#we’re so blessed

[foxtrot91]

I am so goddamn excited for the influx of BuckTommy daddy kink fanfic we’re about to get in this fandom.

[andorshitdaily]

The Best Looking noms are reminding me that there is truly an embarrassment of hotness in this show.

I know, it is RIDICULOUS

[pndnj]

hi bestie <3

[thecorpseinthisbed]

IN HD NO LESS

[whoopseydaisy]

[cloud-hymn]

I think the thing I find most frustrating about swd and the fandom’s perception of the fate switching is he is such a victim or narrative circumstance. Because if hx wasn’t as loved as he is, if swd and sqx were lovers instead of brothers, if swd had a more likable personality, etc etc etc no one would say that his actions weren’t justified. Like there is nothing anyone could say to convince me that if Hua Cheng did for Xie Lian what swd did for sqx the entire fanbase wouldn’t call it tragically romantic instead of monstrous.

[blitheringbongus]

Sillies

[fizzytoo]

[s0fter-sin]

it takes far too long for soap to realise ghost won’t touch him anymore

he doesn’t avoid him, which he considers no small a miracle given how he usually treats his emotions, and he’s too busy being thankful to notice. thankful he didn’t run from him, thankful his simon has returned to him, no matter how changed he is from the man he knew. ghost doesn’t shy away from his touch so long as he knows it’s coming and he spends long nights just tracing the scars on his newly bared face; following half-remembered tracks and memorising new ones

but ghost never reaches back. he’ll press into his hands like a starved man, melt beneath the smallest of touches but he never initiates. and now, his regular touches have disappeared; no longer does he clap him on the back after a job well done, doesn’t cheekily nudge him after making a recruit shit themself just by giving them a look and soap hadn’t realised how much he’s come to rely on them until they stopped. how much he’s grown to care for ghost the way he used to care for simon

he can’t confront him about it; ghost’s fight or flight always firmly tuned to flight when it came to matters about himself. soap would’ve if it meant fight; if ghost would just put his hands on him again, he’d take his violence with the passion of a lover, wear the marks he left behind with grateful pride. but he remembers the look on ghost’s face when he’d ripped his balaclava off, when he’d stripped his barrier and his protection and spat, “i ruined you the moment i touched you!”

so soap waits. he waits for ghost to crawl into his bunk, to take off his mask and surrender himself to his touch; a touch that seems to burn as much as it freed. and instead of taking his face in his hands and worshiping it the way he has every other night ghost’s come to him, soap takes his gloved hand in his own

ghost flinches, the preemptive bliss fading from his eyes as reluctant fear takes its place. soap brings it up so it hovers between them and already feels him edge backwards. he doesn’t let it stop him and gently tugs his fingers free of the glove one at a time until his hand is bare to him; visibly shaking in the dark. soap brings it towards his face, holding firm when ghost tries to yank it back and presses into it; his breath hitching as he finally gets the touch he’s missed for years

“stop, john,” ghost whispers and it hurts to hear the pain in his voice; closer to begging for the soft touch to end than he’s ever been under torture

“no,” he refuses, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm

his eyes shine in the dark, arm twitching as he fights himself; pulling back against his grip and leaning into him in turn. (how can he stand to put his mouth on him; can’t he taste it? the dirt and decay that lives under his skin? the maggots that swim in the slow beat of his blood; the rot he’s been trying so hard not to spread to him but he’s weak.) “you don’t know how broken i am. i’ll ruin you, john.”

soap kisses him again; thick, phantom blood coating his lips. “i’m not letting you slip through my fingers again,” he promises, swallowing it down. “i’ve missed you too much to be afraid of getting cut, simon.”

[yoohyeon]

It’s been 84 years…They’re finally back 🥹

[catsr-reallycool]

@miodiodavinci HI sorry for tagging you so much. I just. I’m. I’ve been obsessed with your stuff for the past few weeks. Especially ZOLA PROJECT and like everything ya thank you so much for ten thousand more hyper fixations other than butcher vanity haha ahah haahah also I’m really. Sorry if the wil fanart looks weird it’s super old and like my first ever zola project piece I’m so worried about doing them dirty the only reason why I haven’t made more work is because if I mess up on one detail my brain goes into Meltdown and I explode. the end

also did you know I like pink men haha Salvador haha Vy2 haha Yuu I’m not biased trust me I promise it’s just how they act yup yup

[naixaie]

. 🍉😋✨

[nicoscheer]

chris_bloodfilms Met my hero on a train.

This story is long so scroll if you cba reading.

It's 2005, a band explodes on MySpace. They're dressed like you and their lyrics are a mirror to your life.

Bleeding heck, who the fuck are the Arctic Monkeys?

After 19 years on repeat it's now 2024. Myself and @conor_bloodfilms are travelling back from Paris.

We arrive at Gare Du Nord and Duffy stops in his tracks. He whispers to me "I think that's Alex Turner."

"F**k off!" | immediately reply. I gaze over at a guy wearing a leather jacket with long brown hair, his face adorned with aviators. We should probably stop staring as it's getting weird, sexually and aggressively weird.

Turns out it is bloody Alex Turner, the man who's provided the soundtrack to my life! He strolls past and disappears into the Parisian platform crowd. A missed opportunity.

We board our train back to London. We look to our left and there's Alex. Sitting in his seat accompanied by a notepad. He's probably writing the next Arctic Monkeys hit "Two gawping pricks on a train". We really need to stop staring.

I tell Duffers I'm going in, he stops me. Reminds me that I'm a fully functioning adult and not to create a scene. Christ, he's right! I feel like I'm 15 years old again, someone get me a Strongbow and whack Dancing Shoes on, kin hell lad!

Eventually myself and Con engage, it's a surreal experience. Alex is polite and returns conversation in a soft friendly manner. The whole situation is just bloody lovely.

I awkwardly ask if I can take his portrait, fully aware that it could result in an awkward exchange and destroy this wonderful moment. He smiles and obliges, he's effortlessly cool, asks for direction and I take a few snaps.

We disembark the train, I felt quite emotional and that's embarrassing to admit. Maybe it was the jet lag, the caffeine and croissant overload? Or maybe it was just the rekindling of my youth.

This all might sound trivial, however, for me these portraits are deeply personal serving a reminder that life is a series of fortunate events and when fully appreciated can conjure up some pretty awesome memories.

[emotionaldisaster909]

/GASP/

/MORE GASPS/

/STARTS SCREAMING AND SMACKING HER FURNITURE/

OH MY FREAKING GOD XIE LIAN WANTS TO COMFORT E’MING

OH MY GOD WAS THIS IS THE NOVEL????

OH MY G O D

[fairybluecosplay]

🌸🗡️casual hualian bc they’re everything🗡️🌸

[goatpunches]

what are you two arguing about now?