#eh well it is what it is

[waningcrescentserenade]

i'm almost 3 years late to this but i finally watched 披荊斬棘的哥哥 call me by fire and here's my favorite two songs which are conveniently from the same episode

空 — 林志炫

曾經我也想過一了百了 — 林志炫 & 熱狗

[panthermouthh]

Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.

[monstermonger]

A Night Sky in the Woods

[coulsons-band]

pedro pascal doesn’t owe you shit.

it is absolutely fine to be disappointed by his absence at cannes. i am too. but he does not have to be there.

for whatever reason he’s pulling away from the attention. the esquire article talked about how guarded he is and his socials have really slowed down. maybe he’s unprepared or overwhelmed by all the tlou hype. i mean his follower count went up by the tens of thousands the day after the premiere. that’s insane.

but some of you have lost the plot. the ones wearing d*ddy’s little girl shirts in fucking public and yelling d*ddy at him at events and trying to convince everyone whether he’s queer or not and complaining there isn’t an explicit scene of him fucking in the strange way of life. it’s not a gay porn made for your fetish. ‘oh but narcos!!’ that’s called characterization. read literally any article from almodovar and understand why sex isn’t the point.

interacting with paparazzi content and making cute little edits - jfc. that’s creating demand and supply and paparazzi know no fucking boundaries. man’s got anxiety and no doubt the paps and fans watching his every move are probably making that worse.

let him make movies and rotate through his four shirts in peace. pedro pascal doesn’t owe anyone shit.

[varyathevillain]

thinking about how the scene where Izzy shoots himself and misses isn't actually just about "haha, see, he's not dead, he just missed", it's about how it is about Izzy Hands dying. it's about how old Izzy Hands, the toxic, tragic image of a golden age pirate, is dead; it's about how he had to kill the part that was perpetuating the horrors and the abuse to save the crew.

had he not done that, Izzy Hands wouldn't have been able to get up on the deck, because old Izzy Hands would have to abide by the rules of common sense and reality. he'd have to die tragically at the hands of the man he loves. he'd have to rot for what he's done. but he does the one thing that he wouldn't in season 1: he becomes part of the crew, and that crew never abided by real life logic. Izzy Hands climbs to the deck on one leg with a poorly treated festering stump and stands as tall as he can, in the most unrealistic fashion, and he lives.

[deelovesbooks]

ko-fi

[greywoe]

"The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen."

[bottombaron]

So, I'm going to either make this joke more or less funny by explaining it, Colin Robinson-style:

Nandor isn't being an idiot by misspelling 'knowledge', he's spelling it phonetically.

Why? Well, it's probably not just that English is a horrendous abomination sent by god to punish us and an even worse trail for English learners either, but Persain is a (mostly) phonetic language!

This means each letter has a corresponding sound and words are phonetic in spelling (again, for the most part), unlike 'knowledge' in English where there are like...at least three?? unnecessary extra letters.

So, what's the phonetic spelling of 'knowledge' look like?

nolij

[feelo-fick]

more misc au art... (the last two are unrelated but shh)

GAAAHHHH i promise ive got actual stuff cooking im just scared to post it/motivation to finish art Hard :"D clutching my head... always forever 24/7 thinking about them...

[duckiemimi]

while i do find some merit in the “geto was doomed from the very beginning” headcanon, i like to think that had he been given more time (and support, and a clear head, and space to grow, to learn and unlearn), geto could’ve made genuine change to the system by actually including his fellow sorcerers in his cause; perhaps not by eliminating non-sorcerers, but by yuki’s second option: to break away from cursed energy entirely (god, imagine geto and yuki working as a duo—unstoppable). the “dragonfly” undergoing, catalyzing, metamorphosis.

i think people find poetry in the idea of fatalism, of geto being born cursed because of his cursed technique, but in my opinion, that concept goes against what jjk is striving to convey in its thesis—that change is absolutely possible.

after all, if it took multiple cycles of six eyes and limitless users to finally get to the gojo satoru we see today, the gojo satoru who broke and is breaking through generational chain, then geto—not bound by that same millennia of fate—could’ve done it, too. the problem lies within the system, not his biology. there is always going to be a second chance, no matter how unforgiving the world can seem.

[insertsomthinawesome]

art slow have a WIP askljdflKSJDLGJSDG -NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-

[skrunksthatwunk]

KUWAMESHI SKETCH DUMP KUWAMESHI SKETCH DUMP in which they are little shits who cannot stop messing with each other

also obv zoom in to see everything bc this shit is CRAMPED. but it's all neat i prommy

[bluerosefox]

Cuckoo Clocks

Red Robin (Kinda) AU where everything during that timeline happens and Tim finally has his proof Bruce is still alive and he's ready to tell the JL and stop Ra's (whose on his way to Gotham to destroy all of things/people Bruce loves to get back at Tim for the whole blowing up his bases thing) all at once...

