#ONE MAN COUP

[barrel-crow-n]

Kaz: Go big or go home

Inej: I am begging you, just this one time, go home!

Kaz, about to fistfight a whole gang on his own: Imma go big

[aangarchy]

The funniest thing about the boiling rock episodes is zuko telling sokka at the start how this prison houses the most dangerous and notorious criminals of the fire nation as well as war prisoners, and then at the end they just let one of them tag along without ever asking him what he was in for. Could have brought a serial killer to meet the fucking avatar and they'd be none the wiser

[doux-amer]

[vanillacoke25]

shine bright, naughty turtle 🐢

[carefulignorantghost]

Alex Turner and Miles Kane

[wizzard890]

And I saw another beast come up out of the earth...and he spake as a dragon. (Revelation 13:11)

.

The Coronation of His Majesty King Bastian I - The Hour of Wolves

When he was born he was a small thing. A screaming infant, a second son, destined perhaps for military greatness, but never dukedom. Never inheritance. Never conquest.

But at the inception of the light, the birth of the world, the moment between silence and splendor when The Glory breathed across the scope of creation: he was no small thing then.

Even then, he was coming.

His rise runs with blood: knives in the back, poison, betrayal, kidnapping and vengeance.

His rise burns with greatness: glory, family, rescue, love and ferocity.

The secret world recognized him before he knew himself. A fairy witch marked his passing and offered her slender wrist for his talons. A dead sun opens its mouth for him, a vanished Christ is his counterpart, a death knight worships before him, a raven-haired little girl holds the hand of her doting and beloved father.

The world we know calls him king of France, the monarch of a seized throne, a general who has promised the great lords England on its knees.

The Devil, in his own tongue, may call him son. The Glory has said nothing.

Would you know him if you saw him? Would you recognize what he is?

Bow, while you consider, and kiss his ring. There is a crown of flame upon his brow.

[ecstaticasusual]

(( Copium AU ))

Don’t forgive him. Don’t tolerate cowardice.

[composeregg]

why are all* the people who hate yona and hak terfs shouldn't you be all about a powerful woman? instead they're all out here stanning soo-won lmao

[ant-milex-love]

Ladies and gentleman Miles Kane

Reels: ninetimesbee

[misskattylashes]

As requested....

The history of Milex in Miles Kane albums...

Colour of the Trap

Ah I’m having a great time with Al. He’s my best mate and I love him and we have a laugh together. We’ve even done most of this album together which was great cos I love being with him. The sex is great too, but basically we’re just having a laugh (Telepathy, Rearrange)

Don’t Forget Who You Are

Well, I’m still having a great time with Al, but sometimes he fucks me off because he doesn’t know what he wants. I don’t even know why it gets to me so much. I mean we’re just mates who sleep together aren’t we? I’ll even refer to him as ‘her’ in songs cos basically I’m straight (Don’t Forget Who You Are, Give Up, Out of Control)

Coup de Grace

I fucking love him. Properly love him. In love with him. The fucking bastard has broken my heart. We spent that summer together and I told him I loved him and I thought we would be together but he’s let me down and gone back to his girlfriend. I hate him. I love him. I hate him. I love him. (Too Little Too Late, Killing the Joke, Wrong Side of Life, Shavambacu)

Change The Show

He’s a tosser. I’ve decided that. Total tosser. He needs to sort out his issues. It’s not like I even think about him that much. Well I do. But I’m fine without him. Tosser. I love him. I hate him. I love him. But sod him (See Ya When I See Ya, Change the Show, Adiós Ta Ra Ta Ra)

One Man Band

Alright, I’m still madly in love with him. And I admit a lot of our relationship problems was down to me being a fuckwit and a commitment phobe. He still loves me and I think we can make a go of things as long as I work through my issues and he has a bit of patience (Troubled Son, The Wonder, Heal, Random, Doubles, Scared of Love)

[depressedraisin]

YOU'RE HOLDING ME TO RANSOM, HONEY

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 4 - THIEF

It’s been so very many months, and still Arabella can’t come into the Bee and Barb without arousing suspicion. It’s a dreadful shame – of all the rickety wood buildings standing topside it at least had some variety. Before she’d even joined the guild, the innkeeper had let her behind the bar to cook her own meal when she’d wheedled (bland cheese, and meat bought off a street butcher, and beef bones, full of soft rich marrow) and the drinks they served had been interesting to look at, even if none of it was by any means fit for consumption. (Not even the mead, which was a nuisance and a half – all Black-Briar, here, with its spices and berries and inedible little extras.)

