#alexander is not here for it

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Star Trek: Lower Decks 5x9 - GARASHIR SUPERCUT

[hinamie]

morning glory

[sentientsky]

just a friendly reminder that, just because slavery was formally "abolished" in the so-called united states* in 1865, enslavement itself is still ongoing in the form of incarceration, which disproportionately affects Black and Indigenous people

(*i say "so-called" because the US is a settler-colonial construction founded on greed, extraction, and white supremacy) recommended readings/resources:

The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander

"How the 13th Amendment Kept Slavery Alive: Perspectives From the Prison Where Slavery Never Ended" by Daniele Selby

"So You're Thinking About Becoming an Abolitionist" by Mariame Kaba

"The Case for Prison Abolition: Ruth Wilson Gilmore on COVID-19, Racial Capitalism & Decarceration" from Democracy Now! [VIDEO]

[avatar-roko]

I’m out of practice at controlling my expression

[versatancore]

*charles just passing by*

pierre : i'm not gay but damn.

lewis : it's not gay to compliment another man bro it's okay.

max : to be honest, i'd fuck him.

george : see now? that's gay.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

This is how I picture Jonny and Alex when they react to Magnus stuff on twitter

[sanesaviour]

usm fanart bc why not

[goddidntdothis]

PATHOLOGIC RAREPAIR MASTERPOST PT. I

[alltimecharlo]

“A place made for leaving.”

[jajatoc]

Just like a person, the Town is a process. It's movement. In this town, people can make the impossible, for it is a machine. A border-breaking machine.

[speedyshark95]

Pt.4 (out of the 20) Albono :)

[you-know-cchio]

luke "all the facts i give in the show are fucking true" manning vs. alexander "consistently loses the plot" jeremy is truly an unstoppable force meets an immovable object

like sam bullshits his way through facts, so tom and luke can take joy in correcting his mistakes. but correcting aj only brings the others suffering because most of the time, aj himself doesn't necessarily believe anything that comes from his mouth. the man is just saying words recreationally. which also happens to establish the reality of the world the other three exist in.

[userbrielarson]

GLADIATOR II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott for @katiecasey

[couchcouchcouchcouch]

Happy Halloween Wolf 359 enjoyers!! in which eiffel gets what he asked for, and regrets it.

i am cursed so that every time i want to celebrate anything i am forced to draw a comic instead

[yandere-wishes]

｡ ₊°༺ Pink Pony Club ༻°₊ ｡

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Yandere! Dr Phosphorus x Reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⋆.𝄞𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓸𝓪𝓷𝄞˚.⋆

✮★✮ Oh Mama, I'm just having fun, on the stage in my heels it's where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club. ✮★✮

