#not yet / love run

[miriel-therindes]

The Amazing Devil. (2016). Love Run

[spilledbutter]

if we think of the three tad albums as a sequential story i am absolutely LIVING for the idea of them not being able to communicate properly in love run ("can't we just talk about this tomorrow" "i don't know how to reach you when you get like this" "not yet not yet not yet not yet") and progressing to loving dedication of both each other and themselves in the horror and the wild ("and she is stronger than he's ever been, he knows" "'cause you make me laugh when i'm actually really fucking cross at you for something" "how unreasonably in love i am with everything you do" "'i've seen enough," he says, "i know exactly what i want and it's this life that we've created, inundated with the fated thought of you'" "'you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not'" "by day, oh lord, three things i pray: that i might understand as best i can how bold i was, could be, will be, still am--by god, still am")

[dearqueerheart]

go back and listen to love run reprise with special attention to the drum.

because the whole time it just goes bum bum bum bum bUM BUM BUM BUM

and i think that and the cowbells are what gives the song it’s energy and what makes me want to get up and start running. absolutely magical.

[nyxtalksmusic]

Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none Will raise to you a hand nor thumb Not while by you I stand and hum

[supermusicallee]

where

is

GOD

ma?

where's

the

vodka?

-me 20 times a day at random times

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded psychopath happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[that-bitch-kat3]

james potter is the type of person who would make his friends in the sims 4 and then make them live happy lives ‘because they deserve it’

[kurz-qw]

THIS GAME makes you LIKE WOMEN!

[melverie]

Just remembered that Satan in the "A World of Our Very Own" devilgram says that he believes he was "born in order to meet MC" and it always sounded incredibly cheesy to me but then I thought about it a little more and--

Originally, Satan was just a small glimmer inside Lucifer's consciousness until Lucifer's wrath reached its peak with Lilith's death which, in turn, resulted in Satan's birth

MC is a direct descendant of Lilith after she was reborn as human

If it weren't for Lilith's death, neither of them would be here

Both of their existences are directly intertwined with one another, so in a way Satan's right

They have always been destined to be a part of each other's lives

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Parallel Lines and Brothers.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ovenproofowl]

bad blood is one hell of an episode. it literally opens with mulder straight-up murdering a regular teenager via stake-through-the-heart and he and scully are like pretty sure the FBI is going to be sued and they're going to be doing some serious jail time. except both of them remember the story differently. scully's story is predictably logical and straight-forward. the killer was drugging his victims before bleeding them out, mimicking a vampire attack by wearing fake fangs (which are proven to be fake. this is crucial. this kid was wearing plastic fangs when mulder stabbed him. in the chest. with a wooden stake.) what is also crucial is that mulder was a victim of this murderer's attack and so he was tripping hard when scully intercepts the killer. mulder - whilst tripping balls - is convinced that the killer has glowing eyes and flew across the room before running out the door. and so - whilst tripping balls - he gives chase and ends up stabbing the kid through the heart with a wooden stake.

and of course this is the x files and so while scully and mulder are arguing over who gave who the hardest time in their percieved series of events, it turns out that mulder was right. the kid was a vampire and the stake didn't actually kill him. the fangs were fake because he was copying the sorts of vampires that you see in books and on tv. he was a real vampire.

and it's not just the kid. there are bunches of vampires, including the sheriff. the whole town are just. vampires. the lot of 'em. and the second they're found out, they just up and leave without a trace.

sometimes the extent to which mulder turns out to be right in this show is borderline ludicrous, it's amazing, I love it. but what was even better was that the biggest point of contention between scully and mulder's stories wasn't even the vampire thing, it was whether or not the sheriff was actually hot.

