#but I didn't want this to go to waste

[nico-di-genova]

Today i offer this unfinished snippet of a fic, because my brain has decided to give up on me. 

Before Quorra, Sam was never much of a morning person.

  He was more the drive around aimlessly until 3am and then crash until noon sort. The type to pull himself groggily out of bed when the sun was already starting its descent, and afternoon shadows were creeping their way up the walls of his home. Sam had always felt closer to the stars than the sun. There was familiarity in the spattering of those silver dots across the black velvet sky.

Quorra, she was built for the sunlight. The way it caught in the bright blue of her eyes, haloed around the sharp cut of her hair, gave her skin a golden glow that had been noticeably absent in the hollowness of the grid. She thrived in it. And so Sam found, that by association, he had been made into the sort who woke up to watch the sunrise too.

The three of them – he, Quorra, and a hyperactive Marvin – would make their way to the park close by Sam’s house, lay out an old Tron blanket of Sam’s, and settle in to wait for those first rays of golden-pink to light up the horizon. Three months they’d been doing this, at least once a week, enough that Sam was now familiar with the feel of crisp dew dampening his clothes. He had memorized the sticky feeling of early morning humidity against his skin and the earthy scent of the grass they lay out on. He knew the warmth of Quorra beside him, and the heavy heat of Marv’s breath against his cheek when the dog tired himself out from running circles around the park and came to pant directly in Sam’s face.

It was all starting to feel like home – comforting and safe in a way that he hadn’t had since he was a kid. It felt like skipping stones with his dad, fixing up the newest vintage car with his grandpa, bedtime stories with his grandma, or the fading memory of his mother’s arms around him. Sam clung to these mornings and feared losing them all at the same time. Because if there’s one thing he’d been taught in his life, it’s that nothing lasts forever.

“What are you thinking?” Quorra asks one of these mornings, when Sam’s found himself staring up at the hazy purple sky with unseeing eyes. He feels her shift beside him, her elbow bumping against his jacket clad arm casually. Sam blinks, breathes, and then shrugs, “Nothing.”

He was thinking that he could feel the coolness of fall creeping into the air, the change of a season. How it was a stranger in this familiar routine.

“Sam,” Quorra says, and Sam can hear the doubt in her voice. Beside Alan (and maybe Marv), she may be the one person who knows him best. Their bond came on fast, and Sam still finds himself frightened by how quickly he had let her into his life. This strange girl pulled directly from the virtual world his father had built.

“It’s cold,” Sam says, and then shrugs again.

They’ve been here long enough that the dew has soaked through the blanket they’re lying on and started working its way through the thin fabric of Sam’s jacket. He knows his shirt will be sticking to his back later in the way he hates. Quorra stares at him for a minute, another question forming on her lip, before she decides against it and turns to look back at the approaching sunrise. Sam has found that she’s not unlike a sunflower, something that naturally turns itself toward the light, who needs it to survive. How Quorra had ever thrived on the grid, Sam wasn’t sure. It was here she belonged. Maybe even more than Sam, who couldn’t quite seem to get his footing in this world.

Taking back ENCOM had been the easy part, it was learning how to actually run the company that he was struggling with. His business experience was limited to the few times he’d come to the office with his dad – back when he was six and had to be entertained with a coloring book his dad’s secretary kept at the office for him. Then there had been his two semesters at Caltech, where Sam’s classes had only consisted of entry level coding courses and meaningless electives. Sam had dropped out after a year, finding he lacked the ability to stay seated and focused in a class that was teaching things he’d taught himself at thirteen. Now, he’d taken back one of the largest computer tech companies in the world and was leading it with little more than hopes and dreams.

To Sam, it seemed simple. All their tech should be widely accessible, free, something meant for the masses. To the board that had a hand in approving his decisions, free meant bankruptcy. They didn’t like Sam very much and approved of his choices even less. Which, Sam supposed, made him more like his father than he’d originally thought – a successful legacy.  

[inkskinned]

having good & true friends will literally save and protect you in a million unfathomable ways. like okay we have written so many times about lovers. but the way a platonic friend laughs and cries with you. the way they hold your hand at 14 years old and at 34. the way they keep a little silver tie to you, touching base over and over and over. how you can go years without talking, only to re-meet and discover: oh shit! you're still cool!

there are people who have been in my life for more than half of it, and i have loved every version of them. do you know how fucking beautiful that is. yeah love will save the world. but the way friends love you is gonna save the you.

[keery]

#and the biggest emmy nomination snub goes to

[schrutexbucks]

Look what your brother did to the door! Ain't he got no pride in his home?

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Directed by Tobe Hooper (1974)

@finalgirlsource final girl appreciation week: day 5 (oct 11) : favorite final girl before 2000

[bestagons]

What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 4 + Familect (article)

[avanii]

Magmar's design is derpy, but also kinda cute and cool at the same time? It's grown on me. Had a lot of fun painting this fellow! I used acrylic inks this time.

