#silver rate

[laurapetrie]

Vivien, dear Vivien - an exquisite actress, thoughtful, fearless, gracious, and enormously kind. A lovely little pink cloud floating through the lives of all her friends, hovering over the setting sun, and thinking of everyone but herself. Olivier was a first-rate actor and a second-rate person. Larry always wanted to be a big movie star, and while he was considered the greatest actor on the stage, he was never in the first rank as a star in the movies. Then Vivien comes along and gets Scarlett O’Hara. Wins the Academy Award. Biggest picture ever made. Suddenly Larry says, ‘Oh darling, we really must get you out of Hollywood now. Let’s go off and do Shakespeare together.’ Now Vivien could do anything, but he was clearly trying to keep her in her place, which was billed beneath him. Then a few years pass and Vivien returns to make Streetcar. And she’s brilliant. Wins the Academy Award. Most talked-about movie of the year. And suddenly Larry says, ‘Oh darling, we really must get you out of Hollywood now. Let’s go off and do Shakespeare together.’ Small man. Giant actor. Very small man.

– KATHARINE HEPBURN on VIVIEN LEIGH and LAURENCE OLIVIER

[antimonyandthyme]

carcar, carlandoscar, 3k, explicit content, set after the hungary gp (so, rancid)

The muteness wore away when the ceremony started. First place, no matter how convoluted, suited Oscar just fine. Carlos watched him hoist the trophy high, while wondering if Oscar had an extortionate sense of payback. The last time Carlos had won, in Melbourne, he hadn’t let Oscar come until Suzuka. Not even on Thursday before media duties. But on Saturday, after Qualifying, because no matter how mean he’d tried to be he couldn’t be the one to affect Oscar’s actual race.

His appendix surgery had been a good excuse. Carlos said, “You’re going to have to work for it yourself, if you want to come,” and intentionally kept the circle of his hand around Oscar’s cock loose and easy. Oscar had whined his frustrations, rutting fervently into Carlos’ palm for any sort of friction. It wouldn’t have needed much anyway; Oscar had been so weak for it.

“Asshole,” Oscar said as he came, but the viciousness of it was taken away by the way he’d almost sighed it, and then slumped into Carlos’s arms after. Soft and almost sweet.  

And then Carlos had podiumed. And Oscar had gotten eighth. Great feelings all around.

He’d seen it in the way Oscar had looked at him after though, the heat in his eyes burning its way up Carlos’s back in a slow crawl. Carlos knew. The next time. He’d be made to return the favour.

There wasn’t much of a wait. Not even a couple of hours after the champagne had been drunk, and the confetti peeled of sticky skin.

Carlos stared at the text with a room number. There was no other instruction, nor a time. Already, the itch under Carlos’s skin was becoming a near physical presence. If it were Carlos, he’d push, tell Oscar not to keep him waiting. Oscar would let Carlos draw his own conclusions. Let him wonder if he’d show up too early to an unoccupied room, and have to storm away and make the same trip twice. Or overthink and show up late, and be punished worse for it.

The AC was turned up high, but Carlos imagined he was sweating. Blood pooling in places he could not hide just from the anticipation.

He wasn’t sure of the time when he finally knocked. Two neat taps. He forced himself not to rock on the balls of his feet. When Oscar opened the door, Carlos could pretend he looked calm, in control.

“You took your time,” Oscar said. He didn’t sound annoyed or impatient. There was probably little room for it; winning tended to take up too much space. That didn’t mean Carlos could let his guard down.

“I assumed you’d be out with the team.”

“Two drinks.” Oscar shrugged, stepping aside so Carlos could come in. “That was about all I could stomach.”

Asking why was redundant. It was a one-two for McLaren. Lando would’ve been there, surely.

For such a straightforward guy, Oscar was surprisingly hard to read. He’d give Carlos these little clues, nothing else. The deal was that the winner could take all. Melbourne had been such a lesson. But Oscar seemed to be waiting for permission, paused at the narrow hallway less than a foot away from Carlos.

“So what you’re saying is,” Carlos said, “you haven’t celebrated.”

“No,” Oscar agreed. The wry twist of his lips was encouraging. “I have not.”

“Well,” Carlos said slowly. “What are you waiting for?”

