had any experience to speak of.

Although, who were these big-ish wigs, to judge? They were holding auditions in a dinky old warehouse that smelt like a gas spill and sadness. Stan wasn’t really able to say anything though. Already it was better than the Stanmobile, even though he would never dare say such things to the old girl, being far more insulated and protected from the outside elements. At least Stan would be protected from the early March weather here.

Looking around, he counted at least ten other people who had arrived for the auditions, three older teens and the rest young adults. Not only that, but they all seemed to be in the same boat as Stan. All down on their luck; a little scruffy, disheveled, and tired.

All around the warehouse were boxes of equipment: cameras, mics, lights, rolls of film and plenty of other things Stan didn’t recognize. Closer to him was the temporary set, obviously built in a rush. The paint still had that wet sheen and there were rough splintered corners on the shoddily cut wood. Whatever these producers were planning, it was cheap, rushed and likely barely expanded on besides a prayer and getting people to come to it. Speaking of.

There were three people sitting off to the side at one of those white plastic folding tables, slightly better dressed than the other people in the room. When Stan had come in, they had asked him to sign a paper on an old clipboard then go stand by the sets. Currently they were whispering at each other, some harsh, some exasperated, all of it unintelligible. Occasional glances over the shoulder marked parts of the discussion. One of them had glasses, he noted.

Stan sighed; he was bored. He thought it was going to be like the movies, where they just had each person come up and read off of a script in some goofy voice, with a lot less standing around. His mistake. Although, he was also pretty sure that this wasn’t how it was done either. But again, what did he know? 

A clap sounded from the white table, reverberating in the hollow walls of the warehouse, making Stan and the others flinch. They all turned towards the group of producers, who all stood in an unorganized semi-circle. The tallest one, a darker man with well-trimmed hair, addressed the group.

“Hello, and thank you all for coming in today!” he greeted, stepping forward. “I am Lloid Henson, the director for Poppy Avenue. The fine gentleman here-” He gestured to his left, where a freckled man in a familiar looking button up, sweater vest and glasses combo stood, Stan did his best not to flinch. “-Is Jim Cooney, he made both our sets and the puppets for today. And this lovely lady-” He then gestured to his right, to a small, chubbier girl, dressed in a cute combination of a long-sleeved shirt and overalls. “-Is Joan Morrisett. Our writer.” Both of Lloid’s colleagues waved and gave small greetings.

Stan honestly couldn't tell if the three had been friends already or if they all had just come together to make this puppet show, but either way, none of them looked like they knew what they were doing. Then again, it’s not like Stan knew how these things worked either. Neither did anyone else, if their pinched glances to one another said anything. He nearly snorted at the idea. No one here knew what they were doing. Except, maybe, Lloyd. At least, in the sense of working on a film set.

Not that any of it would matter to Stan anyway. He really didn’t think they were going to go for him. He didn’t have the voice built for a kids show no matter how he pushed it. That is, unless he played a villain, but he seriously doubted that this was the kind of show to have villains. 

He and the others watched as the three producers walked to one of the box stacks, grabbed one of the bigger ones, and brought it to the make-shift stage. Then dump the contents onto the hopefully non-staining plywood.

Frankly, Stan didn’t know what he expected. Most of the puppets and props looked to be hastily thrown together, even though they did seem to hold some level of quality. They appeared to be early mockups of scattered ideas, shoved together in the hope that one would inspire the notion of an idea. They looked… very homemade. That was him being kind about it.

None of them looked bad, but it was obvious that they were all mishmashed  together. All the same, it didn’t stop any of them from approaching the pile of fabric and plastic. Almost immediately, Stan found his attention being drawn to a rather ugly green sock. The green was an offshoot that lied closer to yellow, the sock itself had been altered to have two stuffed arms that ended in nubs that in extension had a nub to act as a “thumb”. The puppet’s face had a large orangish nose, and large simple felt eyes that sat just above it, a pair of wire-framed glasses were taped to its face, giving it a nerdy appearance. The simple vest and bowtie didn’t help matters. 

Stan knew that the puppet had to be based on Jim, but still, he couldn’t help but see-.

No. No he will not think about Him. It's not worth the heartache. He knows better than to start longing now. They won’t want to see him until he has millions, He needs him to make up for his mistakes, he needs to remember that. This is his attempt to finally make something more of himself other than a homeless vagrant. More than a criminal. More than the dumb twin. More than the spare.

While Stan buried himself deep into thought, the producers finally began their explanation of what it is he and the others were there for. They were to pick a puppet, along with any props, and a pre-written script, then act out a scene with the puppet. Once again Stan could feel his nerves fray as everyone began grabbing up the cloth patchworks on the set. Quickly, he snatched up the ugly green sock and meandered towards a separate white fold-out table where piles of paper sat.