[patroclusdefencesquad]

not to go on about not yet/love run again but can you believe the lyrics "let foul men band and heed your hum for that ancient hymm you heard me strumming? is nought but fumble-falls and guns and tumbleweeds, love run. it's nought that rum won't solve though some would harm you none - not one - no none would raise to you a hand or thumb, not while by you i stand and hum" and "everyone knows sex is better when you're unemployed" ARE THE SAME FUCKING SONG

[wired-heartbeats]

For the record I think Vox is being effected and possibly swayed by Val’s poison just like Angel is, the pink signifying it on Angel shows up on Voxs screen during and after interacting and being influenced by Val directly, when Vox is operating independently it isn’t an actual normal feature of his

This paired with an earlier moment from episode 2 when Val first mentioned something had happened with Angel Dust, Vox seemed happy about the idea of Angel quitting

“He quit? :D”

It’s interesting for sure, makes me wonder what Vox actually thinks about Angel, and more importantly, actually thinks about Valentino. He’s a business man, and clearly the Vees all teamed up (at least initially) because it helps elevate their status and power spread, they may be friendly with each other but we as an audience don’t actually know if there’s more to it as of now. But still, interesting

[cinnamon-flame]

I was going through my art folder again and I saw one of the oldest wof stuff I've ever drawn (the fourth one ever I think?) and I redrew it! I love Turtle and I just took this excuse to draw him again

[saetoshi]

you’ve lost track of the times it’s rained during the past few weeks. the amount of trials held by the chief justice have gone up, just like the chances of rain.

it was upsetting the first time it happened—your notepad getting soaked right after you’d finished getting information for your steambird column. the second time was more annoying, drawing your personal tea party to a close and leaving you drenched (and with a few soggy biscuits).

it’s a force of habit now—the familiar weight of your umbrella having become soothing rather than a burden. it almost feels like muscle memory, having to open your umbrella to shield yourself from the downpour as soon as the skies turn gray.

the rain does nothing but put a damper on people’s mood. or, at least, that’s what your neighbor tells you. you don’t dislike it, though. you don’t think you can bring yourself to do so.

there’s a certain stillness that comes with the rain. it’s calming, almost—most people who’ve forgotten their umbrellas at home seek refuge under the overhangs of the buildings, so it’s easier to navigate the streets of fontaine when they’re not so crowded.

it’s nice, almost. it’d be better if you didn’t have to work. (you’d give anything to stay curled up in bed during days like these. but you don’t think you can give yourself that luxury. at least, not when you’ve got bills to pay).

the way to the opera epiclese is nice. the aquabus is emptier when it rains. and, somehow, the landscape seems prettier with the faint mist the rain leaves behind.

it’s a little bit more crowded near the fountain of lucine. a few children run around while holding their umbrellas, jumping on some puddles before running back to their parents.

you’ve grown familiar to seeing the sight. sometimes you think this might be the reason you don’t resent the rain like most of your neighbors do.

or maybe, it’s just the sight of neuvillette standing just a few steps away from the stairs to the opera epiclese, his hand outstretched as he lets the raindrops fall onto his glove.

“you’re going to catch a cold if you keep standing under the rain like that, neuvillette,” you say, lifting your arm a little to cover him with your umbrella. it’ll do nothing, really—not when he’s already soaked to the bone.

he turns his attention to you, the corners of his eyes softening when they meet yours. he gently takes the handle of your umbrella from your hand, mindful to keep you covered from the rain more than him.

“i suppose that would be the case, yes,” he replies, his eyes focused on yours. he turns his attention to the fountain, his jaw tensing for a moment before it relaxes.

you still notice the faint crease to his brows, the slight downturn of his lips. it’s almost imperceptible—but it’s still there.

you’re not sure what to call your relationship to him. you’re not quite friends, but you’re far past acquaintances. you’re close enough to have dropped the honorifics, but not close enough to consider yourself important to him. close enough to recognize the subtle shifts to his expressions, but not close enough to pry about them.

perhaps just naming it reporter and chief justice would be better. reporter who got lucky enough to get the chief justice to open up about the court trials and proceedings, maybe. (part of you would like to ascend to reporter who gets to ask the chief justice out for a cup of tea when the rain stops).

“how was the trial today?” you ask, reaching into your pouch to pull out your notepad and a pen. part of you wishes you could feel bad for missing it, but you’ve never been one for the spectacle of the courtroom. it’s inhumane, you’d argue—how people’s grievances and crimes are exposed for the whole nation to see as if it was nothing more than a play.

neuvillette adjusts his grip on the umbrella, his eyes focused on you. “difficult,” he says, his tone measured. he blinks, and for a moment you think you hear the rain fall a little harder before it turns into a drizzle. “the evidence procured by the attorneys was not as sufficient as they had originally thought.”

the light, hurried scratching of the pen against the paper fills the air, barely audible with the sounds of the raindrops pelting down on your umbrella. you glance away from your notes to look up at him. “that sounds messy,” you muse, pursing your lips.