Only he suddenly finds a glowing green sticky note on his forehead. He is no doubt confused and jumpy from everything so far so he's tempted to forget about it and just move on but Tim has always been curious so he reads it.

"Finding the Lost in the stream will not be easy to fish out even with help gained. Find me first and I might lend you the correct lure.

Finish your battle with the False Immortal and find Phantom, he shall lead you to me and should you be right on time, I might be inclined to help.

-CW"

And Tim... well, he's done a hell of a lot of questionable things so far at this point, why not take a chance on this too.

[stickyspeckledlight]

Boop! 🐾

(L didn't get this out yesterday but I was also a smidge busy balduring my gates and stockpiling knock off thin mints)

Unfortunately I do not have enough thoughts to write a drabble, but yan!aventurine would totally boop you.

The worst part is that you have no one to blame but yourself. On one particular night, when you weren't quite pushed to your limit but where your thoughts certainly did verge on the homicidal, an idea crosses your mind that, you believe to be utter genius in the moment: if you cannot overpower him or outwit him, then you certainly can use your meager mental faculties to bamboozle the fucker.

It's ingenious, you're certain! A touch that is not provocative, not aggressive, but OH so...powerful. A primordial innocence primed with mischief and tomfoolery. An action of such utter stupidity that no one in their right mind could even begin to react to.

He has been attempting to goad you into playing one of his games for the past five centuries (and no, you affirm that your sense of time is quite in order), and from having performed this song and dance innumerous times, it is about now when he says or does something to make you give in, and then entraps you in his hold before you can escape.

It is you who takes the initiative.

A demented grin full of malice and desperation spreads on your face as you ready your finger, and rush over to him, and

Boop! right on his nose.

And it works. He is too stunned; either by the stupidity of the situation, or that you've initiated contact. But you do not fret over the reason. You seize the opportunity and slip into the bathroom, locking it and securing it with a chair you grabbed for good measure. In the throes of your victory, no rational thought crosses your mind.

But all actions have consequences, and this very true fact catches up to you. Aventurine has not come banging on the door or mocking you as you thought he would. You have not heard from him at all. This is a good thing, but it makes you nervous---compounded by the fact you cannot stay in the bathroom forever.

Sure, you could theoretically survive here for three weeks, as the only thing you'd be lacking was food. You had a toilet, and a shower and bath to decompress in, even! And if you wanted to lay down? You could merely set up a haven of comfort with the millions of towels Aventurine keeps in his gargantuan bathroom. It was a great place to bunker in for sure!

.......but do you really want to starve? Like, do you really, really, really want to put yourself through that over him? You do hate him and want to see him suffer, but your mother and every self-help book ever says that you should love yourself! And unfortunately and fortunately for you, you do love yourself enough to not want to go through it. But, you can at least be strategic about it. Nabbing supplies in the night? No, Aventurine has proven himself capable of operating without a wink of sleep for good knows how long. The key to this operation is to leave when he's left! Ahahaha! Good job, you! You really are a bonafide genius! Nous ought to send you an invitation to the ranks of the Society!

(you're aware that he could just bust down your door without issue, but you'll take reprieve when you can get it, you know?)

So, you wait, and keep on waiting even after you hear the entrance close. You will not take any risks, and you wait for what you think is a good hour or three. And then, you emerge.

You are swift and precise, making a beeline towards the kitchen to stock up, and just as you are about to open the cabinet to nab a box of succulent bioengineered cheese crackers---

"Boop!" a gentle pressure mounts on your nose.

There really isn't any winning with this guy, you think. After this nasty surprise, he "revokes your bathroom privileges," mounting it with a lock and essentially requiring his permission with the key card he gives you for it.

And worst of all, your concept of utter genius comes to haunt you in your every waking moment. Coming home from a long day of work? Boop! Threatening your family and friends? Boop! Playing Animal Walking? Boop! Throwing you into a bare room handcrafted for sensory deprivation? Boop! Post nut clarity? Boop!

You then see the one glaring folly in your initial thought process: why did you ever assume Aventurine to be in the right mind in any way or any situation?!

[vellichorom]

so maybe he’s taken the sexysweep loss a little hard,

( NOTE; this comic does NOT reflect the views of the artist or is in ANY way meant to chastise / guilt the opposing side OR fault the voters, this is just a little in-character fun on my part & in no way was created with malicious intent! )

CONGRATULATIONS @braisedhoney, I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT! & ANOTHER THANK YOU TO @tsp-narrator-ask​ FOR FEATURING MY NARR IN THE COMPETTITION! earnestly looking forward to seeing who brings home the gold!

