#FUCK nathan though

[fingertipsmp3]

Reddit fountain pen drama is my favourite thing I swear to god

[skrunksthatwunk]

skwisgaar punished arc

[sodapopbuoy]

ACE GALATINE. CONSIDER

bonus second version of the last doodle under the cut smile

[falafels]

i am thinking once more about how Wymack is from Baltimore. and Nathan Wesninski presumably has been in Baltimore for a decent portion of his life to get the city in his Official Murderer Title. The EC (if i remember right) says Wymack left home at 14 and eventually dropped out of high school (later got his GED to go to college), but he was probably not doing great all things considered: violent household, parental neglect, homelessness TLDR schoolwork not really a priority or maybe he just told someone to fuck off. and Nathan is an asshole who knows when that started.

ANYWAY all this to say I think they were in the same after school detention. maybe even just once. and Wymack doesn’t really remember, maybe it comes back to him in Neil’s third year, when Nathan’s posthumous trial is public and Wymack sees a photo in the papers with a cruel smirk and a forehead scar that looks so familiar. He tells himself it must just be resemblance to Neil, but the memory does come back.

The boy at the desk by the window, twirling his pen with the absentminded smugness of somebody who knows they’re the smartest in the room. The boy who had watched intently as Wymack had pulled the his too-small scruffy hoodie over his face, not quite enough to hide the black eye he was sporting. The boy who has offered him gum once, seemed to recognise the two of them as the same in some sort of way, maybe the violence, maybe the detention. Maybe he’d just been entertained by Wymack’s squirrelly nerves and jumpy disposition.

And I don’t think Wymack would ever mention this to Neil. He doesn’t like to talk about Baltimore, neither of them do. But just to check, double check, he digs out an old yearbook and there’s the photo he was looking for. in the back, with miscellaneous candids of the school’s nobodies, the dropouts, assorted photos. black and white print, a few others in the background, one tall and scrawny boy startled, scruffy, and clearly uncomfortable, sat near a boy with wavy hair, a cutting smirk and air of relaxed confidence, twirling that pen in his left hand.

Wymack closes the book, pours himself a stiff drink (changes his mind and slugs down half the bottle), and never opens it again.

[d-e-a-d-f-a-c-e]

i may or may not have said this before, but i fuck with hatredcopter so much not just because it's the nickles love duet but OUHH THIS PART IN THE MV. i keep going back to this because of the way he looks.. his gums showing is just the sexiest and literally everything else PLEASEE DOES THAT MAKE SENSE

[christopher-bryant]

"which one is madelyne and which one is jean!?"

the fainter is jean. thats like a thing she's known for. she faints also preggo my eggo is cable's mom so...yeah the real jean shady cannot stand up as she's unconscious atm.

[puppypeter]

just watched a bunch of Cut's Truth or Drink videos and it's making me want to read a ted lasso fic where they do it as a team building exercise (being open and honest and vulnerable all that)

[desalvar]

citing all my sources of inspiration for Nikodemus would mean unironically putting Misfits 2009-2013 at the top of the list

[samwpmarleau]

Colin: Terrorizes Nate for months and never so much as acknowledges what he did let alone apologizes for it

Nate: Is rude to Colin once and apologizes for it in the very same episode

Fandom: NATE IS THE DEVIL. HOW DARE HE NOT GROVEL AT COLIN’S FEET. COLIN IS A SAINT FOR EVEN SPEAKING TO HIM!

[ech0light]

JUST WATCHED THE LAST 2 EPISODES OF PERSONS OF INTEREST SEASON 2 HAS ANYONE ELSE SEEN THIS SHIT PLEASE

[dreamsy990]

drew my dnd character who i made up on the spot the other day because i forgot to prepare anything (his character sheet was online)

turns out the sheet SAID he was a girl but i only read the name nathan and went 'okay thats a dude' so hes trans because i didnt read my own character sheet

[ruvviks]

so massively unwell about nathan x ru/vik

[dxppercxdxver]

yeehaw!! (more of that collaboration with @chiropteracupola!!)

deep within, your hunger burns

The grandfather clock in the corner of Filomena’s study clicked steadily toward sunrise, keeping in lockstep with her sluggish, pounding heart. Reams and reams of paper sat as yet untouched upon her desk. Her night’s work was young, despite the hour, and the stacks of blank parchment spoke to the effort still the come, the anxiety wracking her body like an unseasonable winter’s chill. Looping scrawl disintegrating by the minute blurred before her eyes; her hand was beginning to cramp from the duration of her encryption, and yet, Filomena had far to go before she could rest.

