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#crappy edit by me
gunsatthaphan · 5 months
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#safe.
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emeraldotter · 4 months
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-stare-
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lilirot · 7 months
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This is all I want Solmare p l e a s e
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plistommy · 15 days
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505 | Harringrove (+Steddie)
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bbq-potato-chip · 3 months
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doodles yeah theyre mostly ulquiorra what do you want from me
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currymanganese · 7 months
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Syd, a reciprocating saw-
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This tool is used in the season 2 finale to begin cutting Carmy out of the walk-in. Most of us have heard by now that Carmy was shouting for Sydney while stuck in the walk in thanks to @devisrina 's post here. Also @bioloyg and others have written excellent meta posts on the way that Syd and Carmy break holes in each other's emotional walls, and have surmised that Syd would be key to breaking Carmy out of his mental imprisonment that was visually represented by him trapping himself in the walk-in in the season 2 finale.
Now, if the walk-in fridge was a visual metaphor for Carmy getting trapped in a mental and emotional prison of his own making, I believe that the reciprocating saw is a visual metaphor for Sydney reciprocating feelings for him being pivotal to get Carmy out of said emotional prison.
The technician cutting Carmy out (is he performing a C-section for Carmy to be "reborn"? 🥴) wielded a green reciprocating saw with a red blade, and Ebra (a fatherly figure at The Bear) asked him, "But it's time?" presumably to gauge whether Carmy would be freed soon, but the technician answered no. The song that plays over this scene and the next is R.E.M's Half A World Away, which makes self-pitying references to "going it alone" and one line in particular also mentions that the singer didn't pay attention to a partner of theirs like they needed to.
However, when the scene of the technician working on cutting the door is about to end, the camera pans in to a close shot of the saw and the walk-in fridge door itself, and the scene then immediately cuts to Sydney doubled over (with her silhouette reminiscent of the saw) vomitting (is it metaphor for morning sickness?? am i tripping?🤨) beside a green dumpster with a similar colour to the saw, her red bandana also matches the blade, and in the dim lighting her chef whites resemble the metallic grey of what remains of the fridge's door handle. Her father stumbles across her while she's throwing up and she reassures him that she's fine before he ultimately gives her his blessing for her career (and tacitly for her partnership with Carmy?), to which Syd (who heard Carmy express doubts as to whether he's even cut out for this line of work anymore) gives a somewhat reluctant smile.
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I may be reaching like crazy here, but all this is telegraphing to me that Syd does reciprocate Carmy's feelings for her, and that Carmy will, eventually, successfully overcome or learn to manage his mental and emotional hang-ups, but that it's gonna be a long road to endgame, and that Sydney will need a ton of convincing to even consider starting a relationship with Carmy after he's so clearly disappointed her as a business partner.
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cozylittleartblog · 6 months
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"woah i can't believe you've read blue sky!"
hoho. my dear followers. i have done more than read it. do you have any idea what you are dealing with.
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after-witch · 2 years
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Tightrope [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]
Title: Tightrope [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]
Synopsis: And now in the center ring, a high-flying interlude in the life of a kidnapped friend of the notorious villain Shigaraki Tomura!
Word count: 1600ish
notes: yandere, kidnapped reader,  nonconsensual kissing 
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“You’re stupid.” The words he says hold no malice. You take them for what they are: the sorry words of a sore loser.
“You’re stupid,” you jab back, not taking your eyes off the screen as you gleefully watch the replay of your match.
“Whatever. You probably cheated,” he mumbles, tossing the controller on the mattress and turning away from you with a pursed pout.
You can’t help the way that your lips spread into a smug, satisfied grin. It took hours--okay, days--of practice, but you finally did it. You beat Shigaraki (Tomura, he insisted, but you still can’t bring yourself to call him that again) at his favorite fighting game. And boy, did it feel good to listen to him whine and complain like a petulant child over losing to you.