( ps also featuring @tomi-chuu‘s stanley because how could i ever not )

[someplace-darker]

In The Static | Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader (no y/n) Wordcount: 2.1k Warnings: panic attack/talks of panic attacks, vague mentions of trauma. That's about it I think, it's a touch angst and hurt/comfort I suppose. Fluff. Summary: Ted thought he was past his panic attacks until he encounters another, and you follow him to make sure he's okay. A/N: "now jay" you might be saying "wasn't the last thing you posted smut almost a year ago?" and the answer is yes. But i've recently become insanely attached to Ted Lasso, and I dipped my toe into writing more than a wip. SO here's my middle aged white man of the month. Enjoy :)

“REFEREE!!!” Keeley stands with a force that causes her to latch onto your arm to keep from falling forward. It continues to astound you that for such a tiny lady, she really contains an insane amount of spunk. One of the opposing team’s men had just slid Sam’s legs out from under himself, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. The game had been a rough one so far, more aggressive and bitter than most. Richmond had been respectful at first (as per usual) but the second their opponents had started playing violent and dirty, that changed.

Roy and Beard were obviously shouting and pointing angrily, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying from your seat in the box. Ted, however, was standing stiffly with his balled fists shoved into the pockets of his Richmond zip-up. You can feel that something is off. Even if you can’t see his face, you know him well enough to read his body language. There’s mere minutes left in the game and the teams are tied.

Rebecca is already standing and gathering her belongings to head back in, gesturing for the lot of you to follow. That’s exactly what you begin to do before the crowd goes ape-shit, jumping from their seats and screaming so loud it makes your head thrum. 

“ROJAS INTERCEPTS THE KICK AND PASSES TO TARTT AND JUST LIKE THAT-”

You turn just in time to watch Jamie kick the ball into the net, the stadium erupting in cheers that shake the ground.

“AFC RICHMOND TAKES ANOTHER VICTORY 2-1 IN A SHOCKING LAST SECOND SCORE”

Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca rejoice, grabbing at each other in shock. Placing your fingers between your lips you let out a piercing whistle, jumping up and down as thousands of chants echo. You look down to your coaches, expecting to see all three soaking in the sweet relief of not gaining another loss. Instead, you see Ted darting for the locker room, head down with his phone held two inches from his face. It was obvious to you that he was trying to use it as a cover. 

“I’ll meet back with you guys later, I’ve gotta check something real quick.” 

They smile and wave you off, relishing in the buzzing excitement clearly felt throughout the facility. As much as you wish you could join them in celebration, you were pretty sure Ted needed you more. So you slip through the small crowds with ease, having much practice during your time with Richmond, taking the back staircase to the locker room hallway. 

At first you check his office, finding only his jacket laying on the floor. The second spot you search is the right one, opening the door to darkness. You almost turn and leave but a staggered breath gives him away. 

“Ted?” you whisper, stepping into the boot room and closing the door gently. He sniffles almost silently and hums in response, curling in on himself when the lights flicker on at your touch.. You’ve never seen him look so small before, his entire body condensed into half of his height in the corner of the room, the sight moving you to shut the lights back off for his sake.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. He has his head placed between his knees, hands on the back of head with his fingers intertwined tightly. As much as you know of his panic attacks, you’ve never been present for one. Something tells you he tends to keep it that way with everyone around him. 

However, you’re well versed with them yourself.

“I’m gonna sit beside you, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.”

You lower yourself onto the ground, the floor cold beneath your already freezing ass. England's weather was not kind to the warm blooded. Ted doesn’t lift his head all the way, simply angles it towards you just enough for an eye to peek out from behind his arm. He looks at you with the gaze of a wounded puppy, eyes red and wet, smeared with warm tears.

The silence that follows is deafening, a faint ringing the only thing you hear. Ted looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s not like you can blame him. The last time he opened up to someone he considered close about his panic attacks, it ended up plastered on every magazine and tabloid across the country. Trust within himself and others had been fractured- not broken. No one could ever betray Coach Lasso enough to break that within him, it was fundamental to who he was as a person.

After a few more minutes of silence his foot slides over to yours, just barely nudging it. He lifts his head and sniffles, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of tears and snot off his face.

“I want to tell you about it, I do. I’m just… stuck. Feels like if I tell you, it’ll be too much,” he murmurs, keeping his foot pressed to yours.

“I understand, Ted,” you whisper. “I started having panic attacks before I was even a teenager. I’d been through things- rough things -and they plagued me for years.” He begins to unfurl himself, listening intently to every word you say, the blatant honesty and vulnerability easing his anxiety. “It took me a while to open up to anyone about them, let alone a therapist. I spent so long trying to hide them, that when I finally did get help I felt like a fake.” 

Ted adjusts himself to sit up straighter, shimmying closer so your shoulders touch. You can tell he’s trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the man is known to be anything but subtle.  Outside you can hear the boys begin filing into the hallway, headed for the locker room surely for some type of victory activity. Their shadows dance across the wall in the darkened boot room, slashed into segments by the blinds slanted slightly open. Both of you seemed to have held your breaths as they passed, because as soon as they’re gone there’s a simultaneous exhale of relief.

