#dun dun dun dun dunnnnn

[blackoutunit]

So I’ve been winning lately

I don’t think I’m gonna finish this so here

I made it at like

3 something am last night

I love these two idiots they’re so adorable hbshbgshbshs

[texasbama]

The plot thickens...

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Seemingly satisfied, Kirijo-san addresses the whole team at once.

An uncomfortable quiet settles over the room. Shinjiro gets it. S.E.E.S. had given them a purpose, and as glad as everyone is to see the end of the Dark Hour, having that purpose pulled out from under your feet isn’t easy. He knows it’s got to be especially rough for Aki, with the bullheaded focus he always throws himself at a goal with. He can’t even imagine how much tougher it is for Kirijo, who’s been fighting her way to this moment for most of her life.

He’s not one-hundred percent sure how everyone else truly feels about it, but as for himself? Shinjiro can easily say he won’t miss it.

He hadn’t picked up an evoker that first time with any kind of greater purpose in mind, and he hadn’t been looking for one either. All that’d mattered to him was having Aki’s back if he was hellbent on putting himself in harm’s way.

Maybe at one point he’d started to feel some sense of duty about getting rid of the Dark Hour, but that was a long time ago. Two years is more than long enough for the idea of “duty” to start looking worthless in retrospect. 

And it wasn’t like he’d come back because he’d suddenly found that drive again, either– that had been about settling his debts. If anything he did also helped Aki and Kirijo get rid of the Dark Hour, then he was glad to do it, but that wasn’t his battle to win anymore.

The triumph and normalcy Kirijo-san mentions next don’t feel like his prizes to claim either. He still doesn’t know whether he’ll even get to, let alone what to do with them if he does– but no one else seems to, either. If he asked Aki or Kirijo about it, they’d probably answer with some cheesy declaration that they’ll ‘figure it out together.’ He can practically hear exactly how they’d say it.

…He can’t deny though, that being clueless together does sound less daunting than being clueless alone.

He’s been getting more and more sentimental these days. He isn’t sure how he feels about that.

Kirijo crisply banishes the growing awkwardness before it can put down roots, and finally they settle in to eat. The fish tastes every bit as good as it looks– it’s the best he’s ever had, no question.

Shinjiro stays where he is, but most of the rest of the team wanders around playing musical chairs with who they’re talking to and what kind of sushi is within grabbing distance. At one point Arisato sits next to him, eyeballing several pieces of tuna philosophically for nearly a full minute before finally choosing one. 

He still doesn’t eat it right away. Instead he examines it like he’s getting ready to paint a portrait. He’s still looking at the fish when he speaks to Shinjiro.

Arisato just shrugs, ambivalent as always, and finally eats his sushi now that he’s memorized it. He didn’t deny it, which Shinjiro is going to accept as an admission whether Arisato likes it or not. It’s still annoying how unbothered he is about the whole thing– about most things. What Shinjiro wouldn’t give to be able to tap into a little bit of that kind of nonchalance on command.

Arisato moves on to scrutinize the grilled eel next and Aki immediately takes his place and reignites an old favorite argument of theirs over the merits of tuna versus salmon.

Junpei suggests taking a photo to commemorate the evening, then promptly turns it into a disaster– which probably makes it the best possible representation of this pack of absolute weirdos. He’s never been a fan of getting his picture taken, but… he does kind of want a copy of this one.

The night goes on. The sushi dwindles and so does the conversation as everyone starts settling into a state of well-fed zen. Shinjiro crosses his arms loosely and lets his head loll to rest on the back of the couch. He feels satiated and drowsy, and so content that it kind of loops back around to be a little alarming from just how unfamiliar he’s become with the feeling.

Everyone else on the team offers some kind of agreement, except for Koromaru. While Takeba scolds Junpei over trying to give a dog raw fish, Koromaru slinks over to sit on Shinjiro’s feet and sulk. 

He rubs one of Koro’s velvet soft ears between his thumb and forefinger and mumbles a promise to make him something special tomorrow.

He looks over to Arisato, who offers nothing but a stone-faced thumbs-up. Shinjiro rolls his eyes. Arisato adds a second thumbs-up and exactly zero changes to his expression. Typical.

They laugh and Koromaru yips happily, his tail wagging a mile a minute.

