#etc etc i am delighted

[docktowns]

i swear to god this isn't recency bias but datv is my fave

[landwriter]

dead boy detectives is a show whose shortcomings and strengths make total sense when you think of it as a comic on tv, ie terribly goofy expository dialogue that sounds way better when you picture it in comic book font with every other word bolded, panel-paced conversation as our heroes figure out something very obvious, fun enormous monster set pieces that used up all the cgi budget which is why all the rooftop shots look Like That, incredible snap zooms and smash cuts in montages that hit exactly like comic panels, and side characters with bland or brilliant characterization that seems to hinge on the metric of ‘how much cunt did the actor put into their line readings’

[thedeadthree]

THE SUN ON YOUR FACE ON YOUR SHOULDERS ITS GOLDEN MOUTH WHISPERING (SO IT SEEMS) YOU! YOU! YOU! — 𝐂𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑. 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟. (x)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (ask to be added or removed or interact 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!): @griffin-wood, @queennymeria, @nightbloodbix, @anoras, @leviiackrman, @aezyrraeshh, @marivenah, @risingsh0t, @avallachs, @full---ofstarlight, @unholymilf, @statichvm, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @alltoowelltv, @lavampira, @adelaidedrubman, @grapecaseschoices, @shellibisshe, @carlosoliveiraa, @carrionsflower, @cloudofbutterflies92, @kyber-infinitygems, @pinkfey, @celticwoman, @florbelles, @shadowglens, @yharnams

[starflungwaddledee]

*caassssuuuaallly slides into your inbox* hey. hi hello 😎

im here for those sweet ol song asks, wanna share any you have for Starstruck and J??

do i have any, well i-- *drops a half dozen mean girlboss tracks all over the place* oh uhhh--

something in the way you're looking through my eyes don't know if i'm gonna make it out alive teeth - five seconds of summer

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

[thebirdandhersong]

in my you're on your own kid era again (I never left)

[sainz100]

2024 Italian GP at Monza | x

[sages-of-hell]

coming freshly out of the rite here rite now film the only thing i want to say is how much i love how deeply unserious of a band ghost is

[remyfire]

Fucking nerd has had a very specific movement of a very specific symphony stuck in her head for days on end and it will not release her

[petoskeystones]

sometimes tv shows Are so funny.

[silverwhittlingknife]

hiii! i just wanted to reach out n let you know that i just spent the last few days speed reading all your ao3 work bc i literally couldn't put it down. the way you write dick really just scratches my brain in the best way possible. he's a little (read: very) neurotic and it just. his motivations are so clear in your work, not in the sense that there isn't tension and anxiety but in that his core personality, his drive to help and the anger and trauma that has built him, his need to always be performing and catering to those around him, it comes across sososososos SO well. he was the first character that got me into comics and since then i've kinda stopped reading him bc i have lots of issues w tom taylors run (not the point so i digress) but you have really inspired me to go back and read more of his old stuff so thank you! you have such a clear grasp on his character and its something i admire very much! ur very very talented! and i really appreciate you sharing ur art! hope ur doin well :)

HI THIS IS SUCH A NICE COMPLIMENT???? <3333 This is so nice & sweet & it made my whole day!!! THANK YOU I AM HUGGING YOU ACROSS THE INTERNET AHHHHHH

he's a little (read: very) neurotic and it just. his motivations are so clear in your work, not in the sense that there isn't tension and anxiety but in that his core personality, his drive to help and the anger and trauma that has built him, his need to always be performing and catering to those around him

YEAH IT's HIMMMM i love this description <333

THANK YOU YOU ARE LOVELY & KIND PLS ACCEPT THIS DOG PICTURE AS TOKEN OF MY GRATITUDE

[landwriter]

Lilium columbianum, June 2024

[swordmaid]

AHHHHHH ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️src.

[starflungwaddledee]

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Roderick Burgess, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Jessamy the Raven, Ruthven Sykes Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hob Gadling Saves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus from Roderick Burgess, The Inevitable Rescue Fic, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, BAMF Hob Gadling, Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, Flashbacks, Murder Husbands, Secret Marriage, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus is Bad at Feelings, Mutual Pining, The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots

[itspileofgoodthings]

do y’all wanna know something funny. when I was in England I accidentally stumbled into finding my sister a boyfriend via @ilovevanillatea and her husband and it is something that has been so funny and good.