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He lets the music roll over him, allowing the drums to melt over his flames and bleed into the marrow of his black bones. When you dance, you have to focus on the turn out of each step, on the wave of your arms, when to stiffen when to loosen. It makes it all so easy to forget the pain of being constantly on fire. To forget the melancholy that festers inside you. When the adrenaline is this high, you can only make out the strobing neon lights and the dazed amusement of the crowd.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ It's hard to hate the music and the lights, to shy away from a crowd so easily fascinated by the gleeful macabre. It's really the most sanity-inducing thing you can cling to when your body has turned into the thing you once loved. When you've become your research after watching your old self die in a furnace at the hands of those who once wielded all the power in the world. Funny how we make our own monsters, funny how the thing that kills us, is nothing more than the very man we once tried to kill, now engulfed by his own invention. Phosphorus spins, left leg, right leg, jump, and twirl.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The dancing, the music, the clapping, the lights, it's all so perfect for melting away the terrible things that slither inside him, to burn away all those good memories until the kill and the luxury are all the remains. It's getting just too easy to forget his son's face, to forget the smile his wife gave him on their wedding day.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's a moment between moments when the world seems to stop. It's only then that he notices you, or rather notices what you're wearing. It's the dress he thinks, pink like the mushroom clouds he'd once adored, like the sunset framing devastation. Or maybe it's the way you have your hair so cruelly tied. Tight circle above your head like an atom waiting to explode. In a flash it's over, someone is handing him a drink. Another sitting on his lap. And he's thrust harshly back into reality, back to a world of trying to forget.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus is and always will be a man of logic. A man of science. He lets his fingers glide over the stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills. To think he'd spent his whole life begging for a quarter of all of this. Begging for scraps of funding to save the lives of thousands. It had all been so important once. Still, he can't help but let his mind wonder, what could he build with all of this? What could he solve, discover, create? He tells his men to lock it up in the safe, he's not ready to go back to all of that just yet.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The next time Phosphorus sees you, he's half sunken into the plush couch of the VIP lounge. It's been a long day, a long tough day. Everything had gone wrong and all so right in the same breath. This time your dress is the shade of clouds marred by the blood of a dying sun. He should know this shade from the history books he'd used to read, the shade of skylines behind ancient temples. Back then he'd been trying to understand. Understand what he's not quite sure, he'd been so desperate to pry every little answer from the world. To chew their solutions, breaking them with his teeth and spitting out his own variation, his own thesis. He'd been so utterly convinced of his own intellect, convinced that reading Saadi at the same time as the latest research paper on Nuclear decay meant understanding the world.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He watched with staunch fascination as you tried to dance. Following your friend's steps, heels stepping awkwardly completely out of tune. You bend your knees, sinking to the floor. And Phosphorus can't think of any excuses for why his cheeks feel hotter than usual. Why his eyes are permanently affixed to the sway of your arms.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He thinks you look just like nuclear fission dancing in the limelight with your friends. Like you've split your own body to create them. Little atomic nucleus dancing under his microscope. You look perfect, your toned legs amplified by the radioactive pink of your heels. Long neck he'd love to kiss decorated with a thin string of gold. You don't look a thing like the other girls at the lounge, you look like an experiment beckoning him, seducing him into cutting you open, and observing how you explode.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's been following you keenly, trying to see what happens next. It's the fourth week in a row that he's forgotten about dancing for the crowd, about the girls who used to hang off his arms. He's too devoted to this experiment. "Nuclear scientist finds atomic bomb inside ancient temple from the bronze age". Phosphorus examines the sway of your hips, the bob of your head, and the crude kicks of your legs. There's something wrong with those heels, they're too thin, too high, inviting everyone to stare at you. But he's quick to shove them away, circling you from afar. He can't let anyone tamper with his experimentation. Certain matter performs differently when it knows it's being observed. So he allows the notion of invisibility, making you feel unobserved, safe in your own ignorance.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He hasn't felt this alive in years. This ecstasy tastes utterly sweet, pure saccharine. It's the same thrill as watching your particles stabilize after days of trying to find the right frequency. Watching them organize into the right motion. And isn't that what you are? An ionized atom. After all, what is dancing if not ionization, if not trying to lose a part of yourself you can no longer bear?

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's late tonight, rivals had somehow bled in and were after the safe from Phosphorus' newest heist. He'd burned them to a crisp and danced on their ashes until they flew away. But that doesn't change the fact that he's late, too late in fact. When he rushes through the door, men nervously run behind him. His eyeless sockets fall upon an uttermost dreary sight...

