#This is the ONE

[bestfurrywife]

Propaganda:

Isabelle:

"she has a crush on the player character regardless of gender. she's perfect and i love her. would be hard to find a better wife"

Xenomorph:

"is that a furry. idc shes hot"

[girlhorrror]

2023

OPENING YOURSELF UP TO THE POSSIBILITY OF JUDGEMENT IS ALSO OPENING YOURSELF TO THE POSSIBILITY OF BEING LOVED

[yutamayo]

"I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go." - Neil Gaiman

[dsmsix]

[alkibiadessuperfan]

@sandosa you asked so you receive

[typhoonstrikes]

[wtf-igo]

bo and phoebe

(via phoebebridgers on instagram)

[jin-zixun]

I'm trying to make a post on the villain squad that isn't salty towards wwx and lwj and I'm not doing well. So I'll try to make it quick.

The villain squad haven't actively done anything evil for years. All of their actions in the current time are reactions to other characters who want them dead.

The fatal flaw that gets them in the end isn't that they turn on each other or that they don't care, they actually care too much. It isn't having bad plans or bad teamwork or doing bad things or doing things badly, they just are always, always weaker than the heroes.

They never have the upper hand, they're desperate and still never have enough leverage to even get away with their lives. They are completely outdone by power alone. The power of the heroes. Who want them to die. They're defined by their powerlessness in, like, every way.

They're the outcasts, they're the underdogs, they're the ones trying to survive and also the ones making things better (well. well ok maybe not xue yang on that last part. but like. whatever.) with the systems that are in place. And they are never enough. Not enough to save each other, not enough to save themselves. Boxed into a fate with no other choice, just like it's always been and no one wants to hear it and now no one ever will.

[petrovna-zamo]

The Bald & The Beautiful in New Orleans!

[goldenispunk]

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash @ The 5SOS Show Tour Santiago - 27 July 2023

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eleven (Part 2)

The thunderstorm is in full power outside by the time the party reaches its crescendo. Rain beats violently against the windows, and lightning forks across the sky. The sounds of Creedence Clearwater and The Zombies drown out the thunder, but still, I could swear that I can feel it vibrate through my bones. I’ve never been so close to a storm in my life, and as I gaze out of the window, blurry with rain to the flashes in the sky, I have a wild desire to be alone with it. I take a cursory glance around and hope nobody is watching me as I dash up the metal staircase to the next floor.

The lights are off on the upper floor, and as I wander into a room off the hallway, which happens to be a bathroom, I find myself pausing at the window to stare out at the sky. It is magnificent. It’s terrifying. I want to run from it as much as I want to stand beneath it and let the rain soak my clothes to my skin. I climb into the bath just so that I can sit on the rim and watch the sky, and lose all sense of how long I sit for. Long enough to hear the muffled chorus of “Zum Geburtstag Viel Glueck” through the floor. Long enough for the edge of the tub to dig uncomfortably into my legs. Long enough to get the urge to look for this fabled painting studio. I leave the bathroom and make my way back down the hallway, peering into darkened rooms as I pass them, feeling as though I’m doing something against the law. 

I crack open the door to Leon’s photography studio after trying several others, and walk inside. I glance around at the equipment, all of the cameras and their lenses. Tripods, different kinds of lighting, the large, white backdrop that’s hung against one wall. What a luxury it must be to have a space like this in your home. I hardly dare to touch any of it, only gently brushing my index finger over the cool metal of one lens, when a deep voice almost makes me rattle out of my skin. 

“I’d a feeling I’d find you snooping around somewhere.” Jude stands in the doorway, and my heart kicks into high gear. “Fuck sake.” I wheeze. “You snuck up on me.”

“Sorry.” He says, and steps inside to wander slowly around and look at all of the same things I was looking at. 

I brush invisible lint off my clothes, just to have something to do with my hands, and look him over briefly. “It’s very weird to see you in a suit like that.” I remark. “All cleaned up with your hair combed back.”

“Freaky, is it?”

“A bit.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, you look very nice. At least one of us has managed to.”

“I look absolutely mad, it’s alright to say it.”

“She did look a bit mad though, didn’t she? I think you pulled it off fairly well.” He approaches the shelf of cameras and pulls one off, and I say with alarm, “You shouldn’t touch the cameras.” 

“It’s fine.” He grins. “It’s my camera.”

“How’s it yours?”