Each script had a defining title: The Kid, The Parents, The Neighbor and so-on. However, Stan was scanning over the names with a simple idea in mind. He knew what he was searching for. Soon, he found his prize: The Scientist. This was likely his only chance at avoiding resorting to asking for questionable loans that he could never pay off, he needed to make it count.

The others had done almost the same as him, sans the immediate actions he took, they actually sat there and thought about their decisions. Each one glancing over their options. Stan hadn’t really taken the time to take the others in, outside of surface-level group observations. They were all vastly different looking, he noted. People from all demographics: man, woman, some where he couldn’t tell, child, adult, tall, short, fat, skinny, and some were of different backgrounds that he hadn’t seen often in Jersey. One, he noted, even appeared to have a cane, perhaps a lame leg? Another seemed to be missing some fingers. Many of them were like him. Someone who was desperate and needed this one chance.

He meandered back to the homemade pile to look at the left-over props as a majority of the others went to the script table. As he looked over the leftovers, one of the teens, a girl with wild, short, curly hair spoke up.

“Why did you decide to try this out?” It was innocent in delivery, and Stan could hear a subtle South American accent, Brazil, maybe? She had a sweet face, still a bit rounded with baby fat. She held a small felt puppet, with red yarn hair and a cute green dress. The Girl’s dark brown eyes look up at him with a shy curiosity.

“Need work” Stan replied simply. Before he could stop himself, he then continued. “You?” He wanted to hit himself; he shouldn’t be making small talk with these people. He probably wouldn’t get past his first line before they decide to have him leave.

“Mama saw the flyers, and suggested I try it out. Said it was because I had a good attitude for it.” She responded. Doing it ‘cause of her ma? Respectable, Stan supposed. “I’m a little nervous though, I haven’t really acted in front of adults before.” Her face began to turn red in embarrassment.

“Bah! The most these guys will say is ‘thank you’ then move on, I wouldn’t set your eyes fully on this. There are always other options.” He had to learn that the hard way. He wouldn’t let this little girl have that same crushing feeling. Although, his options had all run dry by now. At this point he noticed her looking at him intently. 

Her eyes grazed over him for a few moments. Studying him. It made Stan want to curl up and disappear. Who did she think she was? Didn’t her ma teach her it’s rude to stare? Rather than voicing this, he merely just huffed and quickly grabbed some fake plastiglas cups and some sticks, then briskly walked away.

What was he doing? He probably just screwed himself over with that! First of all, he was a full-grown man talking to a kid. Then snuffing her instead of ending things politely. Good going, moron…

This all was a bad idea. He never should have come at all. But he had already gotten this far, he needs to finish what he’s started. Stan sat down on one of the many boxes scattered throughout the warehouse and began reading his script. Only to pause mid-reading.

Sure, the letters were kinda scrambled and flipped, and the words were moving on the page, but-. How old was this show’s demographic again? Second graders? Stan may have been dumb, but he remembered a better way to learn about basic physics as a kid. Sure, He had been the one to teach him that way, but still, he understood that better at that age than he did this.

Maybe he could change it just a little bit? Simplify? Although, the producers likely wouldn’t like it if he changed their scripts. However, Stan knew what it was like to be the kid who was called stupid because he didn’t understand the topic that was being taught.

…Who wrote these again? The short girl. Joan Morrisett?

Looking around, he quickly spotted the women responsible for the scripts watching the others search for the script they wanted to try out with. Anxiously, he walked to the writer. As he got closer, he found a stiff weight firmly planting itself inside of his gut and heat rising up his face. He shouldn’t do this, it’s rude, but it’s not like Stan Pines ever gave much mind to being rude before.

Before he could stop himself, he came to a stop beside the young woman and cleared his throat.

“Uhm… hay uh…” Stan mumbled, only to pause as the shorter girl jumped in surprise.

“Oh!” Joan startled, snapping around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you!” She gave him a pleasant smile. “Did you need something?”

“Uh… kinda?” Stan shrugged. “Just a question, or a suggestion, I guess, from someone considered an idiot, y’know? Someone who was a kid who struggled in school?” His face was getting warmer by the second, his eyes looking everywhere besides in front of him.

“Alright,” She answered kindly. “Go right ahead.”

Stan, once again, cleared his throat. Rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension. “The science script. I have the whole Idea down… but looking at it… it reminds me of how I struggled in school, and how nothing the teachers taught me stuck. It was through a-” Damnit, he shouldn’t mention Him. Quick. Lie. “-close friend that I ever really learned anything. He helped me where teachers couldn’t, I was just wondering if I could… uh.” He stuttered. “Minorly alter the wording of the script, just a little!” he emphasized, panicked. He never should have asked-!

