#Descriptor

[tanjir0se]

Disclaimer these are just a small sampling of some possible writer traits I’ve noticed either in myself or in fics I read. Also consider a rb for sample size !

[2pen2wildfire]

Really hate that the queer community's response to the creation of a gender trinary (girl, boy, and nonbinary, which is still not all-encompassing) was to... reinvent the binary. We just started grouping all genders into "masc/male-aligned" and "fem/female-aligned" and it's so fucking stupid. Even with the occasional allowance of "neutral/unaligned" it still maintains the binary as the standard. And then they don't let you use certain labels if you don't have the "right" gender alignment. The fuck.

[chamomile-tea-time]

i actually rly like it when authors (OCCASIONALLY) use a descriptor for a character we've already bene introduced to rather than a name/pronouns (ex: the florist eyed him suspiciously // max eyed him suspiciously). it has to be used well ofc, ideally when the descriptor is relevant, but yeah i get a kick out of hearing the protagonist think about "the tall man looked down at him" or smth like!!! yummy piece of description you have there bro

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

one of my side hobbies that i occasionally lose an afternoon to is scouring the internet for vintage, slice of life style comics where I can get incredibly specific glimpses into life from decades ago, right? i like my W K Haselden, my George Macmanus, my Tim Barela.

I was recently browsing through some archival Gerard Donelan and I found this series of comics someone archived from the Advocate, from July of '79. I'm FASCINATED by the animal comparisons, since the only modern day analog that's stayed entirely intact seems to be bears:

there is some archetypal stuff/stereotype that's pulled through to this day but I'm fascinated by how the economic and cultural bleed of 1970s america vs today has wholly affected the ability for these archetypes to sustain themselves

[lazylittledragon]

i am losing my entire shit right now, this single panel caused a nuclear disaster in my ig comments when someone said "halsin just saying 'astarion's partner' instead of his name feels icky"

which is such a fucking reach by itself but descended into this in about 5 seconds

[crimeronan]

adapted from

[pointyfruit]

What? Do you want me to hold, like, a gay scythe or something??

[unsuperingyournatural]

no takebacks

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

dividers @saradika-graphics

@po3tbbygirl not sure this is what you were thinking but a little something along the lines of what you were mentioning in your post

"And the Oscar goes to..."

You hear your name and everything slows down. Like the world is just… pausing for you.

Then Pedro is standing.

A deafening roar of applause erupts around you, thunderous and wild, and Pedro’s already pulling you up, arms wrapping around you tight, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek—then another, right near your temple. You hear him say it, warm and close:

“You did it. You did it, baby.”

You barely remember the walk to the stage. Just the blinding lights, the sound of applause, and the surreal weight of the Oscar now in your hand.

You step up to the mic, still a little stunned.

“Well... this is awkward,” you begin, earning your first wave of laughter. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and now my entire left eyelash is threatening to mutiny.”

More laughter. You smile.

“Thank you to the Academy. Thank you to the cast and crew. You made this performance possible through hours of night shoots, uncomfortable contact lenses, and—shoutout to our stunt team—multiple fake injuries, and one real one that reminded everyone I’m not invincible.”

Laughter again. You breathe a little easier.

“To my team—thank you for fighting for me. And yes, Dan, I am finally thanking you on a stage. Let it go.”

A laugh from off-stage. You spot him—your lawyer—smug as ever.

You take a breath, and your gaze finds Pedro, seated in the front row, grinning up at you like he already knows what’s coming.

“I wasn’t going to bring this up tonight…” You pause, then smirk. “…except I absolutely was.”

You turn your gaze toward the front row. “Pedro,” you say lightly, “you told me—back when I got nominated for a Golden Globe—that if I won one, we could finally talk about the whole kids thing.”

The crowd chuckles, and Pedro immediately drops his head into his hand.

“You said—and I remember this clearly—‘If you win, I’ll think about it.’”

You pause for effect, smile widening. “Well. I won.”

More laughter and cheers. You glance down at him. “So we talked. And you said maybe. Then you said—and I quote—‘If you win a SAG Award, then we’ll definitely talk.’”

Pedro’s already blushing. The crowd is loving this.

“Well,” you continue brightly, “I won that too. So we had the big talk. And you said yes. No timelines, no pressure—just, yes. Open to the idea.”

You pause again, letting the room settle.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about this,” you say, grinning as you shift the statue to your other hand. “And I realized... you kind of kept moving the goalpost on me.”

The crowd perks up again. You glance down at him with faux suspicion, eyebrows raised. He’s already shaking his head, bracing for impact.

“First it was, ‘If you win a Golden Globe, we’ll talk about kids.’ Then it was, ‘Well if you win the SAG Award, we’ll definitely talk.’ And then—then—you say, ‘If you ever win an Oscar, that’s it. One kid. Definitely no takebacks.’”

You hold up the statue like a mic drop. “And I just feel like... maybe you didn’t think I’d actually get this far?”

The laughter explodes. Pedro groans into his hands.

“Like, were you just setting the bar so high that I’d give up and stop asking?” you tease. “Because if so... tough luck, honey. We’re in it now.”

Pedro mouths something that looks a lot like “I panicked!” and you can’t help but laugh.

As the laughter rolls through the theater, the actor sitting directly behind Pedro—someone very A-list and enjoying this way too much—leans forward and claps him on the shoulder with a huge grin. Pedro just slumps slightly, still laughing, nodding like, Yeah, okay, I earned that.