“I come here to photograph my work. Leon has the best setup. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I swear.” He laughs. “I feel like you don’t believe me.”

“Well, I do.” I say hesitantly. I nod towards the Canon in his hands. “Are you going to take a photograph of me or something?”

“Would you like me to?”

“If you’d like to.”

“Okay, I’d like to.” With his free hand he hauls a wooden bench into the centre of the backdrop and motions for me to sit on it. Then he fiddles with a few of the studio lights to make sure he’s got it set up the way he likes it. 

“What should I do?” I ask him. 

“You can just relax.” He suggests. “Maybe rest your foot against the bar of the stool, yep, like that, and your hands in your lap. Okay, yeah, just look at me.”

“I’m looking at you.”

“I know, good job.” He snaps a series of photographs while I sit there, stiff as a board. I don’t really know how to relax in front of a camera, I never have. “Maybe a smile?” He proposes. 

“Like this?” I tug the corners of my mouth upwards, and feel twice as awkward in doing so. He nods. “Kind of. You don’t need to grimace like that.” 

“I’m not grimacing. This is my smile.”

“That’s not your smile, darling. You don’t smile like that.”

A giggle escapes my lips. “What did you just call me?”

He blinks. “I don’t know. What did I say?”

“Darling. As in, lil darlin’” I laugh again, mostly at my abysmal attempt at an American accent, and he rolls his eyes. “That’s not my accent.”

“It is! Ye Haw.”

“Get a grip.” He snickers from behind the lens. “I could easily do a horrible impression of you and see how you feel about it.”

“Do it then.”

His eyebrow quirks up and so does the corner of his mouth. “Jude!” He cries in an accent-perfect midlands soprano. “Did you eat all of the crisps? You’re so greedy. And get your horrible foot away from my back, you’re actually the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

My mouth drops open and I insist that it sounds nothing like me, even though it absolutely does. 

“Yeah right.” He says. 

“You’ve been practising that in the mirror or something, you creep. You’re obsessed with me.”

“You’re obsessed with me.” He mimics and I almost take off my chunky sandal to toss it at him, but I’m startled by a sudden clap of lighting that slashes across the sky right outside the window, so close that it hits a rod on the building across the street. I snap to look. “Oh my God, wow!”

“Yeah, holy shit, wow.” He says, “I got a photo of that.”

“Of the lightning?”

“No of you looking at it.” He lifts the camera to look at the last batch. “I think these are good.”

“Are they?”

“Yeah, look.” He comes over to show me a series of photos from that quick moment, a flash of white over my face as my mouth falls open in a gasp, eyes wide with wonder. I look stunned, and thrilled, and kind of pretty. Then he scrolls back and shows me more of myself, of me smiling and laughing and pulling faces at him, and they must be the most relaxed photographs of myself that I’ve ever seen.

“Oh.” I whisper. “I like those a lot.I wish I looked like that all of the time.”

“Yeah, I like them too.” He says, “And actually, you do. That’s just how you look to me.” and in that small moment his gaze feels weighted, so much so that goosebumps erupt on my arms as though there’s an electrical current moving beneath my skin. I feel him watching my face, but meeting his eyes feels risky, it’s always felt a bit risky, because I want him so badly that sometimes it makes it hard to breathe. I fear that too much time spent looking at him might drive me to start doing the sorts of things I know I will spend time regretting.

I slide off the seat and wander out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” He wants to know. 

“To find the art studio.” I reply. 

“It’s the next room.” He follows close behind me, and it’s impossible not to feel his presence, even when I can’t see him in the dark hallway. He opens the studio door and I slip in under his arm. 

I don’t bother flipping the switch, because the light from outside is enough to allow a blue glow through the huge windows and over the floor. It’s so quiet that I can hear my heart in my neck and my ears. I walk over to the window and stare out over the place where his easel is facing, and through the wet and smears of the glass it’s difficult to see much but blurry lights, but still, I can make out the outline of a row of beautiful old buildings below. A cluster of trees, a castle, which I picture in the heat of summer sunshine, and a lump rises in my throat, because I want a place like more than almost anything. All my fantasies of my life and how it might turn out have included a studio just like this. With these canvases, these easels, these organised racks of paints, and brushes, halfway finished work, destined to be completed another day. I look at it all and I think I might start crying, because it feels like I’ve stepped into a fantasy that will never, never ever turn into reality. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jude says softly after several moments, and his footsteps tread lightly behind me. I don’t look around at him. My voice is thick. “About how much I like this studio.”

