#about cocaine

[ladysatoru]

being a sanji fan is an intense experience because it takes you like 200 episodes to finally understand why sanji's eyes turned lifeless for a flickering moment at those words

[pinkcatsthatfly]

she hates me :(

can h make hard cocaine mood board

fuck you

[blossoms-phan]

i genuinely never stop thinking about that part of the ii commentary when dans like “when I dream about you these days I dream about you with a quiff” like why is that the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said. and phil’s like “do you? how often do you dream about me” their voices are so soft and gentle too it literally sounds like pillow ta- *gunshots*

[ironmaidenhead]

KILL BILL VOL. 2 (2004) dir. Quentin Tarantino

[sunny-rants]

2023 out here beating the “cinema is dead” allegations with pure camp

[hyunpic]

[nathaniacolver]

amanda overton is the wlw writers' GOAT nobody talk to me

(link for the article)

she said let's give LESBIANS everything the straights have already had time and time again

i knew the romeo & juliet teas were real

she had all the right inspirations. tomb raider, mass effect, tlou. gosh i love her.

THIS IS WHY CHRISTIAN AND ALEX ARE ALSO THE GOATSSSSSSSS wow i need more feminist men in my life bro.

yuri cocaine YURI COCAINEEEEEEEEE

YURI COCAINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

amanda overton, every single oldest sister lesbian in the entire WORLD owes you their very lives.

[maxz-b]

wild that people do cocaine sometimes but I guess if I was rich and owned a yacht I too would be that way this is part 7/???

[asubakaa]

I love Christina so much...I wish we could see some special episode about her being a silly christian girl in her town. I mean, she has so much potential as a character.

I also was thinking about making a Moral Orel OCs (finally... after 2 years.) he'd be some kind of "Stefanie" to her. Yes he's the one who put a piercing on Christina's tongue.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[omegalerc]

chussy would have max verstappen doing three little circles in bed before laying at charles feet

[bakudekublogblog]

not to be dramatic but hori literally out did my own self indulgent wish-fulfillment fanfic with the whole “rest of our lives speech” like I knew that sounded so romantic, and it is, because I literally wrote that line for bakudeku and I intended for it to be romantic

like hori really is just showing us bakudeku fanfic writers how it’s done

[jetkast]

Listen I know there have been approximately a billion posts about the Divorce but I had to add to the noise.

This conversation really is such a succinct breakup with so much to it. Jayce finally has his moment to say something to Viktor after not knowing if he may ever get the chance at all, only for it all to come out scrambled. I just know he was punching the air at 3am redoing this conversation over and over.

Meanwhile Viktor was acclimating to the sheer body horror of being alive after dying, his own form nearly completely unknown to him, with this "recursive charge" thrumming in his skull that drives him to the most destitute part of the city.

Jayce (ready to beg like his life depends on it): I have royally fucked up and I will be seeking atonement forever for it, please please please love me, don't leave, guilt guilt guilt I'll die from guilt and failure right here on the floor

And my favorite part: 👹 where are you going 👹

I have been obsessed with the delivery of this line because it is exactly the phrase and tone used towards someone you are painfully intimate with and experiencing a rupture (aka divorcing). The panic of 'I cannot let you leave' with 'I'll die' and 'you're not allowed' while also so emotional that all that comes out is a sad anger. Like I can't even capture it. It's about the ownership or entitlement. It's not just "why are you exiting this conversation, that's rude and this is important" but something darker and more pathetic. I DON'T KNOW I JUST RECOGNIZE IT and wanted to ramble about it. Perhaps oddly, it is actually this line (juxtaposed with "it was affection", I'm suffering so much) that locked in them as already being intimately involved for me, beyond friends or lab mates.

These two are just on two entirely different planes of existence in this scene and it's so LAYERED AND UUHHGGFJH this show is going to drive me into my own recursive whateverthefuck.

Jayce is flooding with too much everything, love, fear, desperation, anger, hope, dread, etc, and looking for someone to hold it with him. And Viktor is a husk. And yet, they miss each other, not balancing one another, because they might as well be talking to each other through the looking glass. IT'S JUUUUST AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH lmao

[spooksicl-e]

little granada!holmes drawing i did as a request over on insta:]

[theoldkyokodied]

most recent tomgregs ft. one mini comic of a convo i had with @urban-barbarian about tomshiv running away together, new zealand sheepfarmer style (they are as bad at it as you'd expect) making them a bad selfmade wine and ugly ill-fitting sweaters that tom knits couple, and of course greg shows up to mooch off of them. So he gets a sweater too :) The dialogue i used in the pics is written by them, Kath is just incredible in getting their voices right <333

[every-ogata]