#but I will not back down from my words

[nadiawritessomething]

My headcanons on 42!Miles, because I love him and how complex a character he is.

He doesn't draw much because he has little time for it, but he still loves it in his rare free moments

He canonically speaks Spanish very well and often switches to it during the dialogue without realising it, at the most interesting and intriguing parts of the story.

And he never repeats what is said or translates it, because he is as adamant about Spanish as his mother. Didn't get the point? Well, that's your problem.

He is good at memorising and creating combat elements, having learnt to rely solely on his trained strength and agility.

He has been actively involved in the development of all his technical aids with his uncle Aaron, and is actually quite knowledgeable about the subject.

He tries to make his speech clear and correct, but actually lapses into an unintelligible amount of Spanish cursing once he gets pissed off.

In addition to the last headcanon, has a glory of parasites words and insertions.

He likes to speak clearly and to the point, in short phrases, and what Miles 1610 will answer in a series of sentences, he can answer in one word.

But this does not apply to the story of how his technical gizmos, ropes and sneakers work. He can explain every single cog in the mechanism of their operation for a long time and in a scrupulous manner, but he has never had an interlocutor on this topic.

He also loves to talk about comics, but has long since lost contact with the company he used to discuss them with in his early school days

This was before he became a Prowler, because this "job" actually forced him to distance himself from his past, and from the small circle of friends he had, leaving only his mother and uncle.

As for comic books: he loves old-school comics with the most simple, peaceful plots, and is constantly angry at how the "heroes" always win and the "villains" always get what they deserve. However, every time he was offered something new and more realistic to read, he refused because he believes that he only needed to look out the window to see real injustice and cruelty.

He usually keeps his hands in his pockets, and people think that this is part of his "thief image", but in fact his fingers just get very cold.

He paints his nails black.

He definitely had his "Who's Morales?" and "How could you.. imagine that?" moments, although they had a slightly different mood and atmosphere.

He has a rather simple, light sense of humour, and when he finds out that he can do black humour quite well, he doesn't really like that part of himself.

And he would like to use some of his jokes in a fight, but he believes that he should be as serious and impenetrable as possible in the eyes of society, and so he never does.

To the last headcanon: he really hasn't smiled normally in YEARS, except for giving his mum a strained smile, but that's not because he's a "cold abuser", it's because he's a TRAUMATISED CHILD.

This world has taught him that he has to be strong and steely, showing no weaknesses, if he wants to continue to carry what he brings to this universe, and Miles has no choice but to obey it.

And that's why his mask of an "emotionless bearer of justice" who locks all "unnecessary" feelings deep inside him has almost merged with his true identity with who he WAS before his father's death, but he has no choice. He can only continue to be what he has irrevocably become. He chose it as his parth in life.

He is a vigilante who relies very strongly on a sense of justice and morality, but his notions of justice and morality are his own, and it is almost impossible to connect them with the typical image of a "hero".

(Just as it is impossible to connect them with the typical image of a villain. He is literally a humanisation of the concept of "grey morality")

Spiders can't stand him (lol)

He likes hot food.

And his mum.

Therefore, he puts his interests and the protection of his family above any risks and others.

[ruporas]

wolfwood redraws (ID in alt text)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

In Stars and Disco

(Disco side of the swap)

[ronanlynchbf]

[panharmonium]

funniest and most heartwarming thing i rediscovered on my rewatch is when karin roasts sakura about poisoning naruto and then kakashi, who loves all of his kids very much and understands their behavior and isn’t upset with them about their choices but has also been under ABSURD amounts of stress for all of season 10, just bursts out laughing ❤️

[aropride]

this post was a game changer for me. thank you ryan reynolds

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

[babbimetal]

MOMOKO SINGING LEAD VOCALS FOR META TARO AT LEGEND MM - NIGHT 21 (DAY 2)🍑

[tequiilasunriise]

Annabel Lee & Fears: A Short Essay Based On Ep70

Here it is, folks, the truest crux of Annabel’s character, her deepest fears is not going mad or even people discovering she’s not as put together as she tries to appear, but rather:

Was that gambit of constant scheming and using others worth it, Annabel? Was always trying to think ten steps ahead and always keep yourself in a position of power and control truly worth it, because how can you ever be trusted when all you do is play 5D chess with everyone?

There is is, folks!!! Just like her greatest strength- her cunning willpower- is centered around a certain bright moon, Annabel’s greatest fear is rooted in Lenore. The deepest, darkest trenches of her soul, the one thing that would shatter her heart and send her lungs choking fer breath? The killing blow that would end her and make all these charades worthless? It’s Lenore seeing her constant conniving and asking Annabel, “Why would I be any different? You already have no problem using everyone else as a pawn, how could I ever possibly trust you, Annabel Lee?”