Oscar’s spine stacked itself up, straight as can be. Impressive how quickly his demeanour changed. Imperturbable, unaffected Oscar, who was actually so perturbable and affected. Carlos was secretly delighted.

When Oscar planted himself at the edge of the bed, knees thrown apart with all the self-confidence of a race winner, Carlos went without a second thought. Knelt between Oscar’s legs obediently, and opened his mouth.

--

Oscar seemed to like Carlos’s hair. He kept his fingers knotted through, at times tugging hard enough for Carlos’s scalp to ache. It was a nice distraction, because Carlos wasn’t as much sucking as he was trying not to choke. Oscar hadn’t given him much time to adjust. His cock felt thick and inescapable in Carlos’s throat. Occasionally, Oscar would pull Carlos off by the hair, give him a shaky moment to breathe, before impaling Carlos back on his cock.

“Too much?” Oscar asked casually, when Carlos couldn’t stop the weak whimper forced out of his throat. “Ah, no. You like it.”

Of course Oscar would notice, Carlos growing harder by the second, while his hands fluttered uselessly under his thighs. His entire body jolted when Oscar nudged his foot against Carlos’s cock. Only enough to be the worst of teases. 

“Don’t whine,” Oscar said, when Carlos whined. “You made me wait two weeks.”

Carlos shivered. All he could comprehend was the weight of Oscar in his mouth. Solid, unforgiving. Drool slipped out, trailed down his chin. He didn’t want to think about the kind of picture he was making, looking up at Oscar like that. Pathetic enough for Oscar to soften.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be nice.” Oscar continued to stroke Carlos with the tip of his big toe. Carlos couldn’t stop himself from curving into a half-moon shape, in an attempt to chase the paltriest of touches. “I’ll let you come today, if you’re good.”

Too easy, too easy. Carlos wasn’t stupid. Oscar wasn’t looking to be nice today, not after what his team had done to him. There wasn’t any of the usual triumph available to dampen the blow.

Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, braced himself, when Oscar began to thrust in his mouth. He gagged, fighting for a wet gasp of air. His throat was a stinging mess of sensation. The dull ache in his lower belly was worse. Above him, Oscar groaned, and the curl of fingers in his hair became an iron-clench.

“That’s what you’re good for,” Oscar said. He sounded miles away from Carlos, disembodied. “Your mouth, fuck, taking me so well. Your ass.” Carlos trembled, his hole clenched. A premonition of what was to come. “That’s all you were made for, for—”

Oscar came suddenly, violently, hips twitching. Like that was enough for him, the idea of Carlos just being his for the taking.

That was fine. Oscar was a race winner, and Carlos had come in sixth, behind Charles. He didn’t yet have a seat. In the moment, Oscar’s come pooling on his tongue, it didn’t make him feel that bad.

--

Oscar had him strip down to just his briefs, the fabric wet and constricting around him. Air felt like pins against his overheated skin. He was face down, hips up, knees kicked wide. Vulnerable in a way he could never get used to.

Unsurprisingly, Oscar hadn’t touched Carlos after he came. It was a good thing Carlos’s throat was all used up; he wasn’t above begging.

Oscar ran a hand down the inside of Carlos’s thigh, and he seized up like he’d been tazed.

“Sensitive,” Oscar said. “You waxed for me?”

No, Carlos thought sourly, but all he could manage was a garbled sound. Oscar rubbed his hole roughly through the cloth of his briefs, and the sound tapered into a high-pitched whine.

“You want it,” Oscar said.

Yes. “Yes!” he yelped, when Oscar laid a flat palm across his ass. More shock than pain. He tilted his head such that his cheek was squashed into the sheets, the eye contact somehow making everything better and worse. “I want. Oscar.”

Oscar dragged his briefs down, only so much that it exposed his hole, and left it uncomfortably taut around his upper thighs. His cock was still clothed, still begging for a touch that didn’t feel like a scratch. Protest was a helpless shake of his head, and Oscar pinched the flesh of his ass, a little meanly.

“Always complaining,” Oscar said. “Always wanting more than you can have.” 

A quality that could have been used to describe any of them. And so what? So what if he wanted? Pride slammed Carlos’s throat shut again. All he could do was push his hips back, begging for it in a way he could deny later.