An amused breath comes from Ted, palm pressing from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone to wipe away the stray tears. He knocks his knee against yours and dares to glance at you, opening up enough to make eye contact. Here in this room, he looks more human than you think you’ve ever seen him. For the most part he keeps his mood insanely optimistic, tending to care more about others happiness than his own. It gave him an almost otherworldly bounce to his step and light to his eyes. 

But now that he’s sat no more than two inches in front of you with puffy eyes and a chewed lip, Ted is just… a broken man. 

“You’ll never be too much, Ted. It’s normal to feel stuck, and it’s okay to not be able to talk about it yet.” His eyes flick to your hand when you lift it towards him, a lifeline of trust, openness in the form of warm skin and an upward facing palm. Internal conflict tugs at his lungs, his breath hitching as he weighs his options for all of five seconds before taking your hand. You are someone Ted knows he can always find solace in. 

Someone who he could spot in a crowd of thousands, someone who he will always seek out. 

His other hand reaches to pat the top of yours, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing circles. A shuddered breath begins to pass his lips, but he smothers it to ashes with the cool press of a kiss to your wrist. 

Humming amusedly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, you lean your head on his shoulder, moving slightly as they lift with the intake of air into his lungs. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel bad that I haven’t spoken to you ‘bout it,” he tsk’s softly to himself, carefully navigating his brain for the right words. 

“I was fine out there, y’know? I’ve been doin’ better, Sharon’s helped a lot. But it just got so loud, and everything felt out of my control- out of any of our boys’ control and I- I just couldn’t breathe. Tunnel vision, boom, just like that.”

You whisper encouragements softly under your breath, murmurs of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can keep going’ pushing him gently in the right direction. Voices can be heard from the locker room, loud cheering and chanting from the team acting as muffled background noise for Ted’s moment of vulnerability. 

“After everything that happened with Nate, I learned to mask it a bit better I guess. That’s the fancy word Doc told me about,” the corner of his lips quirks up “I figured I’d be okay in here for a bit anyway, then you walked in.” Your brows furrow and you pull away from his shoulder, opening your mouth to apologize for intruding but he beats you to it.

“No, no, that sounded different than I meant. I am very glad that you found me here. I needed you even if I didn’t know it,” he traces the details of your face with his eyes, not stopping you when you move your head back down to his shoulder. 

“I think you’ve worked on it so much quicker than you realize, Ted. It wasn’t that long ago, yeah? Healing and improving takes time, and it’s okay that it takes time. I certainly took my time,” you muse, channeling your own therapist’s word. “But I think it’s right on par with who you are, who I know you to be, that you got on it as fast as you did. Even if it was begrudgingly at first.”

“Yeah, Doc definitely had her work cut out.”

You laugh, normally at first but then Ted snorts and you both lose it, bodies bumping against each other with the shakes that come with post-meltdown laughs. Soon enough you’re both wiping away tears of a different variety, the air in the room much lighter than before. You take that moment to push yourself up and off the floor, lending a hand to Ted to pull him up.

“I am immensely proud of you, Coach Lasso. So is the team. You have a very large family backing you up, as unorthodox as said family is.” You take one step closer, hand still holding onto his, pressed between your bodies. Taking your free hand, you hold the side of his face and lean in to kiss his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. 

Ted presses into your lips, chasing your touch even when you turn to the door. Twisting the knob open you find Will standing there, boots tied by their laces hanging over his shoulder, hand outreached to grab the now absent handle. 

He blinks at the two of you for a second, gaze one of vague shock, before curling his lips in an embarrassed smile and stepping out of the way.

“Not a word, Will,” you sing-song when he opens his mouth, pulling Ted down the hall to stand outside of the locker room door. 

You can hear Roy in the middle of a somehow happy/angry sounding congratulation speech that only he is capable of, grinning and turning to face your Coach once more. “Now, get your butt in there and relish in the sweet taste of winning.”

“I mean, relish is pretty tasty-”

“Ted.”

“Yep,” Ted takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing your hand “you coming in with me?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on your moment, Coach.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and pushes the door open, dragging you with him. The boys’ faces light up, immediately rushing to storm him, all reaching to touch him and jumping up and down. Their team song buzzing and bouncing along with them.

“WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE KNOW WE ARE, WE’RE SURE WE ARE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE”

You slide past the group, safely reaching Roy and Beard without your feet being stomped on. The smile on your face is one of pure joy and contentment, not faltering when Beard slides to your side, bumping your elbow. 

“Thanks,” he speaks, nodding towards Ted. It’s easy to know what he means immediately, always one to be of few words. 

“No need to thank me,” you reply easily, watching your family bond even more “it’s what we do.”