The way Annabel is SUCH a great morally grey character, y’all tell me you love hot villains yet many a time I’ve seen people calling Annabel too heartless. She’s the opposite! She cares!! SO MUCH!!! She would burn the world down if it meant kissing Lenore one last time, to the point where her deepest fear is losing Lenore in the process of trying to protect her. All Annabel knows is using manipulation to gain the upper hand because simply being born a woman in the Victorian era she was so throughly disadvantaged by such a horribly misogynistic society that girlypop had to scrape together any form of control she could. Annabel wants so badly to protect Lenore but all she knows are her own methods of protecting herself, which involves plausibility deniability and facades and sometimes sheer cruelty, and that’s where the conflict arises. From the start Annabel assumed Lenore and her had the same understanding of this ‘fake enemies’ ploy going on but surprise surprise babygirl, not everyone is overthinking four parallel universes ahead like you do. This boils over into her lover having doubts on what’s real and what’s not, which then culminates into Lenore asking if Annabel is using her affections as empty currency to get what she wants, and Annabel’s first move to tell Lenore to fucken kill her????

“To you alone, I have left myself completely defenseless.”

The drama of it all!! The shattered facade leading to exploding vulnerability of it all!! The dim sun sparking out into a heat death just to prove her sincerity of it all!!! The exposed innermost organs ripping out my heart with my bare hands and begging you, “Do you see it now? Do you see the way it beats for you and only you? Tell me you see it, tell me you see me…” of it all!!

Oh baby the way Annabel still retains this deep fear of Lenore not truly believing in the “only thing that’s real” to her, the way her lover’s ghost still lingers and haunts her and is then ripped up from her innermost psyche like a desecrated grave and given form by Ada’s power. The way, after all this time- and I mean all this time from Lenore’s constructed resurrection, to their relationship blossoming into a wedding, all the fucking way up to that bell tower scene, the fucken way Annabel still never truly let go of her fear that Lenore doesn’t see her, doesn’t see how she alone bashed through all of Annabel’s walls and made a home where her heart laid. I’m sure during their living relationship all the way until the wedding Annabel’s fears were greatly settled, but it’s the fucken way these panels implied that this wretched heartache never completely left Annabel’s guilt-wracked soul.

I just know, okay I just KNOW, that even up until she was putting her wedding dress on Annabel still questioned if she even deserved this happy ending because she still feel phantoms of guilt fer this betrayal. This comic only furthers this implication of unabsolved guilt when it’s made clear as day that Annabel’s biggest fear is Lenore not believing in her love. And before anyone argues how Annabel can currently feel guilt fer betraying Lenore when she hasn’t recovered the memory yet, I’ll argue back that from the very beginning of the comic these two were inexplicably drawn to each other even when they had NO memories. Therefore, even if she doesn’t have the explicit memory, I highly doubt Annabel’s subconscious would ever let go of something as huge as deeply hurting the one person she truly cared about in such a wretched way.

Fuck, dude, I mean Annabel’s greatest fear wasn’t even Lenore dying- which was already a huge thing if y’all remember her tearstreaked, panicked, “What is left? If she’s not here, what’s the point?”- no her greatest is Lenore!!! Not!!! Believing!! Her!!! Like yeah losing Lenore physically definitely would’ve cut so deep even her bones would bear the scars, but losing Lenore in the form of the other woman walking the same ground as her but choosing to stay away?? Call her fucking selfish because some people would rather have their other half still be alive even if they’re not by their side, but Annabel ain’t one of them that’s fer sure. Babygirl has spent a lifetime perfecting the craft of deceiving others fer her own gain, but the ONE TIME she’s genuine her heart is to be called nothing more but empty??? Oh babbyyy that’s gotta fucken hurt.

The thing is, I don’t think Annabel really loves herself all that much. I really don’t. A huge focus on self-preservation doesn’t necessarily mean one really loves themselves, and when we add the aforementioned guilt she carries? Plus, the fact that Annabel being forced to swallow down her anxiety attacks from a young age could easily lead to her having a rather sour view of her 'not normal' self? Yeah no yeah, I truly don’t think Annabel loves herself that much, if at all. So really, this line is adding immense insult to already grievous injury. Not only does Annabel deeply fear Lenore not believing her affections to be true, she also fears the New Yorker misconstruing her as nothing more but a shallow as hell, prissy, little pampered damsel, a role pretty much everyone else regulates her into whether she wants it or not (right from the beginning, before she even set her schemes in full effect, Annabel was already explaining, “Ada wanted a queen, so I gave her one”). Lenore, the only one Annabel had believed to ever really see her fer her, is now discrediting Annabel’s vulnerable affections AND seeing her as that unloving ice queen like everyone else?? Horrible terrible horrible!!! She may have a ribbon threatening to strangle her right now, but it’s clear that ghost!Lenore’s words are what truly cut her down to size. Y’all seeing that fucken pain in Annabel’s eyes? Her worst fear is just so… personal.