Like someone just opened a door and let in a gust of chill November air, a thin shiver skims its way over Shinjiro’s back, leaving his muscles tense in its wake. The feeling that something is about to go horribly wrong resurfaces with a vengeance. 

Shinjiro glances at the clock– one minute left.

He’s not the only one feeling all kinds of anxious– in the back of his head he can feel his Persona, still as a frozen pond but uneasy and alert. Aki catches his gaze and they share a knowing look. They’re both thinking the same thing.

The last second until midnight trips past.

The Dark Hour descends.

[le-trash-prince]

Jeff's fondness for milkshakes is everything to me. This boy had his childhood stolen from him, and he's haunted by the future, and he's always closing himself off from people and trying to pretend like he's unbothered. But he loves milkshakes. Beneath the surface Jeff is such a softie and I love him 🥺

[tuituipupu]

i’m not even going to böle and i feel nervous 😵‍💫 i feel like we’ve talked and theorised about it for ages now…

what outfits will debut, how much of a rebrand there will be, if the og bolero will make an appearance at all, makeup possibilities… (i think? aarni is being roped in again so the possibilities are truly infinite 🥵)

and now it’s what… a week away?? my weak soul could neverrrr ~ good luck those attending the show irl, have fun and as i say, pls live to tell the tale 🧎🏻‍♀️🙏🏼

[blackjackkent]

(Continued from previous post)

"Look at it." Orin's slow smile is caustic and cruel as she looks Rakha up and down with mocking disdain. "Father's favorite, all lost and wandering. Have you forgotten the way home?"

She steps forward, close enough that Rakha can almost feel her breath. Orin smells of blood and viscera; Rakha's head aches and the beast growls viciously inside her skull.

"Should I set your lapdog to screaming? That could help you find the way."

Every sinew of Rakha's body feels drawn tight like a bowstring ready to snap free. Her head aches, a line of fire along the scar where Orin's knife once carved into her brain. And with that pain comes instinctual terror, the desire to flee, to run far away from the shapechanger's reach, to some impossible place where she will never be found.

Orin's presence tears at her like nothing else in the world, for Orin was the one who attacked her, and Orin stands at her side as the other offspring of the dark god that haunts her blood.

But she can't flee. Their battles have not changed. Wyll's city is still in danger. And something far more immediate as well, which makes her spine tingle with rage that is for once all her and none of the beast.

"What have you done with Lae'zel?" she growls, very deep and low in her throat.

Orin's eyes widen dramatically and she smiles with gleeful madness. "Nothing! No, not a thing... still gasping and gagging on the foul airs of Bhaal's temple..." She draws a giggling breath inwards. "I will save her for you. We can peel her corpse together, once the Baneite is dead."

Rakha shudders violently at the image these words conjure, a combination of horror and ecstasy. Orin's smile widens.

"Gortash betrays us, blood-kin," she purrs. "He sets a leash to our slaughter, uses us to drive the herd towards his tin men's oppression." She steps closer again, draws her fingertips along Rakha's jaw. "You must kill the tyrant, smear him across his rock-rotten halls, and pluck the Netherstones from his carcass."

Surely she knows the effect these words have. She is laying them like a trap for the beast in Rakha's head, drawing it out of hiding; it growls hungrily. Yes... yes... we would kill him and split him and smear him and swallow him whole...

Orin's fingertips drift down Rakha's jaw to instead trace over the long artery beneath it, right where her pulse is thumping. "And then we duel, sweet slaughter-kin," she hisses, her eyes bright with eagerness. "The winner claims the stones - Bhaal's true Chosen. THe loser rots on his altar."

Her nails drag ever-so-gently over Rakha's skin, and then her hand drops. "Agree, and I will bring my assassins to heel," she says. "They watch you always, longing to spray the crimson from your veins." Her smile hardens suddenly into a monstrous scowl. "Refuse me... and you'll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal's doctrine. So will your friend."

Narrator: So this was Orin's intention. A combat against a fellow scion of Bhaal, witnessed by the Lord of Murder himself. Accept, and you must kill Gortash. Refuse, and your companion's life may be forfeit. As might your own - Orin's assassins will hunt you like prey for slaughter.