It seemed an eternity, by the time Oscar deigned to slip a lubed-up finger into him. Carlos felt as if he’d been waiting so long, his abdomen tightened, his toes curled. Oscar was content to pump one finger in and out of Carlos, giving him nothing else. He’d smack Carlos’s thigh, tug his hips up whenever he got too close to the bedspread, leaving him rutting mindlessly against air.

Couldn’t even voice his complains, for fear of opening his throat and letting any of that neediness escape. His cock was so hard he was afraid he’d start sobbing.

“Hey.” Oscar’s finger stilled in him. He sounded funny. Carlos rocked back, pleading for more, and got a stinging slap against his ass for his troubles. “Do you want to try something new?”

Carlos had to count, take stock. The patch of sheet under his mouth was damp with saliva. His shoulders were starting to ache, taking the brunt of his weight. His thighs would start to shake soon, even with all the biking he’d been doing. Anticipation always wore him down quick. His right big toe was cramping up. This was a trap.

“What,” he croaked. Curiosity was going to kill him, as surely as a carelessly taken corner. “What are you thinking?”

“I said I’d let you come today, but I don’t really—”

Oscar paused. Carlos swore he could hear a buzzing in the room. His pulse sounded like thunder in his ears. Every one of his senses tuned toward Oscar.

“Don’t really deserve it, do I? Don’t really deserve to fuck you.”

No. No.

“Hey, Carlos.”

“Please,” he whispered into the bed, but he didn’t think Oscar could hear.

“Let’s get Lando in here.”

Carlos knew the second his body gave himself up. He clenched wildly around Oscar’s finger, his cock jumped in the confines of his briefs, and his knees gave out.

“Ah,” Oscar said. His finger in Carlos crooked down, viciously enough for Carlos to see stars. Barely anything had been done, and Carlos was already a gasping, trembling pile. “You want it.”

Carlos let himself imagine it. Lando. Lando. Draped over him, covering every inch of his skin. Fucking him while Oscar watched. All that talk about not being deserving, but it was Oscar who got to peel back Carlos’s skin while he sat and did nothing. Oscar. Oscar. Oscar.

His mind was patchwork of burnt synapses. Distantly, he was aware his hips were twitching, rubbing pathetically against the sheets. It wasn’t enough. Wouldn’t be enough until Oscar gave him what he wanted.

And he wanted, God, he wanted.

“I, I.” He couldn’t form the right words, throat working uselessly. “Fuck, Oscar.”

“Shh,” Oscar said. “I’m calling him.”

--

“Oi. Osco.”

Carlos blinked muzzily. Hell. That was—Lando, stepping through the door. Carlos hadn’t even noticed the automatic lock click, so focussed he was on the three fingers spearing him open. But now all Carlos could hear were Lando’s footsteps, each one taking him closer to the bed.

“Lando,” Oscar said, deathly calm. “Glad you could make it.”

“You win one race and you think you can order me around—fuck.”

Carlos swallowed, his throat clicking. He couldn’t turn around to see what expression Lando was wearing. Couldn’t close his legs either. The surface of his skin felt as if it were on fire, all his shame on display. Oscar reached down, and tugged sharply on Carlos’s balls, and the whimper that slid out of him would haunt him for a long time.

“Oscar, what the fuck.” Said bewilderedly, but not uninterestedly.

The suggestive wonder in Lando’s voice had Carlos’s hole clamping down on Oscar’s fingers reflexively.

“Look at him,” Oscar said. “You just got here and he’s already gagging for it.”

“Oscar, again,” Lando said. “What the fuck?”

“Carlos needs someone to fuck him today,” Oscar said, as if they were discussing the weather. Or some produce at the supermarket. Look at this peach. Ripe and ready to eat. “Can’t be me though, right?”

A second ago Carlos couldn’t put together the jigsaw puzzle comprising of Lando’s face, while he looked at Carlos all spread out and leaking like a tap. But now, it slotted together, piece by perfect piece. Carlos sensed the moment Lando understood. The moment he accepted Oscar’s handshake over a chessboard.

“Right,” Lando said. “Can’t be you. Not after today.”