Which actually leads me to my next point, which is how just before Annabel’s worst fear is revealed in stark, horrifying detail, we see Prospero’s. Lemme just preface this by saying what Prospero went through is n o t any less terrible and is a super fucken mega valid fear/trauma, but let me cook y’all just hear me out. Prospero’s fear seems to be about medical malpractice and/or being conscious during a painful operation that likely went south (aka ‘oh shiiitttt he fucken DEAD-‘), and that’s fucking tragic as all hell. Yet, okay let me cook here, it’s more… I don’t want to say general, because that does NOT mean his fear is any less significant but it’s like. Way back when, death via medical bullshit was more or less fairly common, especially during wartimes (which is the era I headcanon Prospero to be from); meanwhile, Annabel’s fear is so uniquely hers, it’s borne of a culmination of specific experiences tied together by her relationship with Lenore.

By contrast of a more common fear vs something so deeply personal and specific to this one person- because it’s not just unrequited love, it’s being so vehemently denied and misunderstood by the ONE (1!) person who you wholeheartedly trusted in your entire life who also oops mega died on you- this distinction gives way to an almost more raw, more visceral feeling to Annabel’s fear sequence. Again!!! I am not undermining Prospero’s own trauma, I promise!!! But you have to admit that there’s something, from a narrative standpoint, that hits so much harder with how deeply personal Annabel’s fear is. The contrast is even more great when you look at how Prospero’s involved a buncha bloodied hands not really tied to any faces or even any indication of personhood like accessories, scars, etc etc. It could’ve been a group of anyone holding him down hurting him; on the flipside, Annabel is being restrained by one very specific person we see in full view. The faceless crowd who could’ve been anyone at anytime vs the lone perpetrator whose history you know like a second name. It’s just!!! So personal!!!

In conclusion, on the surface level, one would think a character so deeply ingrained in using deceptions and manipulation would have her greatest fear tie into having her true nature revealed to everyone she’d fooled, but then it turns out it’s the complete fucking opposite. What homegirl fears the most is her truest, innermost self not being believed and accepted by just one (1!) person. The way it’s framed is just so heartstabbingly personal, especially when you parallel it to a previous fear sequence just a few panels preceding it. This is it, your honor, this is Annabel’s deepest driving force broken down to its bare essentials. To hell with whatever reputation she’s carefully crafted! Who cares what anyone else thinks of her if she doesn’t believe her, if she doesn’t SEE her. Really, truly see her. Lenore is the defining point that Annabel has revolves around so wholeheartedly, and there’s no point to anything anymore if Annabel loses her. This crux of her character, OHHH BBAAABBYY it’s just so well done because we, as the audience, have been given clear evidence to build up this narrative of Annabel’s characterization fer so long now and to finally see it come together in a fiery explosion of lesbian angst with this latest chapter??? Gods, the writing of Nevermore will never not drive me absolutely insane in the membrane.

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

Lore i

(for How I DIDN’T Become a Villain)

Note: This is based on fanon that is used and accepted by most of the phandom, with the addition of my own ideas on how the supernatural aspect of the DP universe came to be. I.e, the Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms, the title of Ghost King, the origin of Pariah Dark, and much more. 

• The Infinite Realms •

The Universe once began. We know how that story goes. The Big Bang, nebulas and planets and stars and light forming everywhere all at once. But there was something else. The Universe was alive, and everything living has something that gives it life. A mind, an engine, a (sub)conscious.

In this, the Universe had a void. An apparent one, at least. This void didn’t have tangible matter the way the Universe did, but it did have something. This void was nearly overflowing with it. Life Energy. It was no void at all, but a Source for all living beings in the Universe. In all Universes.

It had a different name, at first, but once Belief Systems started making their home in its center, thousands upon millions of them, it became the Infinite Realms. A kaleidoscope of energy, of life and death and everything in between. It is that which holds infinite ideas and infinite consciousnesses and infinite concepts and infinite infinities. It is that which holds everything together.

Something this large and this primordial to creation needed something else to take care of it.

• The Linkeepers •

That which is now known as the High King of the Infinite Realms has a true name: Linkeeper. Like all things, there is an origin. The First Linkeeper. They were born of the connection between the Universe and the Source, with the inherent purpose to look after their parents and to assure that neither took or gave too much of the other. They embodied the careful balance between Matter and Energy. That which lived and that which was Life. 

