#I’ll be here for a while

[somedayillbepeterpan]

One of the best things that have come out with this incurable addiction to Polin season and subsequently, Bridgerton, is seeing all the magnificent crew and the work that they do inside and outside of the Bridgerton world.

Since I need my Polin fix, I’ve followed some of the department leads of the costume, music, dance, and hair/make up and their teams and I am gobsmacked with the amount of time, effort, creativity that goes into each season. And now I’m seeing the other work that they have done

We may have our issues with the editing/pacing/dialogue/costume mishaps (I’m looking at you, Luke’s wig) but there is so much magic happening in the background that you can’t help but still fall in love with everything that Bridgerton has to offer.

If you’ve been here, in my tiny space of this tumblr void, I have to warn you that I won’t be stopping lauding this season any time yet.

I’m still here.

[felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna]

I can’t get over how tan and glowy and gorgeous hwa was during that live.

[evedaser]

watching 4x01 and 4x02 and i have a lot of thoughts but the one thing that is killing me right now is Merlin and Kilgharrah’s conversation.

From the moment I met you, I saw something that was invisible. Now it is there for all to see.

A lot of what you see, old friend, is what you taught me.

Merlin says this type of thing to Kilgharrah and Gaius both - who are, frankly, even in the most positive light, terrible teachers, mentors, and friends to Merlin, not to mention they form what is quite possibly the least functional support system I’ve ever seen.

Merlin, please stop thanking this bottom-of-the-barrel person and dragon for shaping you into who you are today. Who you are today is anxious, traumatised, lonely, and destructively self-sacrificing.

[elodieunderglass]

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

[chloesimaginationthings]

The FNAF Mikes talk about their extended family..

[doodlecrumb]

Marauders fandom!! You have been summoned. Look! It’s a James! Feast thine eyes! (I’m sorry, do what you want. I’m not the boss of you. Have a nice day.)

[fantasykiri5]

Ticklish

[funfairsundaes]

💚💚💚 !!! Happy St. Patrick’s Day !!! 💚💚💚

[vamprisms]

midnight visitor wip

[chimckenns]

The worst thing is people leaving you after you finally open yourself up, thinking that you’re too much.

So Darlin’ shuts themself down and distances themself from everyone.

This way they’ll never be a burden.

This way they can never be “too much”.

This way they can’t hurt anyone, and no one can hurt them.

They’re used to solitude.

“If you come closer, I’ll hurt you.”

They’ll be alone anyway.

“Don’t test me.”

No one would ever want them.

“Stay away.”

Please don’t leave me too.

They ran away from the pack when the Quinn thing happened. They’d rather deal with it alone. It’ll be too much if they asked for help, and the pack would hate them for it.

They’re too much.

Then Sam appeared in their life like a firework - beautiful and mesmerising. It was fun being with him. They felt like themself. They actually liked his company quite a lot. Maybe too much.

But then the feeling vanished as quickly as it came, and they retreated back into their mind.

They should have kept their distance.

They’re getting too attached.

He’s gonna think they’re too much.

Fuck.

But they couldn’t bring themself to remove their head from his chest as they listened to his steady heartbeat. His body enveloping theirs in a kind of warmth they never even knew existed.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow they’ll leave.

But today, they’ll allow themselves one more day in his company.

Just for today.

[mossy-paws]

Dopplegänger

Uh oh.

(Og Photo:)

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Apology - Excerpt

Ford was working as he always was nowadays, half listening to the radio behind him and trying to stop his heart from jumping in his throat every time that Stan stopped speaking for more than 10 minutes and nothing but static filled the room again. Ford wasn’t sure what exactly his brother was talking about anymore, as he welded a set of support bolts into place, but he nearly dropped the welding gun on his foot when Stan suddenly spoke after a long stretch of silence.

“Ford?”

Ford fumbled for a moment before shoving a stack of loose paper aside and  setting the welding gun down on the table beside him. He put his hands on either side of the radio on the same cluttered table and took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart.

“Yes, Stanley?” He asked softly.

Stan, of course, didn’t hear him, but had paused as if waiting for a response before continuing anyway.

“I know, I know damn well you’re probably never gonna hear this, but I need to say it anyway before… Well. I don’t need to eat as often and shit and I know you’d love to figure out why but… I’m not sure how long I’m gonna last out here either way.”

Ford didn’t say anything, staring down at the wooden grain of the table like he could burn a hole clean through it with his thoughts alone. His palms ached from where he’d dug in his fingernails, and his shoulders mangled to hunch even further.

Stan laughed. It was a bitter, ugly sound.

“Ah, damnit. This isn’t about me. Can’t even do this right, you idiot” His brother took a deep breath. “ But Ford… I think I need to apologize.”

Some old, fossilized hurt in Ford’s heart snarked ‘you think?’, but Ford nearly gagged as he suffocated the thought before it could take root anew. He felt sick.

Oblivious to Ford’s turmoil —and of course he was, because he didn’t know Ford was right here, that Ford wasn’t going to let one of the last things he ever said to Stan be that he thought Stan was worthless— Stan continued.