The silence that followed tore at Carlos, produced another whimper. Very different games from the ones he and Charles played. Maybe he’d just been driving in circles blind, this whole time, while everyone else made chess moves that far eclipsed the mid-field.

“Go on,” Oscar said. “He’s all ready and waiting for you.”

“Carlos?”

Almost sweet, the slight hesitation. Lando thinking to check, even while Oscar dangled Carlos in front of him, three fingers still thrusting in and out of Carlos as if he were a toy.

“Carlos,” Oscar cut in. The way they said his name was so unlike, wrapped in their own version of favour. “Tell Lando what you told me, just now. Tell him how much you want it.”

The order shot straight down his brainstem through his spine and into his dick. Carlos moaned, shifting desperately on his knees, thrusting his ass up higher. “Lando, please,” he said. “Please, fuck me.”

“Fucking Christ,” Lando said.

There was a muffled sound, skin on skin, with weight behind it. Lando shoving Oscar out of the way, tearing Oscar’s fingers unceremoniously out of Carlos. There came Oscar’s very bothered, unbothered scoff. Carlos wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. 

At least Lando was willing to tug his briefs down all the way, release Carlos’s cock which slapped against his stomach. He was so embarrassingly hard.

“He’s kept you waiting, huh, Carlos?”  The thin veneer of gentleness made the hair on Carlos’s forearms stand. Had Lando ever crooned so softly at him? Carlos couldn’t remember. Back in his McLaren days, maybe. The orange stained them all differently.

“And you’re making him wait even more,” Oscar said.

Carlos would grumble, if he knew he could get away with it. So now Oscar’s impatient? Now that there’s someone else in the room to witness Carlos falling apart?

“Fuck off, Oscar,” Lando said, media-trained pleasantness turned on full blast. The click of the lube, the slow, slick sounds of Lando stroking himself. By the time Lando pressed into Carlos, Carlos would have remade himself waiting, he was sure of it. “I’m doing your work for you, in case you forgot.”

“You’re both,” Carlos rasped, unable to bear their catfight any longer, “children—”

The stretch was almost bearable, after how brutally Oscar had played with his hole. All the breath punched out of Carlos’s lungs. He moaned piteously, even as he did his best to shove himself back on Lando’s cock. Carlos could choke on them both; he had the appetite for it.

“Baby,” Lando cooed, “you feel so, so—”

“He feels good,” Oscar said. Can’t let Lando get one over him. “He’s always, always, so fucking tight.”

Oscar was never careless with his words. Never. Not even when he complained about Carlos in front of god and country. Always. He knew what Lando would think. Three chess moves ahead.

The prickle of indignation fell to the wayside when Lando started fucking him, harder than Carlos thought Lando would ever touch him. No gentleness or finesse. His cock was an uncompromising stab in Carlos. He felt it all the way up his belly, even to his throat. Aftershocks of when he had Oscar in him. Lando was trying to redo it all. Carlos didn’t know how to break it to him that used was used.

Lando slipped out, in haste or contemplation, Carlos couldn’t tell. Were they both looking at his abused hole? Or were they looking at each other? Carlos’s mind was coming up blank.

Lando fucked back into him, finding his prostate, and Carlos cried out. Scratched at the bed thoughtlessly. He wasn’t holding himself up; he was barely holding on. Lando’s hands were wrapped around his hips, digging in bruises that Carlos would feel all the way to the next race. His cock dribbled pre, a mess on his stomach and the sheets.

“Oscar,” Carlos said.

He flinched when Lando smacked him on the thigh, hard. At a better time, Carlos would tell them they were two sides of the same coin. “I’m the one fucking you,” he said.

“He can’t come unless I say so,” Oscar said, voice dipped in satisfaction. “You want to, Carlos?”

“Yes,” Carlos gasped. “Yes, fuck, I want.”

“Ask for it,” Oscar said. “Go on, baby.”

Never a mistake. Carlos tossed his head, whined his displeasure. Lando was splitting him open and it still seemed as if Oscar had Carlos fit into the palm of his hand. Lando was going to see Carlos begging for it. That had been the plan from the very start.

Lando was silent. Carlos couldn’t be. No self-preservation left, worn down to the quick.