She pauses near enough to the door, for politeness’ sake; one hand resting lightly on the back of a varnished-smooth chair at a small table, a flat yellow cushion placed on its seat. The seam at the side is splitting. Talen-Jei sees her almost instantly from where he leans over a long table unloading a tray (he is well used, by now, to her sporadic appearances) and his face droops into blankness almost comically fast. She throws a smile at him – an easy quirk of the lips – and waits, patient, as he finishes with that table; he doesn’t look away from her even as he speaks to them, and then he’s coming over, empty tray tucked under his arm, tail held unnaturally stiff, to say quietly, “There is no-one here to meet you.”

(Arabella is very obviously not welcome in the Bee and Barb, but Maven Black-Briar is welcome everywhere; and it is known by all who frequent it that this is the inn she prefers to conduct business out of when it is business she doesn’t want to take into her home. Arabella has long since become the sort of business that is taken home, though of course she enters through the back way, and only at rare invitation. But of course a city-centre cupbearer has no way of knowing that. And of course he assumes that this is her purpose, when it’s been the only reason she’s ever appeared here ever since she threatened the innkeeps and their families for money and for sport.) (She really can’t blame them for their dislike, can she? Yet another way in which she must pick up after herself. Mend all the things she never expected to need unbroken.)

She smiles, all teeth. “I know,” she says, sunshine-bright. Talen-Jei’s gaze slips from her eyes. He pins it on again.

His tail lashes, once. “Then,” he says, word bitten off like it cracks against the sharp little ridges of his teeth, “you should take your business elsewhere. Underground, perhaps.” He’s holding the empty tray tight to his side as if she might try to rip it from his grasp and hit him over the head with it. (She really hasn’t made this easy for herself, has she? Oh, well. She’s always liked a challenge.)

“Harsh,” Arabella replies. She tuts, still, of course, smiling. “No need to be hostile, Talen-Jei, I’m only making a social call.”

The tail lashes again, sharply enough that she can almost hear it; his shoulders twitch sharply in an irritated almost-shrug. “Only – you can take your social call and –”

Frustration – that’s better than the inscrutable wariness; there’s so much more to do with it. “I hear congratulations are soon to be in order,” she cuts in smoothly, and he stills, eyes flicking toward the cluttered noise of the tavern before he brings them back. He’s doing an admirable job of holding her gaze; people tend to struggle, these days. Arabella unhooks a leather pouch from her belt – burnished to a reddish shine, the ends of its fraying wool drawstring hanging – and drops it, with a little flourish, on the table between them.

Talen-Jei looks at it. He does not touch.

“I feel we got off on the wrong foot,” Arabella says, the words smooth and rote. She clasps her hands. “You’re a businessman, yes? You understand that every company has its rough patches. Ours has lately been going through some – growing pains.” When he still doesn’t move, watching her with the sharp-eyed scepticism a bird might direct at a cat, she reaches out to loosen the string herself. It catches on one of her rings, and she wrinkles her nose as she works it free; goes back to smiling brilliantly once it’s done. “Water under the bridge, yes?”

When she lets go, the little bag flops onto its side, and three raw purple gemstones the size of knucklebones tumble free. Talen-Jei’s eyes do something very interesting.

(Karliah is a one-woman intelligence force, when she wants to be; it is immensely useful.)

(It’s been a very long time since Arabella’s had any use for her half-remembered knowledge in lapidary, if it were ever any good to begin with; but she was careful in selecting these stones, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she understood all the qualifiers for what would suit them to their purpose. They’re all large enough to cut down again, with the right tools, and unfinished, and each is a different shape. They’re all such a lovely colour, too; soft and crystalline, bright as plum-skin or snail dye.)

Flat-voiced, Talen-Jei asks, “What do you want?”