While her task would be Sisyphean to anyone, the threat of discovery loomed heavy over her shoulder, sending icy chills down her neck. It would hardly do for one of her newfound teammates, or enemies, or friends, or whatever they would become to her, to find her here. Sighing, she drew her shawl tight round her shoulders, fingers worrying at the fraying tassels.

She would need to replace her candle soon.

There was a gentle tap at her door, the familiar sound of silver-bound fingers against an oaken jamb. Without looking up, Filomena already knew who was waiting for her.

“Lady Helen,” she said, never staying her duty, not even for a moment. Long ago, Filomena had mastered the art of continually writing, no matter the distraction, and Helen valued her for it. It made her efficient. Helen did not abide idleness.

“Miss Pauling.” Despite her age, Helen’s voice was slick as oil, sturdy and cutting as any blade. Only the hour demanded the hushed tone in which she spoke, but her words still carried a weight Filomena had come to dread. “May I come in?”

“Certainly.”

Filomena placed her pen back in its inkwell, grateful for the moment to stretch her arms and listen to the joints pop in quick succession, before turning to where Helen stood, regal in her rich purple gown. Her bony fingers clacked against each other under the weight of her jewelry, hands clasped at her stomach tense as the sharp line of her mouth. Eyes narrowed, flashing gold in the firelight, she did not look pleased.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” It was rare to hear from Helen nowadays. The war occupied much of her time, and the air of mystery she had worked so hard to cultivate around their hired band of mercenaries would hardly do to be shattered by too many sightings of her goings about the house, so when Filomena chanced to see her, it was always a relief and a warning in equal measure. The maddening quiet was over, but the news it brought was often a knife to Filomena’s stomach.

Helen laughed without humor. “I should hope you would be glad to see me no matter the cause.”

“Well, of course I am, my Lady,” under the force of her gaze, Filomena always felt herself floundering, a little girl scolded for staining the carpet again, “but given the circumstances, I would presume something is on your mind.”

“Hm. You presume correctly.” Eyeing the scattered papers, Helen raised a sharp brow. Filomena smiled, hesitant and apologetic. Taking a whistling breath through her nose, Helen inspected a long fingernail, flicking at it with her thumb. “Are they getting along?”

“You mean our houseguests?”

“You’re a smart girl, Miss Pauling,” Helen said. “What do you think?”

Shrinking against her mother, Filomena twiddled with her glasses. “Well, I would hardly call them friends, to be sure, but they are settling into their roles quite nicely.”

“Really.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Fishing through her files, Filomena selected two sheets of paper from her personal records, detailing her observations. She passed them to Helen, who skimmed them with a scowl, while she continued, “Monsieur Laurent and Mister Thornton have been more troublesome than most, but not nearly so much as we suspected. Their antisocial tendencies and… exuberance, respectively, have been rather tempered by the contract work and the company we keep. Extraordinarily hard workers, the lot of them. It is… commendable.”

Helen nodded, humming approvingly, before returning Filomena’s notes. “This is good news, indeed.”

“I should say so.”

When it became clear Helen had said her piece, Filomena slowly returned to her work, ears pricked for any further remarks. None came, and for a moment, she felt herself frozen in time, hours before sunrise, with nothing but hollow breathing for company. The scratching of her pen eased her back into a familiar rhythm. She had done alright for herself, she mused, and if Helen’s drawn conclusion was any indication, her mother thought so too.

“Do you think they suspect?”

The question reverberated around the study with all the deafening, omnipresent clamor of a church bell, batting Filomena about the head until it rang in harmony. Without the unequivocal reminders of the true nature of her job, she could almost pretend away the secret mission, the turning of knives in hands and the arrangements of the decks of cards; the forgeries, the lies, the killing. It stood to reason Helen would not allow her to forget.

Knot twisting in her stomach, Filomena’s hand froze.

“I sincerely doubt it,” she said, and found it to be an honest observation. The mercenaries taking up residence in the manor that had stood as her second mother since she was but a girl were too friendly, too naive, too stupid to know the purpose of their mission, and she was damn good at what she did. Her web was around them, and they would be none the wiser.

If they were, she would be dead. They were good at what they did, too.

This was how she knew.

“Excellent. Ensure that it remains that way.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Clicking her tongue, Helen about faced and headed for the door, heels tapping staccato against the clock’s pendulum. It took Filomena longer than she would have liked to notice the off-beats of the cork abruptly ceasing.

“A word of advice, Miss Pauling?” Helen’s expression was stern, gray streak defiant against the inky black of her hair. Shadows played off the bones in her face, rendering it skeletal. When she spoke, her message crawled down Filomena’s spine and into her ribs, clutching at her heart with blackened claws. “Don’t get involved.”