[fantasticalleigh]

i can hold my arms wide open

but i need you

to drive the nail

1 of a 3 part series

[arttsuka]

star trek birthday today

Aa yes

[llondonfog]

a little something based on this eldritch horror!silver concept because you lot encouraged me

Lilia knows that there must have been a time before the boy.

A time when he lived his quiet life in the woods alone, trapped in the same, mundane drudgery over and over again, as if the rhythmic pattern alone would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. A time when he kept to himself at the fringe of society's gaze, raw and aching for the healing peace of the forest he had roamed endlessly in his youth, seeking a familiar balm against the scars left by a great and terrible warfare etched into his mind. A time that must have been so bleak, so dismal that it hardly bears remembering, for it surely wasn't a life worth living without the bright-eyed, sweet-faced child snuggled like a priceless treasure in his waiting arms.

That's right, he thinks to himself, pleased in his confirmation as he tightens his embrace around the boy slumbering peacefully against his chest. There had been no meaning, no light in his life before Silver had found him.

The boy is properly exhausted, and the satisfied smile on Lilia's face widens even further as he hums tunelessly, fussing over the little pieces of moonlit strands that have fallen into the child's face. They had enjoyed such fun this afternoon, hiking together into the secret parts of the dense brush along invisible paths that only Lilia could see. With that little hand held securely in his callused and scarred fingertips, he had led the boy through the shadowed trees, pushing past gnarled branches and over raised roots as thick as a man's fist until the land itself seemed to yield and give way beneath their feet, dipping down low to expose a bejeweled cornucopia of wildflowers, swaying and bobbing their heads enticingly in the faint, dappled sun.

Silver had gasped in rapt wonder, fingers squeezing Lilia's with a giddy kind of gratitude as those eyes as brilliant as the flowers before them gazed upon the field with an innocent, childish glee. They'd stayed there all afternoon, Lilia content to sit at the edge of the glen for as long as the boy wished while Silver romped around happily among the dancing petals and occasionally bounded back to grace him with a clumsily made bouquets of beaming daisies and plump milkweeds, until the sun began to dip below the fluffy tops of the turning oak trees. It had been second nature to scoop the yawning child up in his arms, to walk the long miles back to the cabin with him propped up against his hip as if the fire burning along the old wounds of his back were mere twinges of irritating mosquito bites.

It had felt like a reward when that warm weight melted in his arms under the gravitational pull of sleep, and those feather-soft strands of hair tickled against Lilia's neck as the boy rested his head along the breadth of his shoulder like a pillow. It had felt like bliss, the likes of which he'd never known before— never mind the fact that he had scoffed bitterly over a pint to Baul at the prospect of being bullied into being a glorified babysitter for Meleanor's soon-to-be spoiled babe. Never mind the fact that his hardened heart had only crystalized into darkest coal after the gruesome monstrosities he'd witnessed and orchestrated by his own hand for the sake of their kingdom and country. Never mind the fact that he had growled at the boy to scram upon first sight, exasperated at the idea that some foolish parent had allowed their snot-nosed brat to wander off the forest paths unsupervised.

None of that seemed worthy of remembering now.

No one else seemed worthy of remembering now either, hazy memories that were easily shuffled away out of sight and out of mind by Lilia's own willing consciousness long worn down to make room for what was truly important: the sound of Silver's laughter, sweet and clear like birdsong on the breeze, a sound that Lilia would do anything to hear again and again; the benevolent grace of the boy's smile like a benediction for his bloodstained soul, the sight of which he would greedily hoard over all the wealth in the world; the adorable sleepy wrinkle of his son's nose as it scrunches up just before he wakes, squeezing Lilia's heart along with it in a funny ache just like it's doing right now—

" . . . did I fall asleep, Papa?"

That darling little voice is apologetic, fretting aloud over how his poor father must have had it rough to carry Silver all the way home, and it's all that Lilia can do to laugh and nuzzle their noses together despite the fiery waves of pain lancing along his spine.

"It's fine, my dear," he croons, savoring the way that those bashful eyes turn on him with such hope, as if it were Lilia who held the key to his happiness and not the other way around. "Your papa was happy to carry you home," and the title fits as naturally as a glove as it weaves itself into his heart, as if there were no other name he needed to be known by ever again, as if there were no other role he could ever imagine himself playing.

The boy smiles up at him, joyous and beatific— there are no words, and yet Lilia feels strangely like he'd been praised, a pleased rustle of something invisible that's taken up residence in the back of his mind that sweetens the dizziness swarming at the edge of his vision— and the moment passes the second that he blinks, leaving him oddly winded as if he'd just run a marathon and collapsed on the couch.

"Are you sure that you're alright, Papa?"

And how sweet of Silver to worry over him still, the child closely scrutinizing his face as he wrestles his breathing back under control. Lilia tweaks his nose playfully in answer to elicit a gleeful yelp that has the boy scrambling away in a flurry of limbs, escaping with laughter towards the kitchen in clear search of an early supper before his beloved father could spice it up with a few more inventive ingredients.

