#RATTLES YOU BOTH

[naffeclipse]

Bean told me to send it to you

@just-a-drawing-bean You're forcing Choco to carry out your dirty work huh

[saints-who-never-existed]

“In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy—as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh—as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege—as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover—as long as he is riddled with bullets. 

Violence makes the homo-eroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.”

–Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence. Kent L. Brintnall.

[ohhamlet-art]

One last black bird without a place to be turns around, in hopes to find the place it last knew rest.

[tiabwwtws-art]

cant get this post out of my head

[beholdingslut]

need them to fuck so nasty it's unreal

[sforzesco]

And the experience of each man was peculiar. For Pompey's name and power were greater in the city when he was away from it, owing to his campaigns; but when he was at home, he was often less power­ful than Crassus, because the pomp and circumstance of his life led him to shun crowds, retire from the forum, and render aid to a few only of those who asked it of him, and then with no great zest, that he might keep his influence the more unimpaired for use in his own behalf. But Crassus was continually ready with his services, was ever at hand and easy of access, and always took an active part in the enterprises of the hour.

Plutarch, Crassus

from the vault of half finished one shots and rejected scenes! what a pair of guys! some real complementary personality stuff going on with these two!

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost

[humanmorph]

(transcript by @violentandmagnificent)

It’s quiet here, living in your head. It’s quiet here, and when I talk, you listen, at least when you can hear me, which isn’t always. It isn’t always, but it’s better than never. It’s quiet here, living on this ship. It’s quiet here, and I remember when it was loud, I remember different voices bouncing in these halls, I remember old arguments, I remember myself. I wonder how much I can tell you; because  I can tell you; I have much to say. But you never saw me astride the Prophet’s Path, beside the Resin Heart, imparting wrath and play. So who am I? You only know what they’ve told you. So who am I? You only know what’s written down. So who am I? You only know what’s on recordings, and according to the world, I’m a hypocrite, or drowned. I doubt you can hear me, but I know that she can. So pardon my frustration, I’m just tired of her plan. I lost my life long before I understood, before metaphor became real, before I felt the wheel’s wood. I wonder what she’ll tell you. I wonder what she’ll share.  I wonder what she’ll ask of you, what task of sweat and prayer.  I long to sweat and pray, a body in the day. The color of the sun. The touch, the ocean's spray.  The last thing that I felt in life. (The first thing that I felt in life.) The touch, the ocean's spray.  I hope she tells the truth to you. (I hope she tells the worst to you.) The touch, the ocean's spray.  I loved her like she told me to. (I left her like she told me to.) The touch, the ocean's spray.  We’re running out of time, you know? (She’s running out of time, you know?) The touch, the ocean's spray.  I fear we might be mirrored, two echoes of a call shouted between two queens, two queens who want it all. I fear we might be symmetry, I fear we might be one. Make her tell the truth to you before we come undone.

PALISADE 37: Reach In / Reach Out Pt. 1

[rooksunday]

maul is instead sent to be one of the trainers on kamino. ostensibly to ensure the hand of his master over the clones, and so maul is there to gently warp minds, while also offering a class in hand to hand combat.

but.

the clone children cadets are so small.

so what! maul had been small and weak once, hadn’t he? they should be ashamed about their weakness!

but… but they’re so small. and the alphas look at the younger clones the way that savage had once looked at maul.

and the alphas look at maul the way that he had never dared to look at his master.

[insufferablemod]

top 10 worst celebrities ever

[manglam-marfach]

dyke!Chilaios has me understanding breeding kink all of a sudden

[naffeclipse]

Talk about your monster husband ocs coward (affectionate❤️)

Everyone, the tumblr user themeeplord is bullying me (affectionate <3)!!

You have no idea how normal I am about my monster OCs. They're so lovely just let me—ahhh!

Hawthorn is a Mothman monster. His wings are based on the garden tiger moth and he is so fluffy! He has a thick fuzz on his neck and chest and is a warm, cuddlebug. He also possesses bright orange eyes that pierce the darkness and startle the unfortunate late-night hikers or anyone piercing into the woods after midnight.

