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i have a week off in january. if i don’t write some of my wip during that i need to be executed
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have successfully gotten my colleague to watch two shows i’ve recommended. no bigger thrill. letterboxd eat your heart out
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up on melancholy (dell) hill
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I just don’t caaaarreee. I don’t care. But I care a lot though I care SO much. But also I just don’t care at all and never have. But also I do and always will. Hope that helps
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I hate it when people ask me what genre of music i listen to because i genuinely have no clue. It's called Music I Like genre. The best genre out there
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rosie for sure wanted gale's pussy so bad like haha i flew in my underwear lets all talk about our underwear together and gale knew it because he always knows and it made john fume so bad because fuck OFF ive been trying to get in that for years and gale knows that too and instead of giving it up he just walks around with his fruity little scarf and red pretty lips wrapped around a toothpick knowing every hot blooded american male in the place wants him but he still goes to bed alone every night and comes quiet into his pillow because the thought of men hanging on his every word and glimpse of eye contact is hotter than actually sleeping with them
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“In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy—as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh—as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege—as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover—as long as he is riddled with bullets.Â
Violence makes the homo-eroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.”
–Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence. Kent L. Brintnall.
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The Buckies flirting in the background đź’•
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“Who’s gonna tell Egan?”
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“A’ight, Buck,” Bucky’s shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes on Gale, his arms folded. “Touch yourself.”
Gale hesitates—reluctant, unsure, suspended between two selves: the one in the mirror and the one in the room. Gale isn’t sure which one he’s looking at and which one is looking back at him. "How?" Gale’s reflection asks hoarsely. "How you’d like to be touched," Bucky says, and it strikes like a match on dry tinder. It sets Gale ablaze, overtakes him. First comes the sound, then the full blow—the stinging pain, at once cold and burning—when he strikes himself across the face.
He uses his right hand, on impulse, so it makes his face swerve to the left, and his upper body follows. He’s panting, he realizes, and fuck, does it feel good for a moment—the absolute clarity of self-inflicted, unreserved pain. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, although his jaw locks for a split second.
#genuinely amazing!!! as always!!!!#SO MANY STAND OUT MOMENTS AND SCENES!!!#talking with your mouth full OKAY!!!#fic rec#mota#clegan
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merry christmas and happy holidays to everyone who celebrates!! đź’ž hope everyone has a wonderful day
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many people have rpf in their hearts but they're scared of it. this is tragic
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MASTERS OF THE AIR + angry buck about to kill a child
requested by @springsteens
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no offense but some of y'all should really consume more weird media ok some of y'all are ready to clutch your pearls at the mere sight of the slightest offbeat concept in speculative fiction and this can't go on
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