#I bet they're close

[cnl0400]

Reminder that indirectly, Thirteen's love for traps Is all thanks to Barbatos.

He made that Fountain of Knowledge, and she herself admits that all rules & traps in the Reaper's Cave are inspired by the rules of the Fountain.

[cherry-bomb1985]

I keep thinking about Hell's words: "This is the only way it should have ended."

Should. Not could. *Should*.

Like V1 should have been mass produced, obliterated all the Earth Movers, and then the next machine should have come along to counter it in turn and continue the war. Like all that fighting and the cycle of violence should have been perpetuated.

Like Mankind should never have finally gotten their act together, and tried to continue on even in the absence of divinity and in the face of total climate collapse.

There's a notable difference between 'could' and 'should', and the fact that those words are spoken by the only one who would've been *extremely disappointed* by this outcome has me raising eyebrows.

[presiding]

genuinely admire those who were optimistic for dishonored 3 but in this videogame industry climate and [insert a 4hr video essay about arkane's recent history here], honestly, not getting dh3 is good news

[kazu-naito]

at this point i should just replace ramesses on my bio cause i am certainly not being very faithful to him 😭

[youreorangeyoumoron]

well. just had a very embarrassing adult phone call so now I must join the witness protection program. bye guys

[star--anon]

Minho gets angry when he gets scared

Newt and Alby tried to ease him out of that for years, but living every waking moment in the Maze, that instinctual conversion from terror to fury kept him alive. Kept him moving.

In the Safe Haven, though. With no Grievers or closing Doors? Minho's biggest fear becomes Thomas.

...he could lose him so easily...

Thomas can't seem to convince him that he isn't in the Maze anymore.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Obligatory fancier outfit that must be present anytime I post outfits 

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[leslieseveride]

sleepy chenford cuddles in tim’s bed will send me into the deepest, darkest coma. like, you might as well pull the plug now.

[stick-by-me]

Of mice and cheese

New follower sticker for: @lesbianamity!

[ink-of-a-thousand-currents]

One thing about me is that I personally do not believe in pairs with a completely set outcome. I don't like when pairs have kids that all look exactly the same. I understand why people have them and absolutely won't knock it! But I personally prefer to push the bounds and press pairs as far as they can go with what looks good.

This is in a similar vein to I No Longer Like Doubles Or Triples As Much. I have a few XXY pairs from a while ago and they're probably all I'm ever going to have. Now, I have pairs that can have XXY or XYY or whatever kids. But they're not going to be guaranteed.

I'm also a believer in the Unique. In the Never Before Done, or at least not very common. My pairs are pretty distinct combinations, whether in genes, colors, or both.

This is all, of course, a roundabout way of saying "I love making things difficult on myself and this is why I have so many stupid breeding projects and no lair space."

[dracolizardlars]

Really learning that my snails are incredibly neophobic when it comes to anything other than vegetable-based food. They take weeks of something new being in their environment before they actually consider using it! I put a piece of terracotta plant pot in there about a month ago and only in the past couple of days have they started sleeping under it; I think they took even longer after I put some branches in their tank (because they'd started climbing up the walls) before I first saw either of them actually climbing up them. If I remember rightly it took ages for them to first acknowledge the cuttlebone back when they were little too.

[emblazons]

its the way I know byler and independent El is endgame simply because I know for a fact The Duffers would never be able to look themselves in the mirror again knowing a bunch of film / media students and professionals could immediately pull up 10 years of content proving they abandoned their setup if they didn't.

People would take their production company away from them for pulling some shit like that LMFAO they would never risk going shallow for the sake of their less literate fans are you joking

(like. I'm 900% sure "we aren't game of thrones" has more than one meaning for Matt and Ross. It also means "we don't abandon our clearly setup narratives and plot twists" the way GoT did solely because David & D.B. couldn't write lmfaoooo)

[melancholymirth]

He's palming his neck, picking at it like it owes him money, and shuffling around like a fool - nervous, pacing, anxious to know what V's response would even be. He'd never done this before, not since Mineo. So this was new and different and hard for him, but he wanted so badly to try again, to try and change himself for someone who deserves it - someone who made his heart race and the flame and smoke within him to dance and swim, crackle, pop, burn... He felt stupid now, stomach in tight knots, heart fluttering, palms clammy as hell. There was just no way he was going to pull this off - no fucking way V would give the Problem Student Who 'Set Fires in Class' the time of day.

Garrett'd been worrying so much, he all but ruined the shitty handmade card in his other hand, thumb curving the edge by accident, causing a crease the size of Texas to form on its face. Black ink smearing because of the sweat on his palm. He couldn't give this to V. He was going to puke into the nearest trash can, the very thought made him so sick to his stomach. But it didn't seem like he'd have a chance to turn tail and throw it all away, no matter how quickly he'd done a 180 - V was standing right there, right in front of him now. Crystal blue blew wide open and he could've sworn his soul left his body then.

