#back on my bullshit boys

[lubbee]

2 days!

[cartoon-goon02]

the nastiest chav in revachol

[finchfvkingcortes]

thank you to this tweet for giving me the perfect opportunity to ramble about edwin’s outfit during the confession scene because oh how i love it

the juxtaposition between these two scenes and what edwin wears is so good because he goes from an outfit he chose and put together when he planned to confess vs a blood stained shirt when he actually did but what i think a lot of people don’t realise is that edwin isn’t wearing pyjamas when he’s in hell, he’s wearing undergarments. he’s in an undershirt and drawers, which was typical edwardian underwear and it is such a perfect way to show how vulnerable he is in that moment. so often clothes are used as armour or a way to make oneself feel more confident and that’s exactly what edwin is doing when he made himself look, as niko says, really nice. a nice outfit and feeling good about yourself can go a long way in making yourself feel more ready to, i don’t know, confess your love to your best friend of 30 years. now compare that to what edwin’s wearing when he actually confesses and you immediately feel a sense of vulnerability and almost nakedness in that situation because the modern day equivalent is standing there in your boxers. all of that armour, all that confidence is gone, he is both literally and metaphorically bare. in the end it’s just edwin, in the most basic sense, baring his soul to charles and i think it’s so so beautiful

[wow-sofa-art]

Thank you, Electrochemistry. Very helpful.

(reference under the read more)

[sydneighsays]

The Magnus protocol has awakened something unholy back up in me

Not that Jon being my favorite isn't unholy in the first place

[malsorie]

me and the bad bitch i pulled by being Autistic

[alexwilltellyouthings]

Rant (Thought About Edwin Payne Too Much Again):

Edwin may be the best one out of the main four in regards to dealing with his own anger. Isn't that something?

I mean, Crystal is constantly angry and letting it out in ways that hurt others or even herself. Niko gets angry at love and herself and thinks changing her whole personality is the answer instead of facing what she did wrong. Charles, well, duh.

But Edwin. We see him get worked up on episode one until he breaks down, says everything he needs about how the cases matter to him, and accepts the comfort that comes afterwards. From then on I think we don't see him get mad for a good while.

He gets annoyed of course, all the time, but that's just him. Anger, though? I can only remember the second instance being with the Cat King in the forest, shoving the bracelet in his face. Which he was brilliant to do, had every right to, stood up for himself and left.

He takes the anger when it comes, does something about it and lets it go. Something no one else seems to have learned how to do.

In conclusion: Edwin Payne, somehow the emotional role model of this fucked up little group

[p12lysanderdelanne]

i watched the doctor who tv movie (1996) to avoid watching eurovision and why did so many of yall say it was bad that was the most fun ive had watching a film in i dont know when

highlights for me:

• the goo snake

• the master lying about things in insane fashion

• motorcycle right into the tardis void

• the tardis interior like wow what we lost

• truly unethical levels of camp

[hazbingirliexoxo]

*On the phone*

Reader: I wanna do bad things to you~😏

Valentino: Oooo yeah? Like what, amorcito?~😈

Reader: Like break your FUCKING NECK and gouge your eyes out and RIP-

Valentino: 😶 *hangs up*

Angel: *recording in the background, dying of laughter*

[that-one-raccoon]

More Magic and Mystery lets gooooo

[sappho-ilmarinen]

[s0fter-sin]

nik finding out ghost’s father is still alive

he teases out personal information from him over years of careful dedication; always knowing when to back off, always knowing when ghost needs him to push just that little more so he can free himself of his own memories

it’s not always important; sometimes it’s little things like preferring full fat milk for his tea or that he enjoys morning runs with his back to the sunrise. that he prefers to sit in an armchair than a couch and he hates the feel of cotton balls but endures it anyway

it takes a while before he gets to the deep things. the tragic things. broken plates. snake infested beds. dead prostitutes in toilet stalls

all with one man at the centre of them

ghost isn’t shy about his opinion of his old man; he knew he was a cowardly, addicted bastard who stood up for what he believed in only so long as the person he was standing against was weaker than him. he tells nik how close he came to killing him one night when he found him passed out on the couch; foaming spit and vomit all around him. he tells him how much he wished he knew then what he knows now; how he could’ve killed him with a toothpick if he just learned earlier

and he tells him that even unconscious, even when grew bigger than him, when he was stronger than him, ghost was still too afraid of him to try

he tells him around a shared cigarette that he got the call about his cancer just after he enlisted; how bitter he felt that he wouldn’t be around to watch him suffer and wither away. and it’s with a sour laugh that he tells him it was a few years after his first deployment that he got the call that he was in remission