“Please,” Carlos sobbed. “Please, please, please, Oscar, please—”

Oscar’s hand found his wet, desperate cock, stroked him to the time of Lando’s increasingly irregular thrusts. “Good,” he said. “You can come, Carlos. You’ve worked for it.”

Carlos shook, every muscle tensing up, before thawing like melted butter. He came, mind wiped clean from the pleasure and the shame. Sparks rewiring him from the inside out. He fell forward, and there was Oscar’s arm, supporting him against the dull weight of Lando on his back. He twitched, moaned, mouth rising and falling in pleading shapes.

“Good,” Oscar said again.

--

“You can leave now,” Oscar was saying to Lando.

Carlos’s eyes were barely open. There was an arm around him, stroking his shoulder with a gentleness completely lacking before. Whose arm was it? Carlos couldn’t give a damn.

“Or shower, if you want, whatever. I don’t care.”

Don’t let him play you like that, Carlos wanted to say, but his tongue was too thick in his mouth. And anyway, he should probably take his own advice, before giving it. Carlos leaned into the doting hand with a sigh. He was sore everywhere a body could be sore.

The last thing he knew before falling, was the soft, apologetic press of lips against his. Slightly chapped, smelling of that godawful Papaw lip balm. In the far, faraway background, the sounds of the shower started. Someone murmured his name. But Carlos was too tired. They could continue this in the morning.

[queenserena-13]

WELP, FINALLY DONE, I’m glad to see there was a lot of interest for the WIP this art, I hope what I made delivers, here’s the hisuian typhlosion gal I made, her name is Vivian

Do please let me know what you think about her, it means the world to me to hear people enjoy my art and what they like about it

[doodledstars]

No union for Grizzco and scales.

[michael-h-art]

Me: I think i'm done with Sonic art for now Also Me the moment they put my favourite in the DC Crossover:...

[ardenrosegarden]

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Hurt/Comfort Bingo Masterlist

'Human Shield to "I'm Here For You."' On The Tide - Chapter Ten. James 'Bucky' Barnes x Original Male Character. Winter, Greg and Neri do what they do best, with both expected and unexpected results. CW; Dead body, canon-typical violence, gun use, graphic violence, risk of MCD, implied sexual violence, human trafficking references.

'Sleep Deprivation to Hand Holding' Silver & Gold - Chapter Ten. Natasha Romanoff (ish) x Original Male Character. The final chapter. CW: Smut, Keeping Secrets, Vomiting, Pregnancy mentions.

'Broken Ribs to Stitching Up Wounds' On The Tide - Chapter Nine. Bucky Barnes x Original Male Character. Winter’s captors reveal their true intentions. CW; Kidnapping, torture, physical abuse, slave sale, non-con virginity auction.

'Held at Gunpoint to Taking Their Mind off It' On the Tide - Chapter Eleven. James 'Bucky' Barnes x Original Male Character. The boys live with the after-effects of the kidnapping, and how to move forward… Together. CW: Discussion of gunshot wounds and captivity, non-graphic medical care, smut, AAAALLLL the smut. Full smut warnings in prompts.

'"I'm so sorry." to stuffed animal' Nightmare. James 'Bucky' Barnes x Steve Rogers. Steve supports Bucky through his nightmares Post-HYDRA, and Bucky realises that his apartment is slowly filling up with Steve's things. CW: Smut, some angst.

@sweetspicybingo

This was a LOT of fun, even though I didn't get a bingo... I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next from SSB!

[rate-every-bat]

Today's Bat: Silver-Haired Bat

We're back! Fulfilling the other half of this ask, let's review the classic, the ubiquitous, the beautiful... Silver-Haired Bat!

Environmental Impact: When you look at the Silver-Haired Bat, the Lion King's "Circle of Life" should play in your head. These frosted beauties are so enmeshed in the ecosystem of their wide North American range, a study referenced by ADW cites their worth at around $3.7 billion dollars of pest control. Not only are they excellent insect-eaters, they're an important prey source for predators like skunks, owls, and hawks. Unfortunately, this enmeshing has also lead to the species' several specialized illnesses; specifically, several kinds of mites, and a Silver-Haired Bat exclusive strain of rabies.

