#on a good day im a man

[sualne]

THE THEORY STRENGTHEN

[hir444eth]

i could talk about this scene for hours. the way wade uses als full name. the way wade uses logans full name. the look they share. the little nod. the way al was so nice to logan, vice versa. want me to keep going? because i will. the way this is the scene after the classic romcom “calling they’re name before they can walk away” scene. the way its literally wade introducing his bf to his mom. the next scene being logan finally happy with wade and his family. everything about this scene and movie is so queercoded.

[vanyafresita]

IMAGINE YOURSELF.

TELL ME OF YOURSELF.

WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?

and here is some close ups from the still frames with no filters !

[b4kuch1n]

polymer broadcast signal hijack

[kacchanot-fucking-deal-with-this]

take a shot every time bakugou screams deku and get drunk within a single episode

[mysticalalleycat]

I think something really interesting about TMA vs TMP so far is the different use of suspense, which I actually think "the cake scenes" (as I've started to call them in my head) are really good shorthand for.

In TMA, we spend four seasons very slowly getting the hang of things alongside the protagonists. We take all of that time to slowly understand how the world works, how fucked up it is, and how fucked up it can get. The narrative waits until we have a deep understanding of that (although maybe not entirely complete yet), until the characters and world have hit a new, very deep low. Then it throws us back to the start. It gives us cake scene number one (Jon's birthday) and says "Hey remember how when this started they were all (mostly) happy and just regular people working a kinda weird job and they were all friends and had joy?" And it hurts! Because we know how bad it is now, so the sharp contrast to how it was before it all started hits hard!

TMA's suspense is built on the audience not understanding what's happening alongside the characters, so the depth of tragedy happening to them can only be understood in retrospect.

TMP doesnt rely on TMA entirely, but it's written with the understanding that the majority of its listeners will have listened to TMA. It knows that a lot of the audience may not know exactly what's going on here, but they know the general shape of the world and they know exactly how bad it can get (thanks MAG200).

Because it's writing for (mostly) that audience, TMP doesn't have to write about its tragedy only in retrospect. The suspense comes both from not knowing what's happening (like TMA) and from knowing exactly what's happening while the characters don't (whooo dramatic irony). The audience knows what the fears are and how they can effect the world--Sam and Alice don't.

So TMP's cake scene (Teddy's going away party) happens at the start. "Look at all these people being (mostly) happy and just regular people working a kinda weird job and all being friends and having joy! Doesn't it hurt knowing exactly how bad things could get for them?"

And it does. We are two episodes in and nothing has happened to Alice and Sam, but it's already very clear that we are audience to a tragedy. Even if they don't end up totally fucked, it's clear that their arcs will be tragic.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

July 13th, 1917

Be it from a sense of paternal concern or simply patriotic duty, Arthur made sure to leave his soldiers in the charge of an older Corporal and made his way to the quite pathetic excuse of a medical section where his son was left to rot.

Arthur had heard about the attack. He had been informed the day prior.

He had seen war and famine and sickness, but never like this. Arthur wasn't young, in any sense, and what wonders and strong political oppinions young men had, had left him a long time ago like a ship leaving the harbour in a hury to claim new land. This though, had left shock echoing within his tired, millenia old frame. He wasn't used to this.

Arthur made his way through the trenches with soldiers from every corner of the globe instantly stopping whatever they were doing prior and saluting him as if etiquette and rank mattered in hell. As if it was more importaint to greet the Higher ups than to survive long enough to even write a letter back to family. Arthur did understand that though. Routine and rules were the only thing keeping these poor and wretched souls from being consumed by thoughts of an imminent death.

The path to the section where Matthew was held was quite straightforward and quite familiar. He had marched to and from it hundreds of times and had a sort of automatic rithm in his step. Arthur made his way to the small and damp room with a fast pace indicative of familiarity, only to stop in his tracks in the shabbily built doorframe at the sight that awaited him in the corner.

Matthew sat in the corner of the sad makeshift medical section of the trenches, his back firm against the cold, damp wall.