A few months ago, you would have never dreamt of going back to sitting shoulder to shoulder on the mattress like this, playing a game and trading sarcastic barbs and huffs, fingers flying over the controller buttons as you earnestly tried to get some enjoyment out of the afternoon.
Of course, a few months ago, you had been freshly kidnapped by Shigaraki Tomura, and that was a long time ago, relatively speaking.
He wanted this back, you know that much. He wanted the closeness and the intimacy that you two had enjoyed before he took you. The jokes and your smiles and his tentative hugs he left your apartment, stiff but tight. Back when you didn’t know he was a villain. Back when you thought he was just quiet, sure, strange, sure, maybe someone whose rhetoric about heroes got a little too aggressive sometimes, sure. But a killer?
Reality came crashing down when you found yourself in the middle of a villain attack. When you fled the flying debris and screams and rounded a corner, finding yourself staring at a decaying hero and a villain whose voice and hair and body language you knew all too well. He took you that day, and he hasn’t let you go since.
He wanted you to act like you always did. But instead of long conversations about games and light novels and whatever-else-the-fuck you could think of in the wee hours of the morning, you cried. You shrank away. You begged him to let you go. You refused to eat until you felt like you were going to pass out. You didn’t talk for days.
That was a while ago.
The mind can’t function in a constant state of terror for very long. There are only so many consecutive nights that you can cry yourself to sleep, nerves aflame, muscles tensed at every shift of his body in your forcibly shared bed. There are only so many days that you can spend, head resting on your knees, doing your best to ignore him while he gradually coaxes you into his lap, voice honeyed and raspy as he latches his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his chest, reminding you of the good times.
And so little by little, you let yourself get used to things. You convince yourself that it’s not too bad. You’re kidnapped. Yeah. But he hasn’t hurt you (well, you know--unwanted hickeys on your neck notwithstanding) and you find yourself being lulled back into the friendship you used to share. Friendship and a little bit more.
It’s different. Of course it is. It’s like you’re walking on a tightrope, looking down, wondering if you’ll slip and plummet and the air will rush up to meet you before everything goes dark. But if you don’t look down--if you keep your chin level, you can pretend that you’re not above all that danger.
You let yourself get used to the feeling of his sporadic need to hold you close and tight; you let yourself feel comforted by the warmth of his skin underneath this hoodie, of the musk that comes from wearing it days in a row, of the way he always makes sure to keep a finger lifted while he wrapped his arms around you. You remember these things from before, but they have new meaning now. The lifted finger, especially.
Should it be flattering, that he does a little gesture to keep himself from killing you every time he touches you? This thought, and anything like it, is only allowed to cross your mind for the briefest of moments before being swept away and replaced with the compressed forced companionship that is your life. Be fun. Be snarky. Just be okay.
“Don’t be a crybaby,” you tease, and he jerk his head around to glare at you. There’s a brief consideration--is this the glare that hero saw before he died? Maybe meaner? Nastier?--but you push it away with surprisingly little effort.
“Aw,” you continue, voice slowly sweetening. “Do you want a rematch? I can take it easy on y--”
In a moment, you’re falling back, head swirling, finding yourself pressed against the mattress with a firm pressure around both of your wrists as Shigaraki pins you down.
For that moment, you don’t push away the dark thoughts below you. You look down and let yourself feel terror. You remind yourself of the locked door and the only occasional trips outside his room to a bar where you get teased by a girl too young to be there and a man with scars, staples and (you’re sure) quite the story.
Above all, you let yourself remember that Shigaraki Tomura has killed people.
And then you see that Shigaraki’s face more annoyed than angry, the face of a gamer who lost a good match and couldn’t take any ribbing, and you sweep it all away with practiced effort.
“You are a sss-ooo-rrr-e loser,” you tease, raising your eyebrows in a mock challenge. You try not to think about how you sound, shiny and plastic, a deliberate mirth stretched to the limit.
He doesn’t respond, merely frowns down at you. A petty frown, almost boyish, like he’s thinking about hiding your underwear in the freezer or putting a frog in your bed. It’s a look you don’t imagine many people get to see.