The role of Linkeeper changed, the tiniest bit, with each chosen inheritor. However, it was when it landed in Pariah Dark’s greedy, bloody hands that the role was betrayed, cracked to its foundation. No longer signifying balance and caregiver and protecter, the Ghost King took the helm and brought on a role of control, power, and conquest. The balance was thrown off its axis, and war prevailed. 

Linkeeper was lost to the dredges of unspoken stories (as there was no one to hear them anymore), and all that could be done to try and retain it was to lock Pariah Dark away and wait. To wait for a chosen inheritor to bring back the balance that had been so carelessly disregarded for nearly three thousand years.

P.S,

this is a shallow, tried-to-keep-it-short explanation of the lore that WILL make an appearance in the fic. I avoided going into certain details of the Linkeeper (like the inheritors/predecessors, their names, and their stories) because i’m reserving that for the fic. 

There will be around two more Lore-dumps, and after that maybe a sneak peek at the first chapter (if i have it nice and tidy by then). The actual, full chapters will take me a WHILE to upload (to my ao3 account), because i want to at least have five to seven chapters fully written out before i start posting. That said, hope you like what I have so far!

[pumpkinrootbeer]

just so you know I'll never recover from the ending of magi like yeah in general it left me devistated but Jafar's final appearance being him back in the sindria robes still with this just steadfast never ending belief in a man who he devoted his life to and who then in return betrayed him on such a fundamental level. like im gutted.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

sometimes i remember that gojo wanted to tell geto “we’ll meet again, right?” just before he died but forced himself not to knowing it would have cursed him and then i start thinking about how kind and thoughtful gojo is as a character and how he hasn’t been able to lean on another human being since geto defected and then i want to . Scream

[courfee]

monday snippet

thank you so much to the most lovely @messrsage for the tag (pretending that its still monday)

it's been a while, but here is a snippet from the neighbour reg fic that's been plaguing me for months :') (non-explicit nsfw, so beware)

“Fuck, Reg,” James pants into his mouth, the broken voice making Regulus’ head spin. That is until James continues. “We– ngh– I really shouldn’t...” “Shut up. Stop that,” Regulus snaps, instantly pulling away which earns him a whine from James. “Do you want this?” “I–” James squeezes his eyes shut, turning his face away from Regulus, but his hands stay firmly where they are, strong fingers curled around Regulus’ hips. “Use your fucking words, Potter. Do you want to fuck me?” James’ grip on his hips tightens, a punched out breath escaping him. “Reg...” “I need a clear answer or I will get up and get myself off. Do you want me? Yes or no? It’s not that difficult, even you have to be capable of knowing how to use those words.” At Regulus’ sharp spoken words James moans. Regulus will never understand why this is what does it for James, half the time Regulus doesn’t even talk to him with the purpose of turning him on. If James talked to him in this tone Regulus would probably want to cry, not get his dick out. And yet, here James is, obviously flustered, dark eyes once again trained on Regulus. “Yes,” he groans, somewhere between arousal and defeat. “Fuck, yes, I want you Regulus. I’ve never wanted anyone this much.” And that is more than enough for Regulus.

no pressure tagging @perfect-snaccccccc @jmeslovr @delicris @messerflower <33

[bethanydelleman]

I finally watched Knives Out (I know, I'm late to the party but that's my brand anyway) and that was such an amazing movie! I kind of just stopped watching movies a while ago, I think it was Marvel's fault to be honest, but this summer watching Crimson Peak and Knives Out, I realized I just need to watch more good movies. Like movies where the foreshadowing actually foreshadows, where the plots (while exciting and surprising) make logical sense, where some people are morally grey and you have to think for a while about what you think of them!

Also, ALSO not spoon-feeding the audience (Persuasion 2022...) For example, and one of my favourite things ever in this movie full of favourite things, what is Marta going to do with the inheritance? We know exactly what she'll do, because we start with watching Harlan's mug being prepared for his breakfast and we end with Marta, standing above the family (as Harlan's room was above them), drinking from the same mug. Clearly assuming the position as head of his family and therefore determined to carry out his will:

[Image descriptions, First photo: from the beginning of the movie, mug that says "my house, my rules, my coffee" Second photo: Marta standing on a balcony looking down at the assembled family. Third Photo: Marta drinking from the same "my house" mug which belonged to Harlan.]

Also, a detective who is smart but actually has compassion? Knives Out, my love.

Lastly, at first I was sad that Harlan died for no reason, but now I'm like, "No, that crazy old man loved that he got to go out dramatically like a mystery novel. He's happy with all his choices."

Excellent movie. Restoring my faith in the medium.

Oh oh! And when Richard says Marta is like one of the family but then unconsciously hands her his empty plate like a servant... I'll stop now.

[imthursdaysyme]

Robin Buckley and her Mother