And again when V took the card from him.

"N-no, ay, wait--" Too late. He had to deal with it now, the embarrassment and certain rejection. There was no way-- "Hey, look, so- It's ruined, I fucked it up, let me jus'...take tha' and throw it away. S'cool. Totally cool. Stop readin' it, give it back-- V, please, I'm beggin' ya, don't- L-look, I worked real hard on tha' and now it looks like a fuckin' child made it. I-I--"

Roses are red Violets are blue Do you like goofy poems? Cos I wanna read all the ones I wrote to you Will ya be my Valentine, V?

For a moment, V could not believe what he was looking at. Not only was Daemon all out of sorts, but in his hand was a colored piece, or pieces, of paper formed into a card, and because it was being handed to him, V simply had to take it. The insecure part of his brain thought that he should be nervous about what he'd find, like there was something in there that would break his heart, something that Daemon simply could not voice. It was creased on the front and the ink was smeared, after all, but it was held with such care, such feather-light pressure, and in V's mousy, equally nervous hands it felt warm—warmth that was not entirely born of nerves, but something he'd always found comforting whenever he stood or sat quite close to Daemon. And here they stood closely once more, and those awful fires he'd been accused of starting were tame within him; yes, still burning away, but for reasons that were neither malicious nor volatile. It was, perhaps, the kind of fire one would enjoy from the hearth, in winter.

When V opened it, the fire spread. It tinged his cheeks, tickled his funny little heart, made him warmer than he had any right to be this early in February. Daemon was blubbering to him about things he rightly couldn't register, couldn't even hear—V was smiling faster and wider than he was prepared for.

Be your valentine? Is that really what it says? I'm not still in bed, am I?

He caught himself late, clapping a hand over his mouth to hide that ridiculous grin after a few seconds of inaction too many. Oh no! He saw me smiling like this—god, I'm so embarrassing! The realization made his cheeks burn harder. What point was there in hiding it now? The boy he'd grown attached to, the only one who defended him and appreciated his company and wanted it, the one who made school less of a nightmare than it had shaped up to be, the only one who cared at all to make him a creased, smudged, "ruined" Valentine's card—this boy, the one staring at V now, looking a little pathetic with about as much embarrassment on his face as there was on V's, had asked him to be his valentine. There were no words for it, not while V was robbed of voice.

His heart was like a butterfly, escaping his rib cage to finds its only passage to total freedom through his throat and out of his mouth. He felt he'd wanted to burst, suddenly, from emotion he couldn't quite place or understand. But when he finally looked up, met Daemon in the eyes, he hastily put his hand down out of embarrassment from having brought it to his mouth in the first place. This wasn't some mushy soap opera! He fought himself to smile less, but the red on his face and the strange sort of glow about him was impossible to beat back. Was there smoke in V's eyes, too? Nah, couldn't be.

The mousy little thing was almost demure in the way he dipped his head, once again avoiding the direct and very intense attention he'd been receiving. Longer lashes fluttered indecisively beneath white hair that had been long enough to fall in front of the right side of his face. He didn't hold the card back out; it was closer to his own body than Daemon's, kept now that he'd had it. When he finally opened his mouth, a squeak was all he could muster for a few seconds. Why was it so hard to speak now? Did he think he'd make a mess of his answer? Now his hands were clammy, but he wisely held the card between gentle fingertips. He tried again, more forcefully: "Yes." There was a quaver to his voice, like he might cry, like he was a baby. But, he swallowed that, swallowed it hard, and did everything in his meager power to pull himself together.

I don't know if this is love, but what else feels this way? I've never been so—

"Yes." Much more firmly now, and with restored eye contact, he made his answer. His decision, irrefutable. "Yes to...being your valentine, I mean," V clarified, going mousy instantly toward the end. "You— you wrote poems? I like this one. Even if it's silly." A futile effort, but he tried to loosen things up just a touch. The poor thing, rendered bashful beyond repair, could not decide between looking at Daemon or looking at the card, or anywhere else for that matter. "B-but I would like to see the others...! Of course! Um, th-thank you. I— I really appreciate this. Your card is not that bad. It's really not." I'm very glad you asked. Affection struck him anew, making him flush from the recoil. He buttoned his lip then; really pursing his lips, as he'd done enough talking and needed to be saved from any more. It was Daemon's turn to fumble with his words. With any luck, the two could fumble and stumble through the day together, doing whatever valentines would do.

[twstwonderlandstuff]

PAPA MAMMON

shitting crying losing it at chapter 25 and 28 thank you little d no. 2 you have my heart and soul

[wrecksinterestvoid]

hockey season babey