“It’s pretty spectacular. And the view.”

“Yes, the view is nice. Although, I’m sure it’s nicer when it isn’t raining so much.”

“I like it like this too.” He comes to a stop next to me, and I feel him there, almost touching me, but not. I pat the corner of my eye with the pad of my finger and continue to look out at the sky. “I think that you could have something like this someday.” He says to me, “I think that if you want something really badly you can find a way to have it.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“Hm.” 

He waits for me to look at him, and I am afraid to. “Evie,” He says, voice soft. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you-” 

I look. “What?”

He doesn’t tell me what. He leans into me and brushes his nose gently against mine before kissing me. Once, so lightly, as if testing that I want it. Twice. He draws back and our gazes mesh, and the third time he angles his head and takes my lower lip between his, and my body goes weak. I forgot what it was like to kiss him, in all of his wildness, abandon, and overconfidence, how the stroke of his lips over mine makes me lose all sense of myself and forget who I am. 

I wind my fingers into his hair and pull him closer to me, and he holds my head in his hands, and he is perfect and I am lucky, so lucky to be here with him now as the thunder rumbles and the rain pelts against the windows, and his body is warm and his mouth is hot and it feels somehow more dangerous to be in here with him than it would to stand in the path of lightning. 

He deepens the kiss, just as I clutch onto him tighter, and the feeling inside me turns desperate. I deserve this, I’ve loved him forever, and I can have this selfish moment if I want it. Maybe I don’t have to tell anyone about it, maybe we’re the only ones that need to know. I let him touch my body and make promises with his mouth and his hands that he can give me all of the things that I want the most, the things I’m too afraid to admit to wanting, the things I shouldn’t. I let myself feel the terror of him taking those things away from me as easily as he can give them to me, and I chase those feelings away with my lips and my tongue as I press into him and tug his lip between my teeth. 

He breaks away for a moment while his eyes travel over my face as if looking for a sign that he should stop but I’m not ready for him to. I’ve been waiting years for this, so when he draws my waiting mouth to his again I arch my body into him and encourage him with eager little sounds that seem to knock the air out of him. His hands are trembling yet insistent as they come to seize my hips tightly and pull me against his, hard, so that I can feel him wanting me, but then suddenly, as though I’ve remembered who I am again, my hands grab his wrists in a steel, reflexive grip, and I take a step away from him. He seems confused, and takes an instinctive step towards me as I move away, unable to compute that I have stopped kissing him. I place my hand on his chest to block him. 

“We can’t.” 

He looks hurt. “Why?”

I stare at him incredulously. “Because of Astrid, obviously.”

His eyes skate across my face, confusion turning to panic as he swallows convulsively. “But I’ve broken up with her now.” He says. “Didn’t you know that?”

“No, I didn’t know that. When?”

“After Christmas.”

My brain feels like it’s functioning at a fraction of its capacity. “So, like, six weeks ago.”

“Yes!”

“After you bled all over my house.”

“It’s the first thing I did when I got back, I thought-”

“And you didn’t think to mention it at any point?” I turn away from him and catch sight of myself in the black window, and I look wild, hair out of place, lipstick completely gone and a bright blush across my cheeks. How long were we kissing?

Jude’s reflection stares at mine. “We’ve been out of touch.” He says. “We could never find a moment to call one another, Evie, I wanted to tell you, but there just wasn’t the right time, you were always in a rush, or I was too busy, and then, I dunno, I suppose after a while I started assuming that you’d heard it through the grapevine.”

“The grapevine.” I repeat, glaring at him. “What’s the grapevine? Shane Healy’s mouth? What on earth would he tell me that for? He doesn’t even tell me how his mother is.”

He spears a hand into his hair. “I’m sorry, I should have tried harder to tell you about it, but I didn’t want to scare you off, or make you think that it was your fault or something. Maybe I was in my head too much, but sending a random text to you on a Tuesday being like ‘So I broke up with Astrid’ seemed a bit too purposeful, a bit like I expected something from you. I don’t know.”

Ripples of fear and longing travel over my skin. “Well, did you break up with her because of me?”

His expression is tortured. “We were doing badly for a long time. We broke up over a year ago, firstly, because I was being a shit, and I couldn’t give her what she needed, and then after a few months we got back together, but it was always rocky from there, it never felt right, we always fought, in the end it just felt inevitable, and, well…” He trails off. 