You tilt your head, lifting the Oscar just a touch. “Look, I don’t know what kind of strategic reverse-psychology delay tactic that was, but it backfired spectacularly. I won. This is happening.”

You pause dramatically. “So unless you’ve got another awards show in mind... better start warming up those lullabies, Pascal.”

The room loses it. Pedro throws up his hands and calls out with a groan and a laugh:

“Alright—but you’re telling my sister.”

"Deal!"

The crowd howls. Someone near him claps him on the back again. He just shakes his head like a man who’s been thoroughly outplayed.

The laughter swells again, and you take one last look around the room—at Pedro, at the sea of faces, at the moment you never quite let yourself believe would happen.

You lift the Oscar just slightly, smile slow and certain.

“Thank you,” you say one more time, voice warm.

Then you step back from the mic.

You're barely behind the curtain before someone hands you a bottle of water and starts congratulating you. There’s glitter in the air. Your heart’s still pounding. You can’t feel your feet. The statue’s heavier than you expected and warm from your hands.

And then—he’s there.

Pedro slips through the crowd like it parts for him, his eyes locked on you with that soft, breathless kind of smile that makes your stomach drop every time.

Before you can say anything, he pulls you into him.

“Jesus,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “You really did it.”

You laugh into his chest. “You sound surprised.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his hands still warm on your waist, his face completely undone with pride. “I mean, yeah. I always knew you were amazing. I just didn’t think you’d actually call me out that hard on live television.”

“You deserved it.” You smirk, still slightly breathless. “You started the whole ‘if you win’ saga.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually pull off the triple crown.”

“Well,” you say, holding up the Oscar between you like evidence, “I did. So...”

Pedro lets out a quiet groan and presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t believe you did that to me in front of everyone. My phone’s going to explode. My family’s phones are going to explode.”

“I warned you.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“Okay, maybe I implied it. With my eyes.”

He laughs again—real, deep, glowing with pride—and then brushes his fingers down your arm.

“You were perfect,” he says softly. “Up there. You made the whole damn room fall in love with you.”

You lean in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Too late. I already picked you.”

He exhales like that broke something in him. Then he tugs you back into another hug—one of those hold-on-for-dear-life ones—and kisses your cheek, then your neck, like he can’t quite stop.

“Hey,” you whisper near his ear. “Just a heads up…”

Pedro stiffens a little, playful. “If you say ‘no takebacks,’ I swear—”

…“I was gonna say,” you cut in with a grin, “your sister’s probably texting you in all caps.”

He groans again, but he’s smiling.

You feel it—how proud he is. How completely stunned.

Like in this moment, there’s no one else in the world. Just the two of you, tucked into the softest kind of silence.

And as he holds you, smiling into your shoulder while the chaos hums around you, you let your eyes flutter shut for a breath.

This— this feels like the start of something even better.

[chococrystal]

I’m sure this has been done already but whtvr

It’s literally their dynamic 🍃💨

[sublimerences]

One of my favorite details in death note is how near and mello both have their lackeys hold their phones for them. That’s it. That’s the post

[pencildragons]

spreading my john gaius was māori space jesus before gideon propaganda: the unimaginably old and vast being from which he comes chose him to save all of humanity and in the end he made a sacrifice of the highest order and was made anew in glory. except he didn't actually sacrifice himself, which is a crucial point that leads me to my second theory: john gaius is evil māori space jesus

[jeeb-roski]

I think a LOT about how Soap has canonically referred to Price's beard as the dick tickler. 😭

[beneathsilverstars]

normal dashboard simulator !

(username didn't fit into the screenshots well but op is by hermitcraft-8)

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"Okay, so, that's the why and the how. Show me the who."

Leverage Redemption S03E04 The Hustler Job.

[nastymajesty]

goodposting

[anassemblageofpassions]

The thing abt john winchester is that he is too complex for the majority of the spn fandom and for a good portion of the writers on the show too.

Because at his core john is about love over everything else. When he looks up at his sons (yes, up, the fact that they’re both taller than him>>>>>), there is love seeping achingly from every single pore of his being even as he abuses them, as he destroys their souls beyond belief. He does it all entirely out of love. And he is so, so wrong for it. A part of him knows it. But he wants to keep dean alive, and he wants to keep Sam pure. And he loves them so much. And he damages them so horribly. John Winchester is the foundation upon which they are both built, they only become more of what he made them as the series goes on. Sam stops fighting it, Dean continues to mold into his image no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

Hell puts them both on steroids, but their individual trauma responses that influence this are the foundations that John built into them. No wonder azazel wanted sam to win so badly. John Winchester crafted his sons into alastair and Lucifer’s ideal victims, respectively, and dean was a better (worse) john than John ever was. John held out in hell. Dean acquiesced to his abuser despite all of his efforts to fight him, and he’s never been the same since.

Sam fought like hell, and he fought destiny, but at his core, he did what John always wanted him to by doing what dean wanted him to do, and then he stops fighting at all, loses the fire he showed john in adolescence that john immediately notices when he returns in s14.

And the sad thing is. They filled their roles so well that John is saddened by what they’ve become. He didn’t want dean to break. He didn’t want Sam to be dimmed. He’s sad to see what Sam is like in s14. In the process of recovering his wife, he ensured he would mold his sons into what he wanted them to be, and when he got what he wanted, he was devastated.

John Winchester is so driven by love and grief and he’s so filled to the brim with both that it’s painful to watch him on screen because he destroyed his family because of it. And he wanted this all along but he didn’t realize what he’d have to give up to get it.