“I don’t think I ever got to, back when… you know. What I said that night is a bit of a blur to me to be honest, but I know I was spouting nonsense and saying all the wrong shit and… Moses, Ford. I know it’s too late now but I’m sorry. I really am.”

Something in Ford simultaneously healed and broke in his chest at Stan’s words, but he didn’t get the chance to process it because Stan wasn’t quite done yet.

“And I need you to know it wasn’t on purpose. I’d never do that to you. Never. Why would I ever want to hurt you like that, poindexter? I just… I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone in Glass Shard Beach scraping barnacles off the Taffy shop for the rest of my miserable life and I wasn’t. Thinking.” Stanley’s voice had been rising in a steady crescendo, but suddenly got so quiet that Ford had to strain to catch the words in the buzzing static. “I’d… I shouldn’t have gone into the gym. I shouldn’t have even gone near your friggin project. I didn’t go there to break it, I would never—“ his voice broke. “I thought you knew that. I’m your brother, you dingbat, why would I ever want to hurt you?When did I ever not support you, man?”

“Then why did you do it?” Ford whispered back, just as quiet. That old anger he’d tried to push down rose up again, simmering. Stan knew he’d poured months of his life into the perpetual motion machine, that he’s shed more than a few tears and more than a little blood and sweat over it. And then he’d thrown it all away?

“I’d only hit the table, ya know. Didn’t think the grate’d pop off or anything like that. I tried to fix it. I know I should’ve told you, I know and I’m sorry, just…” I was scared, goes unspoken. Ford’s legs were shaking, and he tried to steadily himself by leaning further on the table. “I know I should’ve told you. I know. I messed up fuckin’ good, Sixer.” Ford flinched.

“I’m. I know you’re never gonna get the apology you deserve cause I was too much of a coward to actually call you and say something.” Stan’s voice was shaking. And I’m sorry for that too. And I’m sorry for not listening to you about your stupid book, and I’m sorry— ugh. We’ll be here all day trying to name my fuckups. That’s the last sorry you’ll ever hear from me you nerdy, uh, nerd.”

Stan sighed loud enough for the radio to crackle and screech. “Good going, Stan,” he muttered, his voice getting quieter as he evidently walked away, done.

And all that was left was static.

Ford pushed himself away from the table and sank into the rolling chair nearby, putting his face in his hands and trying to breathe as the chair was pushed back several feet from his momentum.

“He’s lying,” Ford tried to say, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. “He’s trying to make it so… so.” He faltered. “He’s obviously trying to deceive me.”

Trust no one.

But he had trusted Stan. And Stan got hurled into a Dimension of Nightmares for it.

Stan has no reason to lie, Fords mind whispered, because it was always against him no matter what stance he took. He doesn’t think you’re coming to save him. Why wouldn’t he try to explain the worst mistake of his life in a fit of guilt and complete loss of hope?

“Shut up,” Ford said intelligently, and he didn’t dare pry his face away from his hands, heels of his palms digging into his eye sockets and pushing up his glasses to his hairline

Stan had no reason to lie.

Stan came to help him at the drop of a hat after ten years of being too afraid to even call him. 

Stan… Stan didn’t mean to break his project. It was a stupid accident, done by a stupid teenager too afraid to admit his own failings. Stan didn’t betray Ford. Not like he thought his twin had, for all these years.

Ford was wrong. About everything. He was wrong about Stan and Bill and Fiddleford and, Moses, had he ever done anything right in his entire, miserable life? Ford didn’t know. 

The empty bunk bed beneath his own  for those last few fateful months before Backupsmore, the tears and screaming at a boat that never even left the shore, the years of resentment and refusing to believe he missed his own twin, what was it all for? Because Ford suddenly felt the sharp sting of grief all over again, throbbing with a ferocity he’d refused to acknowledge for the past few weeks. Years. 

It was like he was 17 years old again, mourning for all the wrong reasons and all the right ones too. For his brother. For his chance to become someone worthy of recognition, of love. For pushing away the ones who’d already loved him.

For the first time since the day Stan fell into the portal all those weeks ago, Ford pulled his knees up to his chest on the seat and, in the safety of his own arms, he wept.

The static crackled on, steady and unchanging. Unforgiving.

———————

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face @littlelilliana15 (if anyone else wants to be tagged pls let me know! I’m going to probably be posting more for this au sometime this week)

I have ideas for a mini comic and a whole animatic using Space Oddity so I’ll just have to see how far I get, really

[clickbeetle]

Thought I'd put my slays together into one post.

Bonus normal(?) Cage that I probably won't finish or fix the anatomy of. Don't look too closely.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

it’s suguru and his love for sleepy drunks against the whole entire world

[chloesimaginationthings]

Oooo I love the way you draw Jeff he's cute <333

I hope I did Jeff justice.. gotta love tired men

[cookiesart]

🍨🍊

Separated pieces !

Inspo ;

Twitter / Kofi