Perhaps, in another scenario, she might consider this deal. Whatever pact she swore with Gortash, it was not with the intent of keeping it. (Deep in the back of her mind, part of her still craves that welcome he gave to all of her, even the bloody parts, but Jaheira has made it clear this alliance can only be temporary. The Emperor agreed that it need not be honored. Wyll has made it clear Gortash needs to die. She cannot let that part of her win.)

And perhaps, in another scenario, she might give in to her fear of facing Orin head-on. She does not want to be Bhaal's chosen, does not want to surrender to the taint in her blood or battle for supremacy in his cult. And Orin has already destroyed her once before, ripped apart her mind and left her a broken thing to be tortured and mutilated.

But any of those considerations pale beside the immediate and inescapable fact that Orin has taken Lae'zel. The first person Rakha can remember being close to, the first person who helped her, the person whose guidance has directed her right from the beginning.

Her friend.

Attack with purpose, and savor your kills, Lae'zel told her, so many weeks ago, and Rakha cannot think of a greater purpose than this.

"Why wait?" she rasps. Her eyes glint with that same half-mad brightness and for a moment any onlooker could see the horrifying resemblance between the two women - not as clear as it was with Z'rell, but striking all the same. "Let's kill each other right now."

You took my friend. I will rip out your throat and tear you apart.

Orin laughs disdainfully. "You forget how Father's blood clots our veins!" she crows. "It must be returned to him, seeped straight into his grimborn jaws. But first-- first you must make gutspill of the tyrant."

She clenches both fists at her sides in rage at the thought of Gortash. "Do not underestimate his Steel Watch. Seek their cradle in the Lower City and skewer their skull meat. Make them rust and blood. Then you can gore the lordling again and again and again..."

She begins to laugh, a maniacal giggle that snaps to an abrupt halt as she reaches out and grabs Rakha by her collar. "But listen. Listen close, Bone-killer," she growls. "Come to my temple before you turn Gortash to carrion, and I will ready your friend's corpse to greet you."

Again, that slow, icy smile. "Bhaal is waiting, slaughter-kin. Do not disappoint him."

With a roar, Rakha lashes out with both hands, reaching for the changeling's throat, but her palms pass through empty air and then she hits the barn wall beyond with a grunt. Orin is gone.

------

Slowly the ache in Rakha's head starts to dissipate, and she leans forward until her hairline is resting against the wood of the wall.

"Stlarning shapeshifter," Jaheira mutters hoarsely. "She has taken Lae'zel, and would have killed the girl besides..." She looks down at Yenna, who is still crouched behind her, eyes wide with terror. "We must increase our guard. This cannot be allowed to happen again..."

Silence. Wyll has been standing nearby, wide-eyed, watching all of this unfold, and he now steps forward and cautiously rests a hand against Rakha's back; her muscles twitch, and then relax, recognizing the familiar touch. "Are you all right?" he asks softly.

Rakha doesn't answer for a long time. When she does, her voice is so low that it's almost inaudible. "She has Lae'zel," she mutters.

Wyll looks over his shoulder uncertainly at Jaheira, and at Minthara who has approached as well and is leaning one shoulder against the barn's doorframe with knitted brows.

"You have heard Orin's promise to us," the drow says flatly. "Should we pursue her while Gortash lives, she will send assassins for us. She will kill her prisoner."

"Let her assassins come," Rakha rasps. "We will destroy them. And she cannot kill Lae'zel if we kill her first."

Minthara smiles slowly. "Well spoken. I can think of no greater cause than to make Orin the Red suffer."

Wyll clears his throat. "You're certain of this?" he asks.

Rakha shrugs. "We have no choice."

Jaheira draws a breath and lets it out in a long hiss between her teeth. "You have a choice," she says steadily to the back of Rakha's head. "And what matters is your reasons for it. Do you simply wish to see blood spilled? There are easier ways." Her voice is deliberately noncommittal; Rakha cannot tell which decision she approves of.

Rakha's fist presses slowly against the wall's rotten wood until it bends under the pressure. Certainly there are easier ways for the beast to drink its fill here. They could indeed turn on Gortash, rip out his throat, follow Orin's plan to the letter.

But this isn't about the beast. This isn't about Bhaal. This is about her.