“bastard couldn’t even give me that much,” he scoffs and stares at the smouldering butt long enough that nik takes it from him before he can snuff it out on his skin. “know the funny part of all this? i’ve killed hundreds of men. i know how to use more weapons than i can count- i’m the fuckin’ ghost…

“and i’m still fuckin’ scared of him.”

silence falls and nik sits in it; in the cruelty and discomfort of a man’s fear. he thinks of an old wooden home with its little chapel at the end of the yard. he thinks of silent dinner tables and repeated prayers over the crack of a belt. he thinks of the weight of a bible clutched in his hands and how it never eased the heat of his blood dripping down his back

he thinks and lights another cigarette and pretends ghost’s hand isn’t shaking when he offers it to him. because that’s all he can do

for now

-

months pass and nik does ghost a favour by acting like he’s forgotten their conversation on the roof despite them both knowing it’s bullshit. you don’t just forget sharing something like that; the shame of admitting and the hatred of knowing are too strong for something as merciful as forgetting

but they don’t talk about it again

months pass, missions blur together except for the ones that really don’t and it’s been a while since nik was in country when he slides up beside ghost as he oversees recruit training

he doesn’t say anything; just lets ghost feel his presence, conveniently from behind so he can slip something in his hands held behind his back before he steps up beside him. they watch the repetitive drills and the repetitive mistakes until ghost barks at them to fuck off or he’ll make them run until they puke then make them keep running

he waits for the last of them to huff and puff their way to the showers before bringing his hands to the front and unfolding the paper nik gave him

he doesn’t get past the first line before he stills

ghost forces his head to turn, eyes reluctantly dragging away from the paper to nik who stands waiting expectantly

“a gift,” nik says simply. “it does not bode well to have a haunted ghost, yes?”

he doesn’t let himself deflate the way his body wants; he keeps his back straight and shoulders wide and lets out a carefully controlled breath. “it last long?”

“oh yes,” he nods with a wide smile. “hell received quite a few pieces.”

ghost nods back and looks down at the paper in his hand, refusing to acknowledge the fine shake running through it. it isn’t enough to blur the cutout from a manchester local newspaper and reading it again makes his knees weak with 30 year old relief

missing: norman riley

[syst3merr0r]

Old Moon my belobed, how I've missed you

[emloafs]

a binary boyfriends au where the house fight on December 19th never happened, demetri and eli never make up in high school, and the universe keeps pushing them back together (Boston college au)

aka I wanna gage if anyone would read this fic..... (UPDATE: it's written!)

Demetri is having a shitty morning, so he can’t catch a break. 

Maybe he was moving too fast. Maybe he was in a rush to get back to his apartment and finally attempt the other nine pages of the ten-page essay he should’ve already finished. Maybe the whole thing could be blamed on his long limbs or his natural clumsiness, but Demetri is fully convinced that this guy ran into him. Not the other way around. 

And there goes his second coffee of the day–all over his sneakers, the cafe floor, and the guy who shoulder-checked him at full force. 

“Shit!”

“C’mon, man!” the guy barks at the same time. 

The guy has the hood of his green sweatshirt pulled up over his head, likely doing very little against the weather outside. He’s got wired earbuds in–like all pretentious douchebags do–and Demetri bitterly thinks he must have his music too loud to be aware of his surroundings, hence the collision. His worn utility jacket may have saved the hoodie from the spill but it looks completely ruined now.

Arguably, Demetri is much better off, notably not covered in hot coffee. But, this is his second spilled coffee in a single morning, and the universe is out to get him, so this guy isn't going to hear the end of it.

“You ran into me!” Demetri protests, fuming. 

The guy flicks both his arms a few times, trying to wring out any dripping coffee from his coat sleeves.

Demetri’s never been good at biting his tongue and right now he’s too pissed to hold back. “Maybe if you were actually paying attention to the world around you, and not just plowing in here without a care for other customers or your surroundings, you wouldn’t have ran me over! You know, that’s my second spilled coffee today. I have half a mind to demand you get me a new one-”

The guy finally looks up seemingly to find who is responsible for dumping a medium-sized hot latte all over him. His face is half covered by his hoodie and Demetri can only see an intense side-eye of annoyance as a response to his lecture on the important or personal space. Then, he straightens quickly and narrows his eyes, leaning slightly in to the limited space occupied by a puddle of cooling steamed milk and espresso between them.

