#LMAO THIS WAS IN MY DRAFTS APPARENTLY ??

[elletao]

AMINA in WE ARE LADY PARTS S1

[delioncourtes]

From what I hear, God's a bit tetchy. Wiping out the human race. Big storm. All of them? Just the locals. I don't believe the Almighty's upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians. Yet. And God's not actually going to wipe out all the locals. I mean, Noah up there, his family, his sons, their wives...they're all going to be fine.

GOOD OMENS - 1.03 Hard Times

[umeji-writes]

Okay, but let's talk about Balam's hair for a hot second

(Yes, it may have become one of my fixations) You know, the guy not only cut it radically - and we know it's because of Iruma - he also let it grow back, and now he grooms it much better than before. Why? While my wishful thinking headcanon is that Kalego offered to brush it after they declared their feelings for each other (they are definitely introduced as best friends, but c'mon, look at them here)

...I also recognize this is not canon, so it can't be the actual reason. So I was wondering: why this difference? IMO it signifies personal growth, but what caused it, if Iruma led to the haircut? And then it hit me. Meeting Iruma, again - but in a deeper way than I thought at first. According to Balam's own words, he decided to cut his hair to appear more approachable. But why not brush it and style it as he's doing now? Everything we know about Balam's past points to him being treated like a weirdo and marginalized, not only because he likes picture books, he was also hyperfixated with the existence of humans.

This went on all his life, from bullies at school to his own students. He was likely wounded, full of self doubt and possibly shame, so he withdrew into himself, and his hair was messy because why bother if people avoid you anyway. So imagine finally having tangible proof that you were right all along. That's life changing, not only because of the discovery itself - it can make you reevaluate your whole story, and yourself. A radical cut was a logical thing to do, to break with the past. But why letting the hair grow back then? I speculate that Balam is most comfortable with long hair after all, and he feels more like himself this way (I mean, he had medium-to-long hair in all flashbacks). I like to think that his personal grooming is a metaphor for his newly found self confidence and self love: he can be himself to the fullest, he likes the demon he is, and he's not afraid of showing it to everyone else now, by making his hair prettier. He was right all along, and everybody else can shut it.

Such a small detail in the grand scheme of things, yet enormous for the single character. I love this manga so much ♡

[saltpepperbeard]

OFMD Week Day 2: Music Monday

Turning Page

[jenna-louise-jamie]

some alex rider quotes that perfectly sum up the entire series

[alchemiclee]

xiao bird is born!

get 3d print file here

painted by me

[starstruckodysseys]

babe wake up new mentopolis oc just dropped

her name is adrian allen (aka adrenaline, she/they) !! still sort of workshopping her design but. this is it for now. i made the first picrew and then remembered mentopolis is like. 1920s so i frantically made the second one LMAO

[sophsun1]

Justin Taylor + FCUK T-Shirts

[mobydyke]

nothing that jerking off and going to bed at 8pm can't fix

[ebongawk]

Eddie and Chrissy have a big fight/argument/misunderstanding (but with a happy resolution please 🥺). Just for hurt/comfort sake.

Eddie couldn't wrap his head around it.

Reconnecting with Chrissy Cunningham (yeah, that Chrissy Cunningham) five years after leaving Hawkins to snap at his heels while he went out and made a name for himself had, at the time, seemed like an act of fate. He'd just gotten out of a year-long situationship that ended when their mutually agreed upon exclusivity had, apparently, been too exclusive for her.

Eddie wasn't heartbroken or anything. He didn't really let his attachments take up that much space in his chest, but it was disappointing to realize that, yet again, he was deemed not enough by a person with whom he'd expended so much time and effort.

But, whatever, right? Who gave a shit. Rockstars weren't supposed to dip their fingers into one honeypot at a time, anyway, so to speak. And Eddie was kinda in a place where he should have wanted to explore that.

(He didn't, but that seemed secondary.)

Then, in aforementioned act of fate, Chrissy Cunningham showed up at his signing booth at the end of a show, and all that space in his chest he hadn't allowed another person to occupy was suddenly pitched with a For Sale sign, paperwork drawn up and just waiting for her to take out the mortgage.

Wonder of wonders, she fucking did.