🦇🦇🦇🦇/5

Beauty: Wow, I love a Silver-Haired Bat. The dark body reminiscent of the cartoonists' ideal bat... their silver-tipped coats... their little lamb ears... their noses that put me in mind of my pet hedgehog... After a few weeks away, looking at this guy is like taking a cool drink in the hot desert (coincidentally, one of the only places the Silver-Haired bat doesn't like to live).

🦇🦇🦇🦇/5

Power: I love an opportunist, and the Silver-Haired Bat is especially good at getting while the getting's good. They can roost pretty much anywhere, including: in abandoned squirrel nests; in rotted tree hollows; in fissures and cracks in tree bark; in wood storage piles; under house siding panels; in naturally-formed caves; in abandoned mine shafts; and in cracks in cliff faces! They prefer heavily-forested areas, but they can and will snag winter roosts all along their migratory paths. This, and their wide range, make the Silver-Haired Bat one of the most adaptable species I know of.

🦇🦇🦇/5

Overall: If your loved ones emerge from a coma and forget what a bat is, the Silver-Haired Bat is a good one to introduce them to. My fellow US-Americans can look forward to these guys' re-emergence in March!

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇/5

(Today's sources: Animal Diversity Web, Bat Conservation International)

[sorrydetka]

silver linings playbook (2015) dir. david o. russell

[suntails]

i am taking minor artistic liberties by going Against my personal headcanons and against one Tiny Minor Detail of canon for the sake of Artistry in this animatic and i need u all to know that it is in fact killing me a little bit

[hiuythn]

Hi, how are you? If you don't mind me asking, what are your top 7 favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series/etc)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before...... Thanks....

hi! I'm doing great, thank you for asking! I haven't thought of a top 7 before so that's interesting to think about. hm...I guess it would probably be:

1. Haikyū!! (it's so simple but it's so good. I heard Furudate created it to get people into volleyball and I'm confident in saying that he succeeded. there's just something so refreshing about it, but underneath everything, it still manages to communicate a thoughtful message that where you are today is not where you'll be tomorrow, and that the journey brought on by your passion—while it may not get your end—still has meaning in its pursuit.)

2. The Husky and His White Cat Shizun by Meatbun doesn't Eat Meat (xianxia danmei. my god, I went into this novel thinking it was another low-hanging fruit enemies to lovers type bait where the ML is basically abusive and the MC is a weak backboned twink, but no. no the story had me screaming, sobbing, and begging the author to stop because it hurt too much. I was in tears and I was laughing and I was in love and I was praying for them to be happy so, so bad. it's actually insane. NOTHING will beat how Meatbun managed to make me reconcile Chu Wanning's cold exterior with his soft heart, and Mo Ran's past life with his current one. I was actually baffled by how many fucking revelations, foreshadowing, and plot twists (that made sense and didn't come out of left field entirely) this book managed to have. Meatbun expertly weaved humor, tragedy, horror, mystery and romance all into one misleadingly-packaged book and I feel delightfully bamboozled.)

3. Turning by 쿠유 (Korean historical bl novel. Still reading this one, but the deep unspoken trust the MC and ML have for each other is really awe-inspiring, and they're also very competent at what they do. The relationships with their subordinates and allies are also really heartwarming. The plot is sufficiently interesting as well, and not just something cobbled together to make the characters kiss lol—not that that's bad intrinsically, but it can get old after a while.)

4. Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rock Riordan (everyone knows this one. I love it because I grew up reading it, and then reading it to my sister out loud with the voices and everything. I love an MC that just consistently doesn't know what he's doing and yet sees things through to the end, and whose motto is just "fuck it, fuck this, and fuck you". and again Percy and Annabeth have that "bantering duo who trust and balance each other out and are also very, very good at what they do" type relationship that I'm such a sucker for.)

5. Bleach by Tite Kubo (one of the Big 3 manga serialized back then. I'm down bad for the art, he's one of my favourite mangaka in terms of art style, and also it's nostalgic. I grew up watching ichigo fight through impossible odds with just his "fuck you don't touch my people" mentality. are you starting to see a pattern with me and protective, headstrong MCs? the cast of side characters are all pretty memorable, despite its growing size down the line and again, i love their designs. I know people gripe a lot about the plot and continuity errors, but I enjoyed it regardless—except for the accursed ending and Epilogue Dad Haircut..)