He has a thing for hanging out in the thick woods near where the MC lives. Wherever he goes, bad omens follow. He really shouldn't be near MC—he knows he'll be the death of his precious little human, but he can't help it. He's drawn to the MC like a moth to a flame (heheh). He's delightful and gentlemanly, but don't let that fool you. He's got a possessive stretch a mile wide and does not take kindly to anyone giving the MC looks or reaching out for a too-familiar touch. He will bristle and buzz, and fly swift and silent through the darkness to chase after anyone to ensure the MC stays all to himself. He is a bad omen, after all.

Grease is an oil demon! He feeds off of fear, literally, and delights in terrifying people in the night. His body is slick and iridescent, and he is constantly dripping black goo from his person. He is capable of shifting his form to hide in a puddle, slink underneath doors, or bubble through a crack in a broken window. He's got wicked sharp teeth, and eyes like a tiger but with a pale, unsettling blue color. He possesses tendrils on his head that constantly drip and a long, slick tail that he can use to grab MC by the ankle. He's terribly seductive and charming, terrifying but mischievous. He likes to say 'boo' just to watch MC jump. Of course, he's not all tang and salt. He's got a sweet side that rouses in a protectiveness over MC. He's possessive, sure, and he's marked his claim with the oil stains on MC's work apron, but he's got an ooey-gooey center of sweetness that MC occasionally finds when he blushes at a stray touch or a nice comment about him.

Calmo 91, otherwise just called Calmo, is a robot. Constructed in the 90s with a box TV screen head to match, he has bright yellow optics in the screen face along with thick wires falling behind his head in a ponytail-like fashion. He is cool and difficult to read but wickedly intelligent and learning much about humans and affections. His body is a thin endoskeleton with plastic matt gray coverings that give peeks of blue, red, and yellow wires at his metallic joints. He's got a mysterious past the MC is attempting to unravel that he truly wishes the MC would leave be. He's got much to learn about technology but he quickly figures out how to connect to the MC's phone for texting, phone calls, and other useful things of course, like keeping tags on where MC is and monitoring MC's heart rate. Useful tools. Modern technology. Living in the MC's house, he gets to spend more domestic time with the human he decided is kind and generous, but the MC occasionally finds him at the foot of the bed in the darkness, his yellow optics strangely switched to red until the MC says his name and his optics revert back to yellow again.

[serenit-teas]

Me, riddled with delusion <- (is a 6'3 P enjoyer and believer)

I just!!! I know everyone has commented on it in some way shape or form and I guess it's my turn to throw my two cents in😔 god I should not have the freedom to ramble on this app

Like!! This guy, this one man battalion is terrifying in concept. A puppet with an incredibly rare (and deadly) ability to lie, with advanced combat skills and power that only seems to enhance thanks to the Ergo that can be encountered in his ventures, and an imposing figure to round it all out. In theory it screams threat, danger.

But then you meet him, see how meek and gentle he is with everyone in Hotel Krat. Once, witnessing Spring recoil at his advance, hissing and all but swatting at him. Though being able to emote was one of the few things he could not yet do, you swear he seemed to wilt after the encounter with the feline. During the rockier moments of becoming acquainted with the cat, he would never grow frustrated after the failed attempts, understanding and respecting that she's not comfortable around him. He would simply leave her be, and try again later.

He rarely speaks, and if he does it's one word or a clipped phrase, not out of rudeness or anything of the sort, it's new and quite frankly, there's a high chance that he simply wouldn't know what to say.

There's something of a quite excitement and giddiness in P when he brings a new record back to the Hotel, not only does it mean that he gets to experience what this recent find has to offer, but also that any of the other residents of the Hotel can enjoy the spoils of his journey.

He listens and takes heed in what people say, no matter if it's critical information in regards to his outings, passing comments of bygone days, or just ramblings in any variety, he listens, makes the people around him feel heard and understood. (Even if some things go over his head)

He'll realise some time or later that he LIKES making the people he's met happy*, seeing their faces light up in glee or relief.

It's a small victory in the hell they're all surviving.

Every time I think of P I imagine this gentle giant who is so achingly soft spoken and sweet, who is aware of his immense strength and takes care to never harm those he treasures. And in turn that leads to the BEST juxtaposition of the raw carnage he's capable of! This guy can rip through sturdy puppets and manmade horrors like they're wet tissue paper, has stared down monstrosities and come out on top, can bounce back from injuries that would leave others utterly mangled at best.