“Oh, alright! Although could you point out the section to me, so I get an idea of what you’re describing?” She slightly peaked over to look at the script Stan held. Nervously, he tilted it in her direction and pointed to a segment of text.

“Ah, yeah.” she mumbled, hand lifting to rest on her cheek as she huffed in frustration. “I wasn’t the best at science in school… I don’t really remember much from it either, I was more of an English and performing arts kid, y’know?” She shrugged.

Stan vaguely nodded in general dismissive interest.

“Well, how would you put it then?” She looked to him with a soft, encouraging smile, like the tutors that he would be assigned when he was very young and teachers still had hope for him. It managed to crack something deep inside him. With a preparing breath, he began to explain in the way that He did back then.

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

The current position Stan was sitting at was uncomfortable at best. He was planted beneath a table with its sides and front covered by a tablecloth, the back open to allow someone to sit slightly under. Stan was taller than the table, even when sitting, so he had to slouch uncomfortably to stay hidden from the producers sitting in front of the stage. The others were off behind the stage, waiting their turns or had already done their auditions. He had been placed firmly in the middle of the lineup, as he and Joan had taken time to alter his script before he read through it.

Around him were many tools of production for a show: lights, those inverted umbrellas that reflected the lights, a boom mic, and one of those expensive colored cameras. He had been asked to give his name, which he gave a fake; Pan Stein, what script he would be performing, and what his puppet's name was. Truely, there was no other option, he wore his inspiration on his sleeve. Dr.Pine, he told them, his puppet’s name would be Dr.Pine. With that done, they directed him to sit behind the table and now he waited for the snapping sound of the clapperboard.

When it finally snapped, Stan swallowed the spit overflowing in his mouth. He staged his puppet climbing an invisible set of stairs under the table, then feigned clearing the puppet’s throat, lifting its fake hands to its mouth. Then, with mild exaggeration to his normal tone, he addressed his audience. 

(I can’t write scripts, and I have at least two other parts I want to write for this au, so please be nice and just imagine Stan does a good job and explains things well, I’m not used to writing fanfics yet-)

As Stan stood from behind the table, he briefly glanced at the producers. With a quick giving of thanks, he rushed from the stage and around to the back of the set. Sitting in a cheap folding chair, hunched with his face almost to his knees and cupped in his hands, he let out a deep sigh. His thumbs rubbed his temples, and his palms dug into his eyes as he let himself de-stress from the work of acting. He was usually so good at this, why was he so stressed now? Acting was basically what being a door-to-door salesman was all about, pretending something was amazing so shmuks would buy it.

But now, it felt impossible…

He never should have tried. He should have just cut his losses and took on some loans. Sure, some of the deals were shady, but it couldn’t have been as bad as this. He wasted his time, and these people’s time. All for what? Unbelievable.

His foot came in contact with a plush lump on the floor. The puppet, Dr.Pine. A name both familiar and not in its minor differences. A name for something that was, in all ways that mattered, nothing. A close enough name to someone who couldn't call himself anything close to who he used to be. Man, how deep is he spiraling that he's becoming introspective? Not really his whole thing, dumb twin and all.

Footsteps echoed as Stan registered the newly formed crowd around the back of the set. He must have been in his head for a while; although, it hadn’t felt that long at all. For a moment, he thought he locked eyes with Joan. But, with a blink, the contact disappeared. Must have been mistaken. However, she did tap on Lloyd's shoulder, then whispered to him while vaguely gesturing to Stan. He wanted the floor to devour him.

Lloyd would also momentarily glance at Stan, but his focus was mostly on Joan. This had gone on for maybe a minute, before the taller man approached Stan. He could feel his heart begin to race. Then stop as the main producer did too.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir.” He awkwardly began. “My colleague told me about the changes you suggested for the script, and it was based on your struggles in school and with learning.”

Great, now he’s losing an opportunity because he was a dumbass, good going-.

“And I think we might have the perfect position for you if you really are serious about this show. There is some work that could be done for your acting; but it’s only fair since you didn’t have much time.” Lloyd finished, face holding a professional smile.

What? No, really. What? They were offering him the job? Because he wanted to simplify some words? But then again, there is no way he was the only one like this, surely.  They wanted him for that? It was that easy?

“Are you sure?” Stan tested, nervous.

“Positive.” Lloyd assured. “That is the whole reason for this show, to help kids who struggle. If you’re up for it. We have a contract you can look over, no strings.”

This was it, Stan processed. This was his chance to get out of this pit he dug. His chance to make something of himself. He somewhat shuffled as Lloyd guided him to a small, makeshift office and handed him a small stack of papers to read over. As his eyes scanned over the somewhat swimming text, he finally made his decision. And grabbed a pen, fake name at his fingertips, soon to be his new life.

Huh, maybe… he could do this.