"Lae'zel is my friend," she whispers. "And I'm going to get her back."

Jaheira nods slowly and a slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Then the plan is made," she says.

[guardian-angle22]

After that preview clip, I'm definitely thinking the wardrobe choices for Carlos this season have specifically been to make him look even more like Gabriel. a subtle little nod of what was to come for him.

In previous seasons, Carlos was usually wearing polos, t-shirts, and sweaters. All of a sudden this season he's wearing outfits like this:

Meanwhile this is what Gabriel wears in his appearances when not in uniform (he's in uniform in the last one but I wanted to have 4 gifs lmao):

Mmmhmm. I see you, wardrobe department. I see you.

[hairstevington]

Would loveeee to see some graveyard for WIP Wednesday!! <3

HELLO! Omg I have SUCH big plans for this one but unfortunately will not get to it until after we can be heroes is done...and I have no idea how long that will take lol. Anyway, enjoy!

“Nancy, I have to be forward with you -” “Oh, please!” Nancy interrupted, annoyed. “As if you’ve been holding back up until this point.” “My apologies, Miss Wheeler,” Mr. Clarke said. He looked genuinely pained to tell her whatever he was about to tell her.  “So, what is it?” she asked. He glanced down, then back up at her. “Nancy, you are the chosen one.”

[jewishraypalmer]

You can pry the His Dark Materials opening theme tune from my cold dead hands

[boydykedevo]

Steeplechase is great cuz every episode starts like

“-never know when to stop dreaming 😏”

dunn dunnnnn DUNNNNNN

BA-DA BA-BA-BA BA-DA BA-DA

BA-DUHHHH

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

actually need a full documentary of the shit that went down during the day alec managed to get kidnapped really

9:00 AM - Magnus kisses Alec goodbye before he leaves for his Consul duties. No biggie.

12:00 PM - Magnus sent Alec a couple of texts the past few hours but there's no reply and he hasn't even seen them, but that's okay. He's busy.

3:00 PM - Magnus is starting to get worried at this point, calls Isabelle who tells him that Alec left for some urgent meeting this morning. Magnus wonders how long this meeting will take. Still no reply from Alec.

6:00 PM - Now Magnus is getting restless. He's never gone this long without talking to Alec. Usually Alec texts him something or the other, even in the middle of busy meetings, but there's nothing today.

9:00 PM - The children are getting restless, too. Magnus consoles them and puts them to bed. At this point, the meeting should've been over, right? He calls Alec, but Alec never picks up. His texts are still left unread.

10:31 PM - The first fire message arrives. "We have the Consul. Cooperate with us, or else..."

[theramblingsofadork]

“There’s a creature. A deceiver that looks like us, but isn’t of our kind.”

“They say he creeps through the shadows. Watching, listening, and searching for his next victim.”

“He may come to you under the guise of a friend—of someone who only has your best interests in mind. But his honey-like words are filled with poison. Let yourself hear them, let yourself succumb to them, and they will consume your mind and soul.”

“He seeks not power, nor money, nor recognition. No.. the only thing he wants, is the complete and total destruction of the world.”

“And the most frightening thing is, he doesn’t even have to lift a finger to make happen.”

[xoxoemynn]

Where the Daylight Begins - Chapter Four

A modern AU featuring a pining Ed, a clueless Stede, found family, roughly a million animals, and a very magical house. I hope it makes you feel like you are being wrapped up in a big, gay hug. Written as a follow up to The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary, but it’s not strictly necessary to read that first. Read the most recent chapter here, or start from the beginning here.

A million thanks to @margotandthefox, @monksofthescrew, and @blakbonnet for their feedback and encouragement. You are my everything. And also a BIG thank you to @haflacky for the stunning art.

~*~

Stede was no fool. He could tell Ed was trying to politely get some details around the circumstances that led to him needing to come to the Sanctuary. And it wasn't that Stede didn't trust Ed. Rather the opposite, in fact; for no discernible reason, Stede was quite confident he could trust Ed with his life, and that he might in fact hold it in higher regard than Stede himself did. But he simply couldn't burden Ed with that knowledge. It wouldn't be fair. 