He's alright. He's more than alright.

How could he not be, with his precious son finally at his side?

[moongothic]

You know it's funny, despite Crocodile making a big deal out of him not trusting anyone, he still like, makes a lot of "deals" and actually follows through them and expects others to do the same

Like Robin expected Crocodile to betray her, but because she betrayed him first out of her own trauma-based fears (and the basic human decency of not wanting to let Croc have a weapon of mass destruction), we actually don't know if Crocodile really would have "betrayed her".

Like, if she had truthfully told Crocodile that Pluton was in Wano, there is a possibility Crocodile might've still killed her if he thought she was lying. But if Pluton had been in Alabasta and if she had told him the location to find it... Might he not have kept her around?

Because he explicitly states that he's going to kill her because she's not delivering on the deal they made, and yes, he might've been suspecting she was lying

And Crocodile tells Luffy the same thing when Luffy defends Whitebeard from him, saying "their deal" was only to aid each other to break out of Impel Down and get to Marineford, so with that goal achieved they could mind their own business again

And even with Buggy, Crocodile loaned him money because he fully expected Buggy to repay him back later and honor the deal

(Probably because Crocodile's way to enforce his authority is through threats of violence, so he expects people to do as their told out of fear if nothing else)

I just find it interesting

Because in that sense he's weirdly similar to Luffy, is he not. Like Luffy also makes deals/alliences with people and expects people to honor their promises, it's just that Luffy is overwhealmingly positive and doesn't assume he's going to get betrayed/backstabbed

[xehanortsreport]

the subtle resignation in his expression at even bouncing with the context of his final words kinda destroying me ngl

[t-u-i-t-c]

"You're looking for a place to die, aren't you?" "A place to die...?"

[kyonshi-8610]

trying sometin out // id in alt // unrelated babblings in tags

[louhilainen]

I hated how the Nikolai duology pushed Alina, Zoya and Alina into the role of victims. I’m not saying the girls didn’t have a reason to hate the Darkling and that their grudge should have been left out of the books, but I just hated how badly it was written.

Alina being the Darkling’s victim undermines her. She was a woman who almost buried the Darkling alive, left him on the mercy of volcras and in the end, killed him with her own hands. Yeah, the Darkling did fucked up shit and she has a reason to hate him. But she wasn’t just a victim. The Darkling saw her as a threat. I cannot say if he saw her as his equal, but he saw potential and grew to admire her (and want her, lol). But the books seem to forget that and treat Alina like some fragile thing that needs to be protected from the evil Darkling.

Zoya says straight up that he manipulated her (Do you… I look back and I hate knowing how easy I was to manipulate.) Well, I cannot see how he manipulated her??? She did have a crush on him, but the Darkling did nothing to encourage those feelings. Yes, Zoya has every reason to hate Darkling about the attack on the Novokribirsk, and those feelings should be explored. But please, Zoya, don’t make up a narrative where you were his victim. You aren’t that special (Honestly, if the Darkling manipulated me I would thank him on my knees, be grateful Zoya loooool).

I can understand Genya hating the Darkling for making the nichevo'ya attack her. But the fault of her rape cannot be entirely put to the him. I seriously doubt even the Darkling had the foresight to see the King raping her. Yes, the Darkling should have taken her away from the Little Palace, and not given her choice for revenge. I don’t doubt for a second that Genya’s choice was convenient for him, but the Darkling did give her the choice to leave. (And he didn’t make nichevo'ya mutilate her because she challenged him, but because she defied his orders, but let’s not go there.)

I hated the scene in the end where Genya gives a speech about growing stronger from her experience and blaa blaa. It’s just so…. Unnatural and forced. I’m going to repeat myself, that I don’t have a problem with their grudges or hating the Darkling, I have just a problem with the way it was written. There’s no nuance or not showing how the manipulation affected them. It’s just telling, not showing. When reading a book, I don’t want to be preached to. I want to be immersed in the characters’ emotions and experiences. I want to be made to feel what they feel. I don’t want the narrative to push some kind of “right” way of interpreting the book. It just makes me feel annoyed and takes me out of the experience.   

[ymofficial]

Who won the mug-off?

[brodorokihousuke]

Oh, WOW the hand position makes a big difference! I think it's because the way Kristoph crosses his arms feels a lot more relaxed. Combined with the smirk, it really feels like he's effortlessly in control of the situation. In contrast, the way Apollo crosses his arms feels tighter, so even with the smirk it feels less like he's relaxed and in control and more like he's stressed and feigning confidence.

through my super intense research (aka trying to copy Kristoph's emote) it's honestly way more annoying to cross your arms like Kristoph bc you need to like... grip the one arm tightly to keep the position. While Apollo's just stays in place. but also i have bias because i cross my arms like apollo by default

appearance wise yea though. everything about Kristoph exudes 'i am more confident and relaxed than you' energy. Which is very much not how apollo acts so applying that to him is just very 👁️👁️