There’s friendship in that look and the ticking silence, yes, you can feel that. But there’s a growing sense that the little bit more aches to come out too.
The vulnerability of the position isn’t lost on you. It makes you squirm, look side to side, hoping to break it up before anything ‘more’ happens. He’s kissed you, but it’s always been from behind-- when he has you situated just-so in his lap. He kisses your neck and licks and bites and leaves hickeys that make you feel embarrassed.
This is different.
He still keeps his wrists circled around yours, carefully placed fingers stuck out to the side. He still keeps his eyes trained down on you. And don’t they become less hazy, less reminiscent of good-natured jabs? More focused, more… something. All of it combines with the steady weight of his body above you. It makes something shoot down your belly.
What if he kisses you now? What if he leans down and presses his chapped lips to yours, while your wrists are pinned and you’re vulnerable and helpless? What if he does more than kiss you?
The thought doesn’t immediately get swept away. Instead, the thought simmers and makes something curl in your gut. And that truly scares you.
“Tomura--” You say, and your mouth closes in an instant.
Above you, his eyes widen and you register the shock on his face. It mirrors your own.
He releases your wrists suddenly, and you sit up quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself.
How long had it been since you called him Tomura?
You remember the last time. It was when you realized who was standing in front of you, covered in dust and debris, hand outstretched in front of a pile of ashes that used to be a living human being. The last words the hero heard were snarky and cruel. You had said his name in disbelief, so quiet that it was a shock to the system when you realized that he heard you at all. You couldn’t bring yourself to call him on such nice terms after he kidnapped you, but even after you settled back into a familiar sort of companionship, you kept that name for yourself.
And now here you are, calling him by his name, while he pinned you to his mattress in a bedroom you’re not allowed to leave without permission.
A bedroom where you played video games together, where you talked together--sometimes for hours on end, about life and dreams and goals. A bedroom where he coaxed you into his lap even though you didn’t want to, and talked to you with soft, alluring words (about heroes, mostly, and it was strange how convincing he could sound sometimes) while he pressed increasingly fervent kisses to your flesh.
A bedroom that might as well have been your own, if circumstances were different. If only you hadn’t been in the city that day. If only you hadn’t turned that corner. If only a lot of things.
You sweep it all away and bump your shoulders good-naturedly against Tomura’s and offer up a tired smile that promises to forget all about what just happened.
“Takeout tonight?”
He purses his lips, thinking. For a few moments there’s something serious on his face and you wonder if he’ll speak, if he’ll start wanting to talk about your new place in his life, about the future that’s in store.
And then he must do his own sweeping, because he grabs a controller and tosses it back into your lap.
“Rematch. Winner picks the place.” 
You hesitate for just a moment.
Just keep looking straight on while you walk the tightrope.  
You pick up the controller and get ready for the rematch of your life.
Don’t look down, or you’ll remember what’s really going on below.
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satans-knitwear · 1 year
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Whats under that armour, mando??? 👀👀👀
Treat me ~ Tip me
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jolpentine · 2 months
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sittin sketches
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moo-savr · 5 months
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3STYLzzz★
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puddleshorts · 7 months
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LEO & NEY
LEAVING PISS G LIKE:
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theoldshadow · 7 months
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WOTS2WEEK - DAY TWO- FAVORITE COSTUME - RAND'S SWEATER
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Crona
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Tried to edit a picture I drew years ago.
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dedahblog · 1 year
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Look I am all for Rukia getting soft over Ichigo's open display of affection especially since she never had anyone tell her frankly how much she means to him /her.
However, I think that there's a limit to indulging Ichigo with his mushiness
Rukia's panel is from this by the way
Kaien and Ichigo being both corny sh1t and Rukia giving them judgy looks while they get embarrassed is one of my favorite headcanons.
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geddy-leesbian · 4 months
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AO3 link because this is my pinned post for rn
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not to be a narcissist on main or anything but I'm so hot what the fuck
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