They'd just celebrated a year together by buying an adorable little three-bed townhouse in Carlsbad. It was kinda dated – the wallpaper had definitely been picked out by someone's grandma – but it was theirs, and Eddie fucking loved it. Chrissy did, too, if all the squealing was anything to go by.

Producers called up about a week later to let him know they were going on tour for four months, and Eddie and Chrissy were torn between elation and devastation, since she could only go with him for the first month before she had to be back at work.

Which was fine. They made it work. Eddie called whenever he had a chance and Chrissy had sent him off with polaroids and a letter about how much she loved him and the stuffed frog he'd won her at the San Diego County Fair and it was fine.

Except, recently, shit had been weird.

Like, weird weird.

Like, Chrissy could only talk for a few minutes weird. Like she'd missed his nightly phone call a few days ago because she'd been "out", and when he'd called her last night, he swore he heard a man's voice on the other end of the line.

He asked, and Chrissy explained that she forgot to mute the TV, but that was completely unlike her. Chrissy never forgot that kind of stuff because she always lamented that it was impossible to focus on their conversation if she had distractions in her periphery.

It hit him like a goddamn ton of bricks.

She's cheating on me.

And it didn't make sense, but then it did, because who the fuck wanted to wait around for some asshole guitarist in a band that barely had name recognition? For four fucking months? She was a publicist, for fuck's sake, she made plenty of money to support herself and Eddie was just the dead goddamn weight that nobody wanted––

He didn't want to believe it. But she knew he was getting home the following day, so Eddie did what any sane person would do. He boarded a plane twelve hours earlier than was originally planned, took a taxi to their new house, and was going to catch her in the fucking act.

Even if it ripped his heart to shreds with fucking dragon claws and made it impossible for him to ever love anyone else. That was just the fucking price he'd have to pay for trusting someone, he supposed.

The entire trip home (six hours), all he could think about was what he was going to say when he found her in bed with someone else. And he kept choking on his own tongue to keep the bile from coming up his throat.

Unlocking the door, Eddie set his duffel bag and guitar in the foyer, automatically toeing off his Reeboks (Chrissy was adamant about no shoes in the house) and walking down the hallway toward the kitchen.

It was empty.

Then, from up the stairs, a soft, continuous banging noise. Like a hammer tapping against a nail or––

Or a fucking bedpost hitting the wall.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Eddie rounded the corner and practically barged into their bedroom, shoulders heaving and fists clenched.

Empty.

A blink, then two, and Eddie looked around. There was something different about the room. Like, yeah, okay, it'd been a while since he'd been home, but the walls were... definitely not green when he left. Because they were covered in that awful wallpaper.

Right?

And... did they always have those built-in bookshelves around the picture window? And that window seat?

He nearly went to investigate, but then the banging started up again, and Eddie whirled around, looking at the ajar door of the empty guest room down the hall. Heart in his throat, he approached and cursed his own fingers for trembling like that.

(Didn't these hinges used to squeak?)

The room was not empty like it'd been when he left it.

In the middle, beneath a clear tarp, was a huge desk that was stacked with boxes. He couldn't make out everything hidden within them, but his synth pedal and headphones were spilling out over the cardboard tops.

Chrissy was standing on a stepladder in the corner, holding a hammer as she hung up... was that soundproofing?

Standing beside her was a man. A man Eddie immediately recognized as his uncle, given the bald head and set of shoulders. And, in the opposite corner of the room, Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler were screwing things around the pieces of soundproof that were already hung.

Things like...

A guitar mount.

Jonathan looked up, his eyes widening as he let out a loud, "Oh, shit," at the unexpected ghost haunting the doorway. His statement made the other three pairs of eyes turn on him, each of them widening with shock.

"Eddie!" Chrissy shouted, nearly toppling off the stepladder in her haste to get down. Wayne's arms automatically stretched to catch her, but she was halfway across the room, practically leaping into Eddie's surprised embrace. "You're early!"

"Uh," he said, his voice breaking as his mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. "Y-Yeah. Just, uh, caught an earlier flight."

Chrissy's pointy little chin dug into his chest, her grin broad and her eyes glimmering in the sunlight still streaming through the window. "Well. I can't even be mad that you ruined your own surprise, I guess. I'm too happy to see you!"