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The problem with people is that they never truly appreciate beauty. They treat it as if it's something to conquer something to tame. They never bother to understand it, to study it from afar whispering prayers of gratitude for bearing witness to this new discipline. The man's body is too close to yours, head following your lips, as you awkwardly try to sidestep. The moment you try to flee he grabs your wrist. You scream, no one ever hears screaming through the bass and the rhythm.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's smoke in your eyes, sickly-sweet honey in the back of your throat. It's all too acrid but at least the hand assaulting your wrist subsides. The thing in front of you glows green, an acidic neon green that feels too familiar in shade. You watch as the skeleton seizes your shoulders, such a warm touch hearthlike in every way. He pulls you closer till all you can smell is null and all you can feel is smothering warmth.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never quite quiver under his touch, never fully shy away when he cups your jaw and tilts your head. It's like you want the radiation, want to feel his nuclear essence bleeding into you. Maybe then you'll be whole. Maybe then neither of you will need the music, and the lights, and the crowd to feel whole.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never belonged in the clubs, it was painfully obvious you could never mold to their dances, their music. Your heels never fit right. Phosphorous knows he's been trying to do the very same for all so long. Neither of you needed to kill off your electrons, to throw them away to ignorant nobodies who would sooner hurt you for their own voracious motivations. "Give me your electrons and I'll give you mine." Phosphorus tucks your head into the crux of his shoulder, "I'll fuse with you so you'll never need anyone else."

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus' hands mirror yours, swaying overhead before falling lower like the cascade of a wave. Side step, side step, stop, and bend. He thinks this is better than any club, any choreography he could do by himself. He feels so whole dancing only for your eyes. He feels so happy having you dance only for his eyes. Your palms touch as you circle slowly. Dancing like the airy rotation of electrons. There's no more dancing at the Pink Pony Club.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ What do you call a dance that feels like merging two atoms? What do you call it when your heart feels like the denotation of a bomb? He presses his lips to yours slowly, feeling the nuclei crash, a nuclear reaction, his tongue hum between your teeth endeavoring to melt away your fear. His fingers, dance across your hips heating up, leaving burning hearts and hand prints, claiming you as his, making you death just like him.

Lost the request for this but thank you so so much to the sender!! 💞💋💞💋

[local-human-disaster]

I'm thinking more about Annabelle's confrontation with Henry, because the way Luke (and AJ too) play it means so much to me. It's so realistically scary. So many details I adore in that short minute, because it says so much to me as a queer semi-woman:

Henry calls Annabelle "darlin'" straight off the bat. Of course darlin' is a common stereotypical southern term of endearment, but compounded with Henry's affection for Annabelle, and Annabelle's confused, "oh shit does he mean me" reaction, there's a sense I get that he's already verbally claiming her as his beloved. Without her consent. She's very much not endeared.

The very third thing Henry says is "give me your foot". With zero context. He brushes aside Annabelle's denial ("that's not mine"), and when she doesn't want to, he forces it on her.

Annabelle's reaction throughout this is constantly trying to diffuse the situation, downplaying her reactions. Forcing the shoe on her is already harassment, but she just says "I don't like this". She only pushes Henry's hands away as much as necessary so he wouldn't touch her in an act of very understandable panic, and then she puts her hands down like she's trying to calm them both down.

Because the reality is that historically, queer women face violence from cishet men, as both queer people and as women. Annabelle's reactions scream to me that she's aware that Henry, a man and a police officer, has so much social power over her, an eighteen-year-old young woman. It's not about being a bank robber or not (Henry clearly doesn't care either), or that she can shoot well; it's that she's a woman and he's a man, and the common sentiment was (and still is, in many circles) that women are men's belongings. Queer women aren't queer to those men, because queerness gets in the way of their "rightful" claim over women. Henry doesn't have to explain himself, because he feels entitled to have her even though she doesn't know who he is. He refuses to listen when she repeatedly says she's not interested out of entitlement and arrogance. He doesn't even consider that she might not be into men at all!! He forces the shoe on her, like putting shackles on her to claim her as his. He can be as violent as he wants, and she knows it'll be his word against hers if she makes a scene. So she tries not to.

Just. I really love that they didn't shy away from the realities of being queer women. So far most gay couples in sfth are in settings where being gay is accepted, like Ditch, like Bubbamiah. But Annabelle and Butch both don't get to be queer women (or non-men) in an ideal setting with zero homophobia and sexism, and those two intersect very nicely (and realistically) here.