#jess watches a movie

[caesarclowningaround]

okay fine i’ll watch bullet train!! and check out aaron taylor-johnson‘s primo vibes

[allthethoughtsandstuff]

watched the social network again and just thinking ab that part where they’re in the dorm and eduardo grabs two beers from the fridge bc he’s going to give one to mark only to turn around to mark grabbing his own bottle bc mark only ever thinks of himself so why would he expect anyone else to think of anyone but themselves and eduardo is just this lil sad guy standing there w two beers while his bestie literally doesn’t see him or anything he does for him

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday 🎄

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 💖

wasn't sure about posting this bc I don't wanna share like everything I have so far but it's fuck it friday so fuck it lol I'm too excited to keep it to myself haha - here's more of the christmas fic and the main idea behind it (I said it's gonna be mostly silly and fluffy and I promise it will be, just gotta add a little more sad while buck talks about his childhood lol)

prev snippet

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His eyes don’t leave the screen, while Eddie’s are glued to Buck’s face. “Well, there’s a lot of things I always wanted to do with my family on Christmas, but never got to.” his voice gets even quieter. “But there’s one thing in particular. I, uh, that’s so stupid.” he chuckles quietly, then nods to the screen, where a kid is opening a gift with a bright smile, his family surrounding him. “I wanted this.” he admits quietly, as if embarrassed. He never told Eddie much about his life growing up, but based on everything Eddie knows about his parents, he can imagine it wasn’t great. He never asked, not wanting to pry, but now Eddie wonders what Buck’s Christmas must’ve looked like, especially after Maddie moved out. He must’ve been miserable, and Eddie’s heart is breaking just at the thought.

“It’s not stupid to want a happy holiday with a loving family.” he says softly, carefully. Buck shakes his head, the red in his cheeks now visible despite the dark.

“I mean, that too, I- I never got this, and I always wished- but not just that.” another shake of his head. “I mean, the sweaters.” he mutters under his breath.

“Christmas sweaters?” Eddie asks, not sure if he heard right, just because of how quiet Buck said it.

“I know, it’s dumb. I just always imagined sitting around in matching sweaters, as a family, taking pictures, looking like we belong together, like I- like I belong.” he adds, turning his head away, so Eddie can’t see his face. Eddie reaches his hand further, touching Buck’s shoulder.

“They couldn’t give you matching Christmas sweaters?” he asks incredulously, fighting not to raise his voice.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley

[sequencefairy]

I want more queer romcoms with old men in them.

Cast Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac in a fake dating, set in Vegas romp where they get mistaken for being a couple and have to sell it in order to keep the perks and not have to pay for all the upgrades they're getting and they've been friends forever, and Oscar's character is finally getting the divorce with the estranged ex-wife finalised, and Pedro's character has gotten laid off from his career job and is a little at loose ends, so they go to Vegas for a week to blow off some steam.

Mark Ruffalo is their extremely long-suffering friend who has been trying to get them to look at each other instead of other people for the last fifteen years, and he is one hundred percent the reason why the receptionist at the hotel was like "Congratulations on your wedding!" when they checked in.

[goryhorroor]

black christmas (1974)

“No, no, no! Don't do that, Jess... Jess, the caller is in the house. The calls are coming from the house!”

[gins-potter]

brb going feral over the moment katniss pulls out a machete to lowkey threaten finnick with, and peeta's all like "let's keep moving" with that 'knock it off you two' tone and casually takes the machete off her. and it's so simultaneous the timing of him reaching in and her handing it over. THEY'RE SO FUCKING DOMESTIC.

[weepynymph]

You're telling me baby Jess Mariano didn't watch the princess bride and immediately absorb Carey Elwes entire performance into his consciousness???

[pizzabookbuying]

sometimes I think it is the world’s teeniest tiniest tragedy that Jess Mariano does not have at least a LITTLE bit of a New York accent

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[caesarclowningaround]

you wanna know what the funniest shit is? Like, why I decided tonight to watch Teeth? Because I was originally going to rewatch Don’t Be Bad and I got to the scene where Cesare and Vittorio are being told the salon robbery anecdote about the girl hiding the money in her panties and Cesare jokingly says “pussy with teeth”

so my dumb ass was immediately like “I HAVEN’T SEEN TEETH AND IT’S ON TUBI RIGHT NOW” so i watched that instead

[allthethoughtsandstuff]

the social network (2010) where everything is the same except eduardo has one pierced ear with a little silver hoop

[spoopieere]

I noticed when Jesse texts Preston in the movie, he’s is just casually bare chested, wearing nothing except for his jacket, webcam turned on and everything.

Like what were you trying to do Jesse ? 🤨🤨

I don’t think ur boss should be bare chested when he calls you on a one-on-one Zoom meeting in a professional setting 🤨

[da-vedere]

Hackers (1995) ☰

[spockvarietyhour]

I was thinking about that thing you said about the universe. Going where the universe takes you? Right on. I think it's a cool philosophy. I was being metaphorical. It's a terrible philosophy. I've gone where the universe takes me my whole life. It's better to make those decisions for yourself.

[emmafallsinlove]

literati au where liz abandoned jess at luke’s dinner at the age of 10 because she couldn’t deal with this kid anymore, so luke took him in because honestly what else would he do? but also. lorelai loves jess so much because she’s saw him grown from this really 10 years old angry kid to this annoying teenager who asks her “how many coffee you had today, lorelai?” and she’d be like “not enough, jessie” and just. jess is always welcome at the gilmore’s household because at this point he is family and when liz danes comes back and saying she’s sorry and she wants to do right by him, lorelai literally yells at her that maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have left the kid outside of luke’s in the middle of the winter at 4am in the morning.

[lowkeyclowning]

Jesse the type of fictional character you gotta water down to tell people abt…

like wym you wanna watch the second film with the knowledge that I want him to want me?!.!,??.?. No you don’t!