“I did say this was a social call,” Arabella reminds him. She pulls a face. “It would be a bit gauche to start making demands now.”

“What,” he says without the inflection of a question, “do you want.”

(Afraid; after last time, it reads as a threat. Like she’s taunting him. She isn’t offended – it’s an accurate interpretation of her character. What he needs is the terms laid out clearly. Which she planned for.)

(By Y’ffre, communication is such a chore. If she doesn’t think it all through ahead of time she talks herself into knots no-one knows how to unpick.)

Arabella nudges the little bag nearer to him across the tabletop; places her hands on either side of the chair-back so she can lean forward, pouting. “You’re ascribing to me an awful lot of malice, Talen-Jei,” she says, tipping her head. “Is it so hard to believe that I only want to be cordial? To be civil enough to make small talk about the weather, or the price of fish –” her tone is light, airy; she brings it down, just an edge under the chatter of the inn, “ – or, say, who’s commandeering common rooms of your inn without paying and who they speak to while they’re there?”

Talen-Jei looks at her for several seconds; his tongue flickers, for a moment, between his teeth, and he steps backward, looking almost as though it pains him. “No,” he says, voice like gravel. “I want no part of a power struggle.”

Neither unreasonable nor unexpected; Arabella smiles again, smooth and sweet enough to press dimples into her cheeks. “Quick on the uptake,” she remarks; “That would be useful. But there’s no hard feelings. You won’t have trouble from us again.”

Behind him, the inn is loud, smelling beautifully of food – most of it even edible – with the noise of the player in the corner half-drowned by the calling and chatter of people. Talen-Jei glances back at it all again, tail twitching; says, again with that watched-bird scepticism, “You speak as representative of the Guild. How? You’ve scarcely been here a year.”

(She had told him she was new to Riften when first she arrived, though she’s mildly surprised he remembered; the Guild is, for now, and quite famously, a Riften-only affair.)

Arabella cocks her head to the side. “As I said,” she says, with the air of one conveying a great and important secret, “we’ve been having growing pains.” He has left the drawstring bag open and untouched on the table; Arabella unbuttons the bag at her belt and pulls out a pair of neatly-folded sheets of vellum, tucks them inside the pouch without touching the leather. “A receipt of purchase,” she tells him without waiting for him to ask, “so you needn’t worry about ill-gotten gains, and a note, signed by me and stating in two languages that all accounts are balanced and I forfeit any right to ask for payment of any kind. Not Jel, I’m afraid, as I don’t speak it. Terribly sorry.” She isn’t. She leans back from the table, then – she’s been leaning too hard over the chair, and the position is beginning to ache – and clasps her hands; looks brightly at Talen-Jei, who is still watching her, either carefully inexpressive or at a loss for words. It can be hard to quite tell the difference, with Argonians. “A pleasure speaking with you,” she says with all the earnestness in the world, a sentiment she’s certain he quite emphatically does not share, “and best of luck with the engagement.” She starts backwards towards the door, smiling slick-sweet as honey. “And do keep me in mind, yes? I would so dearly love to be friends.”

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: SUR'KESH

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Urdnot Wrex With: Lt. Steve Cortez, Dr. Mordin Solus, Major Kirrahe, and Urdnot Bakara And a Special Guest Appearance by: Adm. Steven Hackett Alliance R&D has officially begun construction on the Prothean device. The team has dubbed it: "Project Crucible". We're throwing everybody who knows how to throw a hammer at it. This is gonna be the most ambitious undertaking in human history. I'm not saying it won't be a challenge- but we can do this, Shepard. You can do this. Never doubt that. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

+BONUS (the smirk™️)

[doriansbutt]

I’ve been rewatching all the buzzfeed unsolved supernatural and true crime and I have a borderline migraine I’m trying to get rid of rn so to entertain myself my brain decided to talk about one of my ocs like Ryan and Shane discussing some unsolved crime 🫡

[windor-truffle]

I remembered Major Victoria not really playing much of a role in the story but I thought I had just forgotten some of her dialogue... nope, she only has 5 lines of very generic dialogue during the coup at Barona Castle 😭 canon did you so dirty girl imma try to give you some relevancy okay???