6. Montmorency by Eleanor Updale (victorian crime fiction novel. I was sent this as compensation in, like, 5th grade when the Scholastic Fair delivered the wrong order to me. I didn't expect to like it but it was surprisingly a good standalone read. i used to reread it loads but it's been about a decade now so some details are blurry, but i am very fond of it still.)

7. A Quiet Place (horror movie, though for me it's less horror and more of a family-centric movie. I'm awful with horror, I'm such a wuss, but this movie was so good with its character dynamics and the ending was so fitting that I couldn't help but rewatch it and have it engrained in my head. I haven't watch the other movies in this series and tbh I fully believe the first movie is sufficient on its own, not to say the other suck, I just have no urge to watch them. this movie was such a palate cleanser for me in cinema.)

thank you for your ask, had a lot of fun coming up with this list!

[petrichorium]

@itoshisoup here u go! The hoyoverse leveling calculator updates to include the two upcoming chars on the second char of the current update, so that’s what I use.

As for relics, I have to wait to see for sure but my own guesses r that 4pc imaginary (esp while running him w welt/ruan mei) or 2pc imaginary/2pc fua will be his best in slot. He buffs his own crit according to how many debuffs r on an enemy && has rlly good break efficiency on his own so 4pc imaginary while aiming for imprisoning enemies a lot is pretty solid (again I mention welt as a rlly good support for him) IF you find yourself lacking in crit. On the other hand, most of his dmg will be coming from his follow-up attacks—think clara and topaz, not jing yuan—so the 2pc duke set will grant him some solid dmg, but bc he’s only hitting once per follow-up && doing a lot of follow-ups outside his turn, he won’t be able to make use of the full 4pc bonus like jing yuan can.

[privartidahos]

PHYSICAL MEDIA TIL I DIE 🗡️ (titane dvd design by yours truly)

[heaven-s-black-box]

Fragment- Navia & gn!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: April 13th, 2024

Description: Hello sorry if I'm bothering you but I wanted to share one of my ideas with you. So what if the reader washed up in Fontaine specifically in Poisson and Navia went to investigate with Silver and Melus going with her and they found an unconscious person who was not only confused when they awoke but they were also completely exhausted, hungry and they had strange markings on some parts of their body and when Navia got them examined by a doctor it was discovered that they had an extremely large amount of dendro energy within their body despite not having a vision. (This was inspired by the first episode of Aphmau Diaries rebirth, here's the link if you don't know what I'm talking about: https://youtu.be/1Vzq1QZVtuk?si=kyIxOyJTSnTjNaMG) (if you don't want to write this that's completely understandable and I wish you a good morning/afternoon or goodnight)

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions.

Word count: 1 162

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Only dreams…Can awaken consciousness… from the deepest darkness…

The cool, floating sensation slowly ebbed away.

Erasing something from ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ does not erasing it from existence.

Pain slowly crept up into Y/n’s muscles, while waves lapped at their feet. The sun began to warm their body, slowly pulling them back from whatever depths they’d been in, and their eyes scrunched as the light began to bleed through their eyelids. They couldn’t move, their body felt too heavy. All they could register was the sound of birds, waves, and… footsteps?

“-us! Silver!” the voice kept fading in and out, “-looks hurt!”

She sounded kind. Was the voice talking about them? Did they look hurt? Were they hurt?

The voice faded out again along with everything else, and Y/n was slowly returned to the depths of their consciousness.

They’re standing in a bed of luminescent pink flowers before a glowing white tree with pink leaves. The tree’s roots twist up into its tall, winding body, and the leaves flutter down around them. When they look to the side, they see a young girl looking back. She looks confused, and Y/n can feel their brows pinch in a similar expression. The girl feels familiar, but before either of them can speak Y/n’s world returns to darkness.

“Do you- wake up soon?” A faint voice asks.

Someone answers, but they’re voice sounded like a vague humming.

It took some effort, but Y/n was finally able to pry an eye open. Everything felt heavy, there was a dull pain in their head and sharp pains all over their body, and nothing felt real. The world was blurry and blown out, forcing them to squeeze their eyes shut again. Their lips stuck together when they tried to speak, and swallowing felt like knives cutting up their throat. Everything hurt.