Memories of joviality flitted forth, unbidden, as if reminding Filomena of her secret shame; wine around the dinner table, target practice on the expansive lawn, and games of cards in the library, among many other little pleasures she had allowed herself in the company of their guests. Their guests, who had been nothing but kind to her, even if she suspected a fair few of them never actually meant it. Their guests, who trusted her, who wanted her, who seemed to like her. A lump was fast growing in her throat, threatening to choke her.

“I won’t.” Filomena tapped the side of her nose. “Promise.”

With a conspiratorial wink, Helen said, “Good work, Filomena,” and disappeared into the hall, letting the heavy wooden door slam closed behind her.

“... Thanks.” All that answered was the empty, and the whistling of the wind outside. Beside her, the candle burned ever lower. The wax was beginning to pool atop her paperwork, and she pulled it aside with a huff, scraping it off as delicately as she could.

Damn this, she thought to no one in particular. Casting around the study, replacement candles were not to be found, and only then did Filomena remember she had run out the night before. While others could more than likely be sourced from elsewhere in the house, her legs ached, and her eyelids were threaded through with exhaustion heavy as lead.

“Damn this,” Filomena said again, as the candle winked out, leaving her in the darkness. Instinctually, she reached for the chain wended about her wrist, a token of appreciation from her mercenaries, more than likely stolen from the house of some New Jersey noblewoman. Her thumb quickly and comfortably found the etching in the bronze cross.

She was cut loose, swimming in the warmth of the metal in her palm, the euphoria of Helen’s admiration, and the grandfather clock simply continued its steady ticking march.

[ronanlynchbf]

ronan and adam should’ve had a real conversation in greywaren they should’ve both been awake and should’ve argued the way they did back in the days because emotions are running High so naturally there is a reverting back to their younger selves and they should've started to calm down a little after said arguing and have an actual good thorough conversation afterwards in which ronan actualy apologizes to adam because let’s be real there was one needed and they make it clear what they want for the future and how they want it to pan out and how things are gonna work out and about what home means to each of them and about how each of them were keeping secrets from each other and how to avoid hurting each other in the future by not talking to each other and to stop keeping those heavy secrets to themselves with the thought that it’s only going to bother the other and “they were wanted they were wanted they were wanted” is actually brought across by them communicating this to each other in Real Actual Words and after this very good very lengthy very needed conversation they can hug as their actual real life corporeal bodies with their ribs still fitting together just as they had before and with adam’s hand still pressed against the back of ronan’s skull the way it always did

[supersumc]

Same with the movie and a bunch of the video game soundtracks. Like, it could have been just simple notes, but no, we got epic orchestral pieces that belong in the roodaking cinema!

LEGO: It's just a couple of adds for a plastic toy line. You don't need to go super hard with the songs!

Cryoshell, ignoring LEGO and creating some of the sickest Alt Rock songs ever:

[evie-sturns]

𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 - 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

summary: you've been pissing chris off all day, accidentally knocking his stuff over, purposely teasing him in public, to the point where he starts to get seriously mad at you to the point where he has to put you in your place.

warnings: smut, rough!chris, use of safe word, argument, swearing.

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I didn't know that what i was doing was affecting chris this much, I mean, today has just been like any other. I hung out with my boyfriend of 2 months, chris, the whole day with his brothers and friends.

he seem's to be extra on edge today, ever since i broke one of his cologne bottles.

(flashback)

hey chris, im just gonna head downstairs- SMASH

"oh fuck i'm so sorry i'll clean that up now-" i said, getting on my hands and knees and collecting the shards of black glass. "y/n just go downstairs, get out of my room please." chris spoke, glaring down at me. "i'm so sorry chris, i can buy you anothe-" i was cut off by him picking me up and placing me outside of his bedroom.

(present)

me, chris, nathan, nick and matt are sitting on the sturniolos couch as the sun sets through the window to our right, a dim light fills the living room as matt and nick have an argument, god knows what its about.

im cudding up to chris's side, my leg resting over his thigh as he scrolls on his phone aimlessly. ive been sitting here for about an hour, i think chris is still pissed about the cologne bottle incident. i hate to admit it, but chris when hes mad is the hottest version of him.

i move my leg from his thigh up to his lap, using my leg to rub him very softly through his sweatpants. he grabs my leg, pushing it off him "stop that." he whispers, shaking his head at me. "stop what?" i ask, a guilty smile tugging at the corners of my lips as i move my leg back to its original position, applying more pressure on his crotch.

right before he's about to grab my leg again nathan starts - "whos up for top golf!" he says, looking around the room with a smile on his face. "nate its late." matt speaks, leaning back against the couch.