His once-piercing blue-grey eyes were now clouded over with milky white cataracts, rendering him completely blind. The newly used gas had stolen his sight. His skin, once tanned and healthy, now bore the sickly pallor of a much older man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

Matthew's uniform, discarded in favour of his worn down undershirt, was now a tattered and stained relic of his time in the trenches. The not-white-anymore shirt clung to his emaciated frame as if decency still mattered in hell. The physical toll of the war was clear on his body. Not that Matthew would have to worry about seeing that any time soon. His hands, which had once held a rifle with resolve, now trembled even while resting on his thighs.

Despite his physical and emotional anguish, Matthew remained seated upright, his back pressed against the unforgiving, stained wall. A testament to his resilience if there was any left, a silent protest against the horrors that had taken his sight and left him broken in body and spirit.

As he sat there, his spirit reduced to a hollow shell, Matthew's face bore a mixed expression of utter defeat and complete indifference. His lips were drawn into a thin, lifeless line, and his cheeks were gaunt from the weight of his suffering. His blank, unseeing eyes stared into the abyss, as if waiting for answers and also hoping they'd never arrive.

In that moment, Matthew was not a representation of Canada; he was a young man who had been scarred and broken by the senseless brutality of war. The trenches around him buzzed with activity, but he remained isolated in his silent world of darkness and despair. The young medics job was done. He had patched Matthew up and left him to his own misery. Matthew was grateful.

Arthur stood there silently under the doorframe for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. A strange and unfamiliar twinge of emotion plucked and pulled on his conscience. He hadn't felt guilt in quite some time. This feeling was reserved for drunken nights spent in solitude with the doors to the room he resided in firmly locked so that his sliver of self-deprecating emotion wasn't witnessed by any but himself, while he drunk himself to unconsciousness.

He preferred the emotional solitude to this.

Arthur had believed himself to be capable of most things. Especially conversation and confrontation. He was quite good at those as centuries of existence had proved. He believed himself quite skilful with words. Most of the time he knew what to say and when to say it without it resulting in unwanted and unforeseen consequences, while still making sure his opinion was heard.

Arthur had no words forming as he stood in that doorframe. If Arthur was a good man, his reasoning would be that he felt such strong empathy and sadness that words wouldn't be enough to express the sorrow he felt at that moment. If Arthur was a good man he'd run to his son, assure him that this wouldn't happen ever again and that he was safe. If Arthur was a good man he would fall on his knees in front of his oldest son and beg for forgiveness.

Arthur wasn't a good man.

He could admit to his shortcomings, but to act on them was not in his nature.

So he stood there for another 5 or 6 minutes watching his son shallowly breathe in and out, hearing the boys lungs struggle to keep up with his muscles contraction and need for air.

He must have made a noise, as Matthew's head tilted slightly to the left, almost looking at Arthur but definitely not seeing him. Arthur looked back at him.

The room was quiet, save for the desperate plea of Matthews lungs to be put out of their misery.

Sensing nothing after a few moments, Matthew turned his head back towards the blank wall ahead.

Arthur silently turned his frame around and slowly started walking the path he had taken to get here. As he took a few steps, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

How he longed for that whiskey bottle and that dark room where he could lock himself in and slowly drift out of consciousness instead of facing his own mistakes.

Arthur definitely was not a good man.

[anemonet]

pro tip: you can always put the bugs in little outfits :thumbsup:

[saltedbutter0]

“i let you kill octavian” brother you said you wanted to snipe him

[ghostr0tz]

[sualne]

kiss you in aroace, and we're both boys.

[ovaryacted]

Guys…oh my god???? He looks so good I’m crying in two places rn…

I’ve been thinking about this picture for 3 days.

[ricky-mortis]

Hatchetfield @femslashfortnight Day 6: Protect

[mblue-art]

once again i was fueled with coffee (did not sleep the whole night) but this time i doodled college au to cope bc ofc i did (also did not feel like sleeping wooo)

[dustykneed]

Picture this; Bones holding Joanna, rocking her to sleep and the part in Beautiful Boy where it’s like “The monster's gone, He's on the run, And your daddy's here” is playing. :,)

Fatherhood gives you certain... skills. Coincidentally, this is also how Jim finds out that Bones sings.

:'))

[dismas-n-dismay]

Suki - Chimera Falin amv

I present before you: The Chimera Falin Edit.