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#AND JUST HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM IN GENERAL
egophiliac · 4 months
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I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!
I am not normal about any of these characters!
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#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#me just staring at the ceiling thinking about anime characters#if i start talking about the big stuff now it's going to turn into a huge rambling mess so in the meantime#i did not get sebek (yet) (i need to contemplate my gems...) but i did see his groovy#he is just full-on cinderella-sparkles bibbidi-bobbidi-booing into that armor! magnificent.#and i really don't have enough words for how much i love tiny malleus. he is perfect. he is precious. he is everything to me.#he knows who his dad is no matter what some crusty dead talking ectoplasm blobs say#(man no wonder lilia's got hangups if THAT was the general attitude he was getting)#('eww you got your dirty bat cooties on the prince' go sit in the corner with mrs. rosehearts you absolute garbage)#(...i did kind of love that lilia started to wake up because the senate said one nice thing to him)#(and he immediately was like 'this is not reality')#(sounds about right)#on a lighter note i was just. SO charmed by the little throwaway about ✨dragon lord consort esteemed diplomat revaan✨#who picks the vegetables out of his food and hides them under the tablecloth#everything i learn about this man makes me like him more. he was SO dumb.#now we know where malleus gets it from i guess#also unrelated but once again the fact that i named my mc tamago has had unintentional consequences#tamago take the tamago and tamago tamagao tamago#frikkin love that when yuu gives the egg back you can just be like 'i love him. this is my baby now.' 100% accurate.#also yuu continually referring to malleus as tsunotarou even to the senate = amazing. yuu really has NO self-preservation or awareness.#they fit right in with everyone else#<- see what did i tell you. huge rambling mess.#and i haven't even BEGUN to talk about MELEANOR -- (is dragged offstage by a hook)
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lylahammar · 10 months
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someone give this man some support right this instant
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To be honest my biggest "my WoL would not do that" in the whole game is when I, playing a WoL called Bounding Frog who named herself from her lifelong love of studying frogs, was called out for acting like a bad frog by Erenville, a man apparently her equal in Frog Knowledge. I have to believe that Alphi-toad and Ali-toad were so bad at being toads that even though Frog was doing her best to be realistic and guide them, it was hopeless and their poor acting was what betrayed them to the frog guy.
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forcedhesitation · 6 months
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astarion origin playthrough worth it just for all the extra moments where he does the "sad wet cat" face
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red-moon-at-night · 8 months
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I find it so SO interesting that as soon as Kazui's breaking their marriage vows and revealing his true feelings (literally tearing apart the dove), the wife is already falling off the balcony
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Her hair is fluttering in the wind. The apple fucking splatters on the ground this whole sequence is so visceral I'm spinning it around in my mind. Kazui views his truth telling as a violent act, the killing blow.
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ineed-to-sleep · 9 months
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Well you see they're just very good friends
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yj-98 · 11 months
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While the Captain may not always win, he may not always save the day, he is always kind. And that's a reputation to be proud of.
Billy Batson — Shazam! #1 (2023)
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3cosmicfrogs · 5 months
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he wants to show you his bird
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ducktracy · 5 months
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never posted these here but wanted to prop this up: a well directed sequence! some VERY strong and in your face parallels (especially that up angle of Popeye and Bluto throwing Olive onto the couch, establishing her as the helpless middleman), little nuances that support those parallels, and just a great helping of personality that is always so dominating of the Popeye cartoons. that the dominating music here is “Love thy Neighbor”—used with an acerbic irony—ties it all together.
the punches Popeye and Bluto throw at each other is my favorite part. Bluto only needs to throw one punch—it matches how big, imposing, and “whole” he is. Popeye throws multiple; they’re smaller, just as he is, but more spry and split the difference. likewise, Bluto throwing in that extra “runt” after his punch is a great reflection of his character—he resorts to violence AND petty insults, making him seem even more unlikable. Popeye gets back at him with the violence, but he doesn’t stoop to his level with the name-calling.
even how they react to Olive offering candy is indicative of their character. Bluto is indulgent, pleasure-seeking (even if it is from a mere chocolate), and seldom thinks before he acts. Popeye on the other hand is more courteous, polite, and doesn’t succumb to his instincts as easily. his “no thank you,” is more genuine than Bluto’s own coy expression of thanks
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daily-hanamura · 6 months
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micamicster · 11 days
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Super Rich Kids
Close my eyes and feel the crash...
I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!
When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.
Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.
As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.
Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.
Ronan looked away.
Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.
This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.
For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.
Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.
He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.
Adam shifted next to him, subtly.
“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”
“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”
“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.
“I know I can.”
“But?”
“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.
Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.
Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.
“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”
“That was for your shitty aim.”
“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”
“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”
Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”
Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).
Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”
Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.
Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.
Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”
Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”
Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.
“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”
“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).
They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.
“Bullshit. Bullshit.”
“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”
“It wasn’t even close! You—”
“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.
“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”
“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.
Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”
Ronan was not allowed knives.
~
“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”
“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.
Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.
Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”
Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.
Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.
“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.
Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.
Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”
Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.
“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”
Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”
There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”
“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.
“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”
“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”
Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”
“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”
~
Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.
Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.
As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.
“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”
“And your condition is shit.”
There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.
“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.
“My dad loves it.”
They marched on in silence.
Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.
Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”
“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.
“No.”
Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.
“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”
Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”
Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”
The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”
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something to be said about how kristoph's only known mentee is a loud young man who dresses flashily, is particular about music and so passionate about the truth that he forgets to take people's feelings into account sometimes and follows the thread of logic even when it's disadvantageous to his case or people he cares about/admires. and who also does vocal training. like. just admit you miss your brother and go visit him. freak.
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youjustwaitsunshine · 5 hours
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anyways i genuinely and deeply believe that seb is one of the best, well-rounded, most talented racing drivers currently active and i think no matter where he was racing, he'd adapt within less than one season. he's incredibly versatile, everyone who has worked with him praises his quick understanding, intelligence and detailed feedback. he's a genius on track and seizes every opportunity he can and any team across all of motorsport recognizes his talent. so many other drivers know him to be courteous and friendly and so many racing series want to win him (and the fanbase and recognition that comes with him) to drive for them. It's clear that once a team is genuinely happy to have him and listens to him, he's a major force that very few other drivers could come up against.
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river-of-wine · 7 months
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If it’s meant to be, then it will be
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kyurochurro · 2 months
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saw this image on Pinterest and the pose gave me such riker vibes that I just HAD to draw it as him and troi HEHEHE
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will80sbyers · 7 months
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Mickey with bisexual light behind him in episode 5 we love to see it
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