So he put on his best wide-eyed innocent face and decided to play dumb.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

[clurbclassics]

my interpretations of The Girls™ in my wip, with the help of some dodgy photoshop + pinterest ✨

charles (born charlotte, also known as charlie by some) leclerc, il predestinata, italian men would die for her, first female race winner in the turbo-hybrid era

lando (affectionately referred to as lands) norris, 'one of the boys', fiercely loyal (and equally stubborn), the next big thing™ at mclaren, e sports and dj-ing 4lyfe

george (born georgia, also called georgie but she hates it) russell, quintessentially british, continued the female f2 winner streak after charles, will fight for her beliefs, paris geller if she drove cars basically

[shittywhitecar]

having a good day off!

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

It's ok if you can make a reaction about "What is the worst promise your muse has ever broken?" With Maurice, doll (they/them) Joanne and Alois. Please and thank you (✿^‿^)(✿^‿^)

aaaaaa manners, thank u~ <3 <3 <3

Card Suits

Spades

Four - What is the worst promise your muse has ever broken?

The worst one…? He’s broken a lot of promises on the way to where he is now. To be fair, not all the promises he’s made have been made seriously; there were some said in jest, tongue-in-cheek, or ones that he said which he never intended to keep in the first place. But the worst one… the worst promise he’s ever broken, the one that will remain the worst, was the promise that he and Luka would live happily ever after with each other. It really wasn’t long after that Luka died, so… Alois feels that his last promise to his brother was broken in the most terrible way. Sometimes he wonders if a person like him could have kept that promise in the first place. He thinks about it, and when he thinks about it for too long, he breaks down in tears. “I broke my promise!” he sobs as he clings to his S/O, the only person he trusts with these delicate feelings. “I let him die…!” And really, it’s not necessarily his fault. He didn’t so much break his promise as someone else smashed it to pieces. Yet, the guilt remains.

The reason they refrain from making promises is because those things are so easily broken. What are they bound by? Someone’s word, a sense of honor? What happens if the promise is broken just because it physically can’t be kept? Freckles… doesn’t like making promises. They’ve learned quickly that it’s a recipe for disappointment, whether their own or someone else’s. However, the worst promise they’ve ever broken is one they made to themself, not to anyone else. A very, very long time ago — when they were still a child themself — they made a silent promise: When I’m all grown up, I’ll make sure to take good care of children I see on the streets, as best I can! Having to follow the Baron’s orders means that they have broken that promise a hundred times over. Anyone who knows them and knows about that promise would say that it’s quite possibly the reason they don’t like to make promises. It eats them up inside that they’re leading children, children like the one they were once, to harm. They hate themself for it, and their heart is in as many pieces as that shattered promise.

Oh, well, that’s… it’s kind of silly for him to think about! Unlike some people, he doesn’t really have any serious promises that he’s managed to break. As it stands, he’s a very genteel young man who pretty much keeps all the promises he makes, or he doesn’t actually promise it. Did he promise to take someone on a date? He does, even if perhaps he doesn’t particularly enjoy it. Did he promise to be there at a specific time for an event? He’s probably there early, because that’s the becoming thing to do. Did he promise to do something for a friend? He does it, because he was raised that one keeps their word, especially to someone they care about. So, really, the worst promise he’s ever broken is… the promise he made to read all the books in the university library before he graduated. Even being the voracious reader that he is, it was never going to happen; there were too many books, and coupled with his coursework, it was an impossible feat! He’s still jokingly disappointed in himself whenever anyone brings it up.

Honestly, when a person throws around promises the way Maurice does… what’s the expression, again? ‘Have to break a few eggs to make an omelette’? There are bound to be a few broken eggs left in his wake. He’s littered broken promises of meetings, dates, devotion, practically everywhere he sets foot. It’s just something he does without a second thought, making a promise, regardless of whether or not he intends or is even able to keep it. That said, the worst promise he’s broken is likely one he doesn’t actually realize he’s broken so badly. When he and Joanne were friends, Joanne (who has always been shy and socially anxious and prone to not having many friends) asked Maurice, “Can I trust you? Can I… really trust you…?” And of course, Maurice promised that Joanne could trust him. In the moment, surely Maurice didn’t consider the weight of the question or of his promise. So he doesn’t understand just how terrible a betrayal it was when he broke it… particularly given that Joanne felt like he had to ask about it in the first place.