#and and AND

[xthunderbolt]

OMFG I FUCKING KNEW SHE HAD CREEPY FAMILIAR EYES AND THIS IS WHY DAMIAN DOESN'T LOOK LIKE HIS FRANKENSTEIN DAD

[kingkatsuki]

Thinking about meeting Bakugou and Kirishima in the crowd of a concert, and during one of the slow songs the artist tells everyone to get on someone’s shoulders so Kirishima asks you whether you want to get on his shoulders and you tell him that it’s okay because you’re too heavy.

And then Bakugou gives you possibly the dirtiest look you’ve ever received in your life as he looks you up and down before handing his beer off to Kirishima as he doesn’t give you a choice as he bends down to slot his head between your thighs.

So you’re squealing because you’ve never been on someone’s shoulders before, and you’re certain you’re too heavy but Bakugou doesn’t quake as he holds you steady for the entire song. And after he puts you down so gently and takes his beer back off Kirishima like it was nothing🥺

[ppotatopepper]

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW SAD MORTY IS WHEN HE KNOWS HIS PARENTS ARE GONNA DIVORCE.

LIKE….. DAMN…..

[queenii-llama]

When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

Patroclus (the guy that was buried with him)

[dcyllom]

band of brothers is either made up shots showing the horrors of war and the emotional fallout of all your friends dying or it is extremely homoerotic shots of two men gazing into each others eyes in low lighting. no in between.

[rodatirhaalo]

Thinkin' about how Samantha Béart said "karlach would've liked to open a tavern if she got the chance", and how The Gang uses the true resurrection scroll on Karlach 0.01 seconds after the credits roll (because OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO), and how she would totally open that tavern with her Hero Money, and how she'd definitely have potato wedges you could order named "Mama K's Taters".

[always-a-king-or-queen]

Miss Pevensie, they say, can you identify these bodies for us? And you try, gentlest sibling, you try your best. But the tears are thick in your throat and the grief is bitter on your tongue, and when you shut your eyes you see fire and steel, twisting together and crushing the breath from their bodies.

You look at your father, and mother, and cousin, still and silent on their backs, bruised and bloodied and unsmiling, and their faces are anything but familiar. Were their eyes open you would be looking into the face of a stranger. You press your hand over your mouth, and you do not cry, and you tell them what they want to know. These are my parents, you hear yourself say. This is my cousin. They nod, they thank you, they direct you forward. More, more, more corpses to identify. More losses to count.

You look at your eldest brother, golden blond hair spread across his forehead, thick like the mane of a lion. There is gravel in his skin and soot on his cheeks and his face is pale, hands folded over his chest and blood threaded into his yellow sweater. Red against gold. For a moment the combination brushes your brain, touches a distant memory of battle and clashing swords, but you blink and it is gone. This is my brother Peter, you say, in a voice choked with grief. The sky looks black outside the window, and your brother’s arm still feels warm when you touch it a final time.

You look to your younger brother, dark hair tousled, blood leaking between his lips. His skin is frost pale, like snow, so white he appears to be made of stone. Shrapnel cuts into his cheeks and sends crimson trails across his face. His hands are clenched, cap askew on hair smeared with blood. They tell you he died with his sister in his arms, body curled around her in a vain attempt to keep her safe. You stare at him with a lump in your throat, and for a moment you seem to see him, silver crown upon his head, smiling with quiet gentleness. It fades, and you whisper, This is my brother Edmund. The tree outside the window seems to wilt a little as you speak. Your brother’s cheek is like ice beneath your fingertips.

You look last at your sister. She is peaceful, lips lifted in a smile, hair tangled beneath her head and shoulders. She grips something in one hand— a tiny wooden carving. A lion. Your throat clenches to see it, but you do not know why. Her skin is warm, like sunlight, but there is such coldness in her face. Such emptiness. Blood smears her sky blue dress, and you weep to see it. Blood does not belong on your baby sister. For a moment the red makes you remember her, dancing wild by a fire with berry juice smeared on her hands and mouth, but surely not. Surely such a thing never happened. This is my sister Lucy, you murmur, and are able to say no more. For a moment it seems as if a mist touches the window, and your sister’s skin is hot against your palms.