"so you're boring?" nate tuts.

"fine, only if the others go though." nick says, standing up off the couch. "chris, y/n?" he says, looking at us.

im about to agree but chris answers for me "were staying here." he says, his tone angry.

i look at chris with a confused look, but hes back to scrolling on his phone. "well me, matt and nate are going, we'll be a few hours." nick says, grabbing his coat and phone.

matt and nathan follow nick out the door, giving me and chris a small wave before slamming the front door shut.

chris stands up, leaving me on the couch, he faces me "what the fuck is wrong with you!" he yells. "what?" i say defensively, moving back against the couch, my eyes widening from the sudden raise of his voice.

"what!!??" he mocks, before starting

"this whole day you've been on my last nerve, and I'm sick of it. You've ruined half the shit in my room then you start touching up on my dick in front of my brothers?"

my jaw is slack, in pure shock as he flames me, i can't help my attitude start to build up, i scoff "not my fault you've been sensitive and pissy all day, sorry that im clumsy today?" i bite back, rolling my eyes.

chris stares at me "you have no respect for any of my shit, youve gone and shattered my $450 cologne that nick got me and you expect me to be happy? pathetic." he yells.

a few tears drop from my eyes, i don't know why. his words aren't hurting me but he knows i can't deal with people yelling at me. my attitude keeps up though "if you're gonna be so sensitive go cry in your room christopher." i fold my arms.

chris storms out of the living room, slamming the door to the bathroom shut.

i wipe my eyes before standing up, running upstairs into chris's room. its already been decided that im staying the night here by nick, so i decide to get into my pyjamas.

i pull my shirt off over my head, revealing my white lacy bra which i especially wore for chris, i was expecting a different evening with us.

suddenly i hear the bedroom door open behind me, chris storms in before walking up to me, i swing my body around to look at him. he grabs me by my throat, i gasp loudly as he grabs me, throwing me down on the mattress.

i sink my teeth into my bottom lip as i look up at him, before pulling him down into an angry kiss. he pulls away, ripping off his shirt. "built up a bit of an attitude today haven't you?" he mumbles, yanking my shorts and panties off in one motion.

he reaches a hand under me onto my back, flipping me over onto my stomach.

he grabs my ankles, forcing me onto all fours. i whine, desperatly. "so needy aren't you." he says, yanking down his sweatpants. i look over my shoulder at him.

"hand behind your back." he demands, putting his hand out. i put my hands behind my back, chris grabs both of my wrists with one hand. holding them, forcing me to arch.

"chirs.." i groan, squirming slightly, his hand collides with my clit. "fuck!" i yelp, chris shushes me "why do you think you deserve my dick after giving me such an attitude today hm?"

he lines himself up with me, pulling my wrists closer to him, my chest and head are fully off the bed as my back arches more then i knew it ever could.

without warning her slams into me, i let out a loud cry from the sudden stretch. "dont. make. a noise." he says, slamming into me at a brutal pace. i let out pathetic whimpers as i'm held in place by him.

he reaches his spare hand round, shoving two fingers in my mouth.

chris has never been like this in bed, im in total shock as he fucks the attitude out of me.

without warning i clench around him, releasing the knot in my stomach. his thrusts don't slow, i wouldn't be wrong if i said they quickened.

im so sensitive, my vision blurry as he takes what he needs from me.

we've had a safe word established for a while, we made it while we were in a stupid mood, so it has a stupid name. 'dinosaur' , but ive never even thought about using it until now.

"chris.. chris chris." i groan, tears streaming down my face from the intensity. "fuck- d-dinosaur" i cry out, chris stops thrusting instantly, checking to see if he heard right.

"dinosaur.." i whisper.

chris pulls out instantly, he gently releases the painful grip on my wrists, as he collapses down next to me, sitting on the bed, pulling me onto his lap in a cradling me.

"hey hey.. don't cry sweetheart." he whispers into my hair, grabbing his shirt and pulling it onto me. "are you alright baby? too much?" he coos, rubbing my arms. "please speak to me gorgeous."

i nod into his chest, "im fine, just sensitive.." i stammer.

"oh okay i'm so sorry" he says, pure guilt in his voice as he stands up, holding me like a bride.

suddenly i let out a small laugh, he looks down, confusion painted across his face.

"wait.. whats funny?" he questions

"what were we thinking when we came up with that safeword." i laugh into his chest.

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this might be my last fic for a few days cause school is starting up tomorrow.