“And?” I prompt. 

“And I… yeah, I had feelings for someone else.”

“For me.” The words don’t come out, exactly. I end up just mouthing them. 

“Come on, Evie, I’ve always liked you. You know that. I always wondered about you when we were apart, I always thought about what would’ve happened if I’d never left. When I saw you again and I still felt all those things, well, honestly it felt a bit insane to be with someone else. Even last year, when we weren’t talking, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All the time, like, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you. Every time I saw someone who reminded me of you, or something that I knew that you’d laugh at, I knew that the things I felt about Astrid weren’t the same, it wasn’t right, nor was it fair, so I ended things.”

“But then you got back together?” I glare at him. 

“Yeah, I had a bad year, stuff happened with Jen, I felt isolated, I felt like shit, and then I met Astrid again at a party and…” He shrugs. “She was familiar, and I still had feelings for her so it just felt like a normal thing to do. Our breakup seemed kind of stupid for a while. Honestly, I was wondering what had gotten into me when I did it, and then I saw you again, and…” he trails off. “Well, I thought that you felt the same way as I do.”

I take a deep breath, palms tingling. “This is a lot to take on.” I say. 

“I know.”

“I can’t help but think about how I’m just another one of your single friends, and now that you’re lonely-”

“It’s not like that at all.”

“But this is just what you do, you kiss your friends just because you can.” I don’t know why I’m saying these things, because every word appears to have the same effect on him as if I were slapping him in the face, but I can’t stop them from pouring out. Perhaps I just want him to disprove them or to validate me, or convince him that only foolish men like girls like me. He’s too clever for this. 

“That was when I was a teenager. I’m an adult man now and this isn’t just an experiment. I’m in love with you” He says. “and like, for some reason you think that nobody in their right mind could ever love you, but I do. I really do. I can’t ever get you out of my head, I just think about how much I want you every time I look at you, and how scared I am of what I feel about you, but I love you. Not in a friend way. In an ‘I want you to be my girlfriend’ kind of way, and I can’t imagine wanting that with another person, with, like, anybody but you, and it’s not because I’m single and I’m lonely or that you’re in some way convenient to me, I loved you when I had Astrid and when you had Dean, but the time was never right, and now I think that it could be, so why not just… see?”

He stands there, completely vulnerable, and waits for me to say something to him, but I can’t. My mind is swirling with ancient insecurities, ones buried deep in my psyche, the ones that I never let out of me because they batter my self-confidence, smash it to pieces and remind me that I’m not enough for him, even if he foolishly believes that I am. I will disappoint him. What happens if I tell him that I feel the same? Where do we go from there? How do I be his girlfriend, how do I do the things he wants me to do? What? Hold his hand in public and have all of his friends think about how he left a six foot tall goddess for someone like me, have them say amongst themselves that he really downgraded and wonder what it is that’s so special about Evie Kilbride when he could have anybody. They’ll all learn, as he will eventually, that I have nothing to offer but failed promises and unfulfilled expectations, and joke later about that big mistake he made once while he holds another beauty queen in his arms. I think of that summer day in Kelly’s mobile home, and how she stared at me with amused contempt, as though the idea of him ever wanting me was hilarious because I’ll never be able to impress him, or give him the things he wants and expects from a girl. I won’t know how to be. I will ruin this like I’ve ruined everything else, and I will be the biggest mistake he’s ever made. 

“My God, Evie, please say something.” He says desperately. 

“Did you tell Astrid that you broke up with her because of me?”

He stares at me like I’m crazed. “What?”

“Does she know about how you feel?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” He drags a trembling hand through his hair and it all tumbles forward, free of the hold of the styling gel. “I’m not sure why that’s important to you at this moment.”

“She doesn’t seem to like me.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[mingzhen]

Day 1

[maa-riiee]

i am: in love with this photoshoot

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

Older zuuka shaving eahcothers beards

Thats it .

Sokka relaxing in sokkas arms, allowing zuko to tend to him. Allowing himself to be the protected instead of the protector because he knows he doesn't always have to be .

BSSIWIWJ(JSJAISJSJKAKAUSJSJAAHHHHH. UM??? YES YES YES?? Oooooh this is such a huge brained concept and my tiny one can’t quite comprehend it’s power. Sokka not always having to be the protector yes PLEASE. LET THIS MAN BE CARED FOR BY THIS OTHER MAN!!