You turn away, raven-dark hair falling over your cheek, and stare out the window with tears burning your throat. There is no sun, and you think that perhaps there will never be sun again. It has been taken away forever.

(For a moment you seem to hear a voice, deep, gentle, loving. To the radiant southern sun. For a moment you feel the weight of a crown in your hair. Perhaps you are losing your sanity, bit by bit. Perhaps it was shattered the moment you heard the news).

They asked you to identify the bodies, and you did, because they are your family. They were your family. You loved each and every one of them. You loved your mother's soft fingers in your hair and your father's deep chuckle. You loved your older brother's fierce kindness and your little brother's quiet demeanor and your baby sister's merriment. You loved them all. And now you stare through the window at a sky that is heavy with rain and think of flames and twisted metal and the blood on your siblings' skin.

You close your eyes. For a brief moment you think you smell lilies, and salt, and Lucy is laughing and Edmund is smiling and Peter's arms are slung around their shoulders, and then they are looking at you and beckoning and there is a lion with golden eyes and the sun is rising into a damp new sky.

Your eyes open slowly, glazed over with tears that spill down your cheeks like rain.

And for a moment, just for a moment, you remember.

[piosplayhouse]

Thinking about su xiyan in the context of "execute the mother to elevate the man" and how she only existed to check off the dead mom criteria on binghe's tragic protagonist backstory but she was her own person with thoughts and feelings and she loved and loved and loved and yet all of that could be taken away and erased by a single man who felt entitled to her and

[crstormzy]

gods i've been thinking so hard about pjo and, yk, eyes... about different points of views — different views of life, even.

about aphrodite kids who need only a single glance to see every single connection you've ever maintained in your life. who look at you and see who your heart belongs to, what it longs for. who see the world in these rose colored lenses they don't even know they're wearing, because seeing the world in shades of other people's love just feels so right.

about zeus kids who can see the sparks flying in the air seconds before lightning strikes. who hear the buzz of domestic appliances because what is electricity if not the modern form of lighting? who see the markings on other people's bodies, declaring where bolts — even the small ones, even the ones we don't feel — have ever touched them.

about ares kids and how they gave life to seeing red; eyes always clouded in all shades of burgundy and maroon and strawberry red under the sun. who look at someone and can immediately tell what angers them, what pushes the wrong buttons, and then do it anyways. who can see weapons before they can see the enemy, who are never caught by surprise in a fight.

anyways i could go on for days but i just... i can't stop thinking about them.

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

does anyone else wish jess would’ve continued void paradox

look i’m a sucker for multiversal crossovers and the concept was really interesting

[erinwantstowrite]

SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN SUPERMAN

[soft--dogs]

I TURN 30 ON SUNDAY

[piosplayhouse]

This is a before I take my meds thought so don't take me too seriously but contemplating the parallels between shen jiu going to brothels because he felt unsafe around men and never bothering to clear up the rumors that he was just going to sleep around because he figured that people would just find a way to demonize him anyway & luo binghe (literally) sleeping with shen qingqiu's corpse in a way that mirrored how sqq used to comfort him after he was bullied when he was still alive and never bothering to clear up the rumors that he was a necrophiliac because he figured that people would just find a way demonize him anyway ..

[youdontloveme-yet]

"Aren't you afraid people would find out?"

"I am. But I care about you more."

[bakumi]

ik izuku gets so fucking hot n bothered when you put on an apron… mfs breeding kink going wild w you dolled up like a little housewife cooking dinner. he’d lose his shit and fuck babies into you before you could even finish chopping the vegetables <3

[axiomofequality]

I had to stop thinking about Natasha Pulley’s books because they made me too CRAZY they were all like here’s a main character experiencing the soft quiet yearning and loneliness that comes with waiting for the love of your life to remember you and I was like *SCREAMS*