“quite so,” he solemnly nods, his grip tightening around the handle to keep your umbrella from swaying with the wind. his lips press into a fine line, “it ended up being far more complicated than i had thought it would be.”

you nod, acknowledging his words as you write them down on your notepad. he inches infinitesimally closer to you—enough for you to notice when a droplet falls from his hair onto the ground, but still far away enough for you to not consider burdensome.

it almost makes you smile, how mindful he is. always a gentleman, you think. it fits him—not as chief justice, but as neuvillette. part of you wishes you could write that in a column, if only for the rest of fontaine to be privy of the surprising gentleness the chief justice possesses. but you don’t think you will. (it’s a piece of information you wish to selfishly keep for yourself).

he angles the umbrella, his eyes focused on the top of your head as you organize your notes. the sun faintly peeks through the clouds, letting the soft orange hues of the sunset shine through the drizzle. his eyes study your face while you’re unaware, the corners softening the longer he stares at you.

“what did lady furina think of the trial?” you ask, your eyes drifting from your notes to his face. the troubled expression he was sporting when you first saw him is gone, replaced by some sort of warmth you can’t describe.

“she found it less entertaining than the previous ones,” he says, his tone losing that firm edge to it. he adjusts his grip on the umbrella’s handle again, making sure to cover you properly even if the rain is starting to let up.

“what about the attorneys?” you continue, tapping the tip of your pen against the paper. “what was their reaction when they realized they weren’t properly prepared to defend their client?”

“i will get you the court records for the full description,” he says, his eyes flitting to the people around the fountain of lucine. his grip on the handle eases when he sees the others start to put their umbrellas away. still, he makes no move to do the same with yours—not until the light rain stops completely.

his eyes flicker back to yours, the corners of his lips quirking up into the hint of a smile, “but, it seemed like steam was coming out of their heads.” he pauses for a second, a faint pink dusting the tips of his ears. “those were lady furina’s words.”

they’re not. you’ve interviewed him for long enough to tell when he adds an observation of his own. (still, you’ve never pointed it out to him. it’d be a shame if he stopped giving them out if he knew you were aware of this habit).

you softly hum, smiling in amusement, the corners of your eyes crinkling, “you want me to include that on the column?”

“preferably not,” he clears his throat, returning to his stoic façade. still, he can’t help the way the corners of his lips quirk up again slightly. “let that be our secret.”

“alright,” you whisper, the amusement in your smile giving way to a slight fondness. “it’ll remain between the two of us.”

“i’d hate for our dear lady furina to be branded as a gossip,” you add, your eyes drifting to the sky. a soft hum leaves your lips, your hand peeking out from under the umbrella. a hint of a smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s no longer raining.

“it would be most unfortunate,” he says, his tone soft as he watches you. he lowers the umbrella, giving two firm shakes—the way he’s seen you do it before—before closing it.

“i will get you the finalized court records by sunset tomorrow,” he says, holding the umbrella out to you. “would that work for you?”

you nod, placing your notepad and pen inside your pouch. your fingers brush against his gloved ones as you grab your umbrella, a small jolt of electricity shooting through your hand. “that’d be great.”

neuvillette’s eyes soften once again, a soft hum rumbling in his throat. “i will give them to you over dinner, then.”

you blink, the tips of your ears burning at the implication of his words. your heart races in your chest, your eyes meeting his. “dinner?”

“if that works for you, as well,” he says, softly clearing his throat. your heart skips a beat when you take notice of the faint flush to his cheeks.

you can’t help the smile that grows on your lips, a pleasant warmth filling your chest the longer you gaze at him. (he looks unfairly pretty with the sunset framing his face, you think).

“it works perfectly well for me,” you say, your voice hushed. your smile widens when you recognize the relief on his face, your heart fluttering in your chest.

perhaps, your relationship of reporter and chief justice is not such a bad label. (at least not when it means you’re the reporter who’s going to get dinner with the chief justice).

[winnie-the-monster]

Lol why can’t I stop thinking about this