“And truly it’s blatantly a matter of safety–”

They lock eye contact and the guy’s eyes widen comically and his eyebrows shoot up so high they disappear above the overhang of his hood.

His voice cracks a little as he interrupts Demetri’s rambling.

“Dem?”

Demetri’s words die halfway through his sentence. Does he know this guy?

The stranger shakes his head roughly and clears his throat. “Sorry, it's just- I…” He looks Demetri up and down and narrows his eyes again. “Is your name Demetri?”

And that's… odd. Demetri inspects the guy’s face as best he can under the sweatshirt hood. He seems sort of familiar, but Demetri can't place it. 

Demetri shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of how to hold his weight under this guy’s intense gaze. “Um. Yes?”

“Oh my- holy shit!” The guy lets out a laugh of disbelief and pulls out his earbuds, letting them hang out of the top of his hoodie. “This is crazy.” 

He roughly shoves his hood off of his head, and Demetri’s heart drops into the bottom of his stomach. 

He rakes his hand through a thick mop of shaggy light brown hair. Hiding under the hood was a pair of startling blue eyes that Demetri really should’ve recognized. As the not-so-stranger pats the hoodie down behind his neck, Demetri has a clear picture of his entire face. And just before Demetri can come up with a plausible theory on doplegängers, his eyes land on the faint scar rippling from the guy’s upper lip to his nose.

There's just no goddamn way.

So, since Demetri really can’t catch a break this morning, his childhood best friend, Eli Moskowitz, is standing in front of him, covered in his second latte of the morning. 

And Demetri wants to say fuck off or what are you doing here or get out of my city or honestly just walk away, but he’s rendered completely frozen. Demetri feels a little like a cartoon character when their jaw completely unhinges and hits the floor with a comical clang. He’s left buffering like a YouTube video being played with a shitty wifi connection.

He hasn’t seen Eli since high school. Hasn’t talked to him in even longer. It’s probably been four years since they last spoke. Not that Demetri is counting. What the hell is he doing in Boston? What the hell is he doing this close to MIT? Just… what the hell?

Eli’s excited expression falters when Demetri doesn’t respond. He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“It’s uh- It’s Eli. Moskowitz?”

Demetri notes first that he introduces himself as Eli, not that ridiculous nickname he coined in school.

He says it as if Demetri doesn’t know. He says it as if Demetri wouldn’t recognize him faster than the back of his own hand even all these years later. His hair is long, too long. It’s curling over his ears and nearly touching his shoulders, and Demetri is pissed because it still looks good. He looks older, he looks better, and all Demetri can see is the tiny Eli he met in first grade who was missing both his front teeth. 

Demetri doesn’t know what to make of any of it. This feels like some cosmic joke. 

“Uh, no, yeah. Yeah. What- What are you doing here?” Demetri finally manages. His voice sounds a little strangled, but the question comes out bluntly and a bit harsh. 

“Uh,” Eli starts, glancing around, and letting out a confused laugh. He raises an eyebrow and shoves his hands in his pockets, gesturing with his coat around the cafe. “Getting coffee? What are you doing here?” he teases.

Demetri really doesn’t have time for this. He rolls his eyes. “Not here. What are you doing in Boston?” he demands. 

Eli’s playful expression falls. He furrows his eyebrows. “I live here.”

And that’s- that can’t be right. Demetri lives here. Demetri just started his second semester of his junior year at MIT a month ago. He certainly would’ve noticed if Eli Moskowitz lived in Boston. Right?

“You live… in Boston?”

“Yeah,” Eli shrugs, looking much too nonchalant for Demetri’s liking. “I go to BU.” He cocks his head slightly to the side and earnestly says, “I thought you knew that.” 

Demetri did not know that. That’s the thing about no contact. Demetri’s had Eli blocked in all forms of communication since their junior of high school. It’s sort of hard to keep tabs on someone when they’re pretty strictly out-of-sight, out-of-mind. 

[bluemerakis]

Oh nothing, just that I love this man and his nose. Like it’s so perky and cute??? 😭 I just wanna BOOP it with my 🐱

[the-littlest-of-all-bitches]

💀 👻