Eddie's hands were still trembling.

"Surprise?"

"Yeah!" she said, still giddy with excitement. Not quite leaving his uncertain embrace, Chrissy turned, broadly motioning toward the room. "I was building you a studio! For, um, for songwriting and stuff. Because I know you have to make appointments to go to the recording studio. So, we took down all the drywall and double-insulated in here, and we're just finishing up the soundproofing tiles!"

Fuck, she was still grinning. Looking up at him with bright, expectant eyes as she waited for his response.

Before he could formulate one, she bounced, her eyes widening again. "Oh, and! And! Look what I did to the bedroom!"

She grabbed his hand, walking him back toward the room he'd already seen and whipping the door open with a flourish.

"Ta-da!" she exclaimed, motioning toward the walls, the shelves, the window seat. "That wallpaper was awful, so it was the first thing to go. Then, Wayne came down a couple weeks ago and helped me fit these shelves in, so we'd have somewhere for all our books! Isn't it lovely?" She gave a dreamy sigh, leaning her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around his midsection.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

She was–– Jesus Christ, he'd been so fucking convinced that Chrissy was cheating, and she'd been... She'd been rebuilding their goddamn house from the inside out. Creating a home for them, where they'd just been living in a place they liked.

She wanted him to come back to a home he could love.

"Not," he rasped, trying to blink away the sudden buildup of moisture in his eyes. "Not–– Not cheating?"

Chrissy's brow furrowed, her grin growing confused as she shook her head. "No?" she said, giving a little giggle. Then, she looked at him for a long moment, her smile gradually falling as understanding lifted the shades from her eyes. As the furrow in her brow creased from misunderstanding to complete heartbreak. "No," she repeated, more sure, more broken, and Eddie felt, all at once, like the world's biggest asshole.

She unwrapped her arms from around him, stepping back.

"Chrissy––"

"I'll, um," she interrupted, backing out of the room. "You can explore, I'll just... I have some stuff to finish up, okay?"

"Wait, Chrissy––"

But she was slipping out the bedroom and down the stairs, making Eddie feel fucking awful for assuming the worst. Because he knew her – of course he knew her. And of course Chrissy would never do something like that. She–– God, she was so fucking good, way too good for him, and he couldn't reconcile that so he made her the villain?

Old insecurities were fucking impossible to shed.

Their three guests were still in the guest bedroom – the studio – and Wayne gave him a smile as he finished up his wall of soundproofing.

"Crazy, huh?" he laughed, joining Eddie in the hallway when Eddie couldn't bring himself to enter the room. "She was a gosh darn dictator, trying to get all this finished before you made it back. I think even Miss Wheeler in there was impressed." Wayne chuckled.

He just looked at his uncle, lost, and said, "Wayne, I think I fucked up."

(to be continued)

[feylived]

i'll never fault anyone for sb me, for any reason, but i kind of wish there was a little notification about it just so i don't post something that's been in my drafts from their blog and only realize after it's posted that we're no longer mutuals 🙈

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

🌴 the perfect girl! 🍌

[morethanwonderful]

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥🤪 this strain is called “tomb of the sage" 💀 you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 💯

Me: yeah, whatever. I don’t feel shit.

5 minutes later: dude, I think all cultivators, both orthodox and unorthodox, are slowly feeding themselves to the spiritual mountains and their ways of the heart in an ever-degrading man-made closed system

My cousin, pacing: I have never seen the real sun moon and stars

[can-of-slorgs]

Im dying at your tags on that last anon 😭😂 youre now the dr.sloth pinup artist that neopets needed

Not the title i wanted to craft for myself when i started this blog but hey, it brought us such good memories like

[lavenoon]

Accidentally Undercover - Post-reveal, Sun's getting bolder

[talentforlying]

@beyondthescully / continued from here.

[ msg: scullspeare, sent ] whats the point of the fkin acronym then?? [ msg: scullspeare, sent ] u know a tosser named skinner? got me cornered in an office asking me about my """intentions""" with the department [ msg: scullspeare, sent ] feels like im getting the shovel talk from uncle bloody fester [ msg: scullspeare, sent ] if u dont get me out of here im telling him we're all fucking and u can handle the workplace goss on ur own