“Did they just move?”

“Silver, quick, get the doctor. Melus, get them some water and something light to eat.”

A soft hand grasped theirs.

“Squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no.”

Y/n gave a weak squeeze to the person's hand.

“Can you open your eyes?”

They once again tried to open their eyes, this time they managed to catch a glimpse of a black and gold blur. Two weak squeezes.

The woman must have seen their eyes open, because she offered a suggestion.

“Would you like me to turn the light off?”

One squeeze.

“My name is Navia,” the woman said. There was the sound of a stool scraping against the floor and Navia’s hand left theirs. The light filtering through Y/n’s eyelids dimmed, and they tried to open their eyes again. “Here, let’s try this.”

There was a quiet splash and then the sound of water dripping back into a bucket before a damp cloth was laid over their eyes.

“Do you know where you are?”

Two squeezes. They pried their lips apart to try and speak, but it was futile.

A door opened.

“Boss.”

“Thank you, Melus.”

Navia tapped Y/n’s hand before asking, “Can you sit up?”

Three squeeze.

“Hm, was that a ‘I’m not sure’?”

One squeeze.

“Would you like help?”

One squeeze.

“Melus, give me a hand, please.”

Y/n heard someone walk to the otherside of the bed, and then a gloved hand cupped the back of their head. Navia wrapped an arm around their upper legs and put her other hand on the back of their neck, while Melus wrapped an arm around their waist so that they could pull them up.

“Three, two, one,” Navia grunted as she and Melus carefully pulled Y/n into a sitting position, leaning them back against the wall and headboard.

The cloth over Y/n’s eyes fell away, and they scrunched up in box pain and from the sudden return of light. Carefully, once more, Y/n opened their eyes.

A bright smile settled on Navia’s face and she removed the hand from their neck to wave. Y/n cracked a tiny smile in return.

“Would you like some water?”

A small nod.

By the time Y/n had finished the glass of water and gotten through almost half the bowl of porridge, Silver returned with a doctor. The doctor checked their eyes, and their pulse, before sitting down and taking out a pen and clipboard. He wrote down some results, then turned back to them.

“Do you have a vision?”

“A wha-” their voice broke and they coughed a bit. Melus handed them a new glass of water. “A what?”

The four members of Spina di Rosula looked between each other in confusion.

“Something like this,” Navia said, holding out her own.

Y/n shook their head.

“Where are you from?” The doctor asked next.

“I… don’t know,” Y/n mumbled, flexing their hand in their lap.

“Do you know how you got to Fontain?”

Y/n shook their head.

The doctor wrote something down on this clipboard.

“Do you know your name?”

“Y/n.”

He stopped writing, his brows furrowed, then he scratched something out and wrote something new.

“Doctor,” he looked up at them, “do you know what these are?” Y/n asked, running their fingers along a section of dull green swirls along their arm.

“Some kind of elemental markings, they’re all over your body. It’s likely that they’re a product of some kind of attack from a powerful elemental being, which might also be the cause of your partial amnesia.”

Y/n let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, staring down at their hands. They ran their thumb over a swirl that ran over their pulse and up around their fingers, then did the same for the other hand– though this swirl ran along the back of their hand.

Navia must have dismissed the doctor because he left, followed by Melus and Silver. She took her seat from earlier at Y/n’s bed side and rested a hand on their knee.

“You’re welcome to stay in Poisson for however long you’d like,” Navia said, voice quiet as she tried not to disturb the atmosphere. “I can also try and help you find answers, believe it or not the Spina di Rosula is an organization built for investigation.”

“Thank you.” Y/n stretched their arms out in front of them to get a clear view of the markings along their arms. The marks disappeared under the sleeves of the shirt they’d been dressed in. “It feels… like I’m forgetting something and… it makes me sad.”

The room fell silent for a moment before Navia cleared her throat.

“Well, you should probably get some more rest. I’ll be around, if you need me just ask someone.”

Y/n nodded. “Alright, thank you.”

Navia helped Y/n lay back down before taking her leave, and it wasn’t long before Y/n found themself slipping back into the darkness, passing through to the field of glowing flowers.

Only dreams…Can awaken consciousness… from the deepest darkness…