He is a terrifying concept and there's no denying what he can easily do if he so chose, but his conscious effort to exhibit the utmost care when surrounded by fragility makes my heart MELT. Soft boy P will forever have me hooked no matter what, but there's something about a tall boy with a heart of gold (literally) who, despite still learning how to live and experience, understands his presence around others.🥺

*(Not that he would want to see them upset, I think at first there would be a nuetral understanding of "What happens here affects me and my progress." Just a thought though!)

[bootdork]

I know I'm some six years late but words cannot express my UTTER disappointment that in Divinity Original Sin 2, playing as an undead skeleton character, the game simply gives you magical skin and blood for the romance scenes. Maybe I didn't want that. Maybe I did this entire playthrough for the sake of making a "They boned" joke. Now what? "They had sex"? Lame.

[merriclo]

linked universe modern au where Wild is an aspiring wildlife biologists/taxonomist and he and Flora go out in the woods and look at little creatures on the daily. they have a little youtube channel where they post their adventures in the wild, which is mostly just them climbing stuff and rattling off facts about plants and animals. the rest of the chain is a bit concerned about how often they get close to dangerous wildlife or fall on their asses but there really isn’t any stopping them so whatever

[nashvillethotchicken]

"Lestat would get woken up by the macarena" "No he'd get waken up by dubstep" "No he'd get waken up by Call Me Maybe" You fool's. You absolute fools. Lestat is buried/out in the dump of New Orleans, a city that's 60 percent black. He's getting woken up by Back That Azz Up by Juvenile

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 25 / 31 * THE HONEYMOONERS 」

[Date Unknown] 1985A Timeline

Five…six…seven…

Thunder booms, rattling Heaven and Earth with its might. Count the seconds between the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder and it'll tell you how far away the storm is.

Two miles, maybe.

It feels like it's right on top of them.

The ground shakes beneath them, rattling her bones so hard she can feel it in her teeth, and rather than run for cover, she turns to George sitting on the grass beside her, pressed up against a rock, and nestles closer.

“It feels like every time we try and do something, there’s a terrible storm.” Lorraine smiles, but it never reaches her eyes. “Our first dance, our honeymoon—don’t you remember?”

Sighing, Lorraine closes her eyes, losing herself to the grainy film reel of memory rolling behind her eyes. Even soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging awkwardly to him, George was a vision—a dream—and his almost pathetic wet puppy-dog expression made her heart soar. “By the time we got to the hotel, we were soaked. You nearly walked into the door; you couldn’t see anything with your hair in your eyes like that! I had to keep brushing your bangs out of your eyes while you carried our bags.”

George smiles, indulging the trip down memory lane with a gentle squeeze to her hand. He’s cold again, Lorraine thinks distantly—he’s been terribly cold lately, as if the sun has refused to touch him, angry with him for some perceived slight against it—but that doesn’t bother her.

She’ll keep warm enough for both of them. Light that fire in her chest and her stomach and stoke it until he leaches every ounce of warmth through her fingers for himself and his cheeks glow with it.

It’s all for him, anyway.

“That was one of the happiest nights of my life. I can’t believe you thought you ruined it just because of a storm. ‘We must be cursed, Lorraine,’ you told me, and I thought that was one of the most ridiculous things I'd ever heard. Even more ridiculous than when you told me about Darth Vader.”

“But that—”

“Really happened, I know. I believed you.”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually.” Lorraine chokes on the laugh she tries to force out. The first drops of rain pelt her cheeks and she uses her free hand to furiously wipe them away, ignoring the stinging sensation on her skin.

“We should go inside—the storm’s coming. You’ll get soaked.”

Lorraine shakes her head furiously, squeezing George’s hand so tight her nails bite deep into her palms, drawing blood. The wind sighs as it whips her messy hair around her head, knowing there is no changing her mind.

“I don’t care about the rain. I like sitting out here with you. It’ll be just like all the other times, won’t it, George?”

Just like all the other times.

Just like last time.

A second wave of burning rain bites at her cheeks and George lets go of her hand to gently drag his thumb across her cheek. Lorraine chokes back another sob, her shoulders trembling with the effort it takes to keep herself composed.

Her cheeks are still burning. The earth smells like petrichor.

The next crack of thunder shatters her composure, leaving her ears ringing. Lorraine’s shaky fingers fumble at her pocket as she curls her fingers around the crystal clear flame protected within, sloshing around in its container.

George never did get wet when it rained.