#everyone quick !!! look away !!!

[eye-merely-jest]

uhh uhh nightcrawler n stuff or whatever idk 👎👎 (boo traditional sketchbook stuff 👎👎)

shouting into the void I LOVE THESE SILLY LITTLE X-MEN SO MUCH !!!!!! they make me SICK. it's not even funny i need to absorb everything with kurt and logan this very INSTANT im fucking insane about them

[galatoma]

Living rent free

[gayspock]

i admit, ive seen this scene so many times before; i braced myself, knowing it was coming, accordingly... and yet i was caught positively dumbfounded.

[casualavocados]

Is that guy your type? Huh? You let him hold you. He was drunk. And he has a lover. Didn't you see? I'm not that easy, okay? ...What about me? [...] It was only a one-night thing.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 10

[galaxywarp]

You guys know the little joke about fanfiction with like, authors losing track of what position the characters are in, so they end up moving all over the place throughout a scene?

I think I’m creating the exact opposite problem for myself rn. and I’m spending wayyyy too much time worrying about exactly how Mercy and Moira are circling each other around this room in this scene.

Like. DAYS worth of pondering.

[mwagneto]

if you think you've seen a "holy shit guy from the thing" constant cameo movie YOU'RE WRONG. nothing will ever compare to deadpool 3. literally thee most cameo filled movie I've ever seen there's literally hunderds of them. and the worst part is it's explained so well i'm not only not mad but i straight up really like it

[pixelatedraindrops]

Yuma Month: Day 29: Disguise

Yumi would’ve been a cute substitute name 💕

[sainz100]

upcoming Carlos x chess content soon ❤️♟️✨

[introspectivememories]

everybody gets on shouto's case for being arrogant before the sports festival but like was he wrong to be arrogant???? if i was trained since 5 and then i enrolled in a school for hero hopefuls who have just started training their quirk, their body, and their minds for the job, god i'd be so fucking arrogant too. everything his peers are learning, shouto already knows!! flying spin kick? boo, boring!! he learned that at six. incorporating your quirk into your fighting? lame, yawn! he's been doing that his whole life. fighting quirkless? his father may be a piece of shit but endeavor is nothing if not thorough.

[wizardofgoodfortune]

Gonna go ahead and ask you #58 on your Spotify wrapped while I'm thinking about it

#58 on my top songs is mirrorball by taylor swift! this is definitely one of my fav songs from her, if not The Favorite; a vivid music video plays out in my head every time i listen to it. here's my favorite part from it, which can definitely lend itself to particular dreamling scenarios... like 1989.

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

---

When his stranger didn't show up in 1989, Hob spent the whole day waiting for him. The whole night, too. He heard the last call but stayed long after, until the bartender—Ian was his name, Hob learned at one point—had to kick him out so they could lock up. To Ian's credit, he did it with his most apologetic face.

"Sorry, Hob," Ian said as he locked up the front door of the tavern. "Feel free to come back 'round tomorrow. Promise the place'll still be here by then."

Hob, who was hovering listlessly beside him, gave him a smile. "You'll regret you said that."

Ian laughed. "I'll never regret having more regulars. God knows we need it."

Hob frowned. Right. He nearly forgot about that.

"Need a lift?" Ian offered, fishing out a different set of keys from inside his pockets. "You've drunk quite a lot."

"I'm fine, I just need to—" Hob took a deep breath, "—I need to walk it off."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Sure? I better not read about you in the papers tomorrow."

Hob snorted. "Trust me, you won't."

With that, Hob stood in front of the tavern and watched Ian drive off, until the old man rounded a corner and disappeared.

Now that he was alone, Hob slumped down on the damp ground and leaned against the front door. They've probably replaced this door more times than he could count, along with the rest of the tavern. Century after century, Hob saw less and less of what used to be here 600 years ago: the chairs, the tables, the mugs, the godawful drinks. The closest thing to permanence this tavern had was its name, and, up until tonight, his stranger. And soon, it wouldn't even have itself.

Hob reached into his coat pocket and took out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes. As he watched London's everchanging skyline glitter above the Thames, he lit a cigarette, the orange of it glowing in the dark. He sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting. He was good at that, at waiting. All you had to have for waiting was time, and Hob had it in abundance. So he waited until the sun rose, until the streets came alive with cars and people, until Ian came back to open up.

"Oi, what happened to walking it off?!" Ian exclaimed, standing over Hob, shielding him from the noon sun. "Bloody hell. C'mon now. Up you go."

Hob let himself be corralled into the tavern's small office and be sat at the small couch that was probably meant for interviews and terminations. He drank the water and aspirin placed in front of him, and he wore the spare shirt lent to him, but he left Ian's questions unanswered.

"Y'know," Hob started as soon as Ian came back in from the bar, "I reckon I could do a good job running a tavern."

"You should be asleep," Ian said accusatorily.

Maybe he should've been. But instead, Hob was sitting upright, wide awake. "I've been in countless taverns, just like this," he continued, "and I reckon I could make a great one. It would be so great that people from all over the world would come to eat and drink there, and say, 'Hey look, it's Hob's tavern, the greatest one around!' And d'you know what the best part about it would be?"

Ian sighed and leaned on his desk. "What?"

"It would be so great that they'd never close it down. They wouldn't be able to. Everyone would rally around it, even the council. And it'd be there for, for centuries. No, millennia. No, forever."

Ian shook his head, smiling. "A beautiful dream."

"A dream?" Hob scrunched his eyebrows. "You don't believe me?"

"Hob, this tavern has been here for centuries. That's a pretty good run, I'd say. Before that, it might've been something else, like a house, or a barn, or something. And before that, it was probably an empty plot of land, or maybe it was full of trees. Maybe bloody dinosaurs lived and died here. Or maybe it was underwater, I dunno. But I'm getting away from the point," Ian said, scratching his scraggly beard. "The point is: things change. That's life."

Suddenly, Hob was reminded of that night a hundred years ago, how his stranger detested the implication that he changed, that he grew to be lonely, lonely enough to seek out companionship. Hob's companionship. Obviously he detested the implication enough to not show up yesterday. But maybe, just maybe, his stranger will show up again today or the next day, just to prove a point, just to say he didn't need him to be his friend, and to say goodbye for the last time. Surely his stranger's not cruel enough to not show up at all, right?

"I, I know, but I can't let this place change, at least not yet," Hob said. His desperation must've plain on his face from the way Ian smiled sadly at him.

"And why's that?"

"My friend and I," Hob paused, thinking about what to say, "this place is important to us."

"You can always find another place."

"He won't," Hob said, voice breaking, "he won't be able to find me."

"How sure are you that he won't?"

Hob put his head into his hands. "I'm sure."

"You don't have his number?"

Hob shook his head.

Ian sighed. "Well, like I said last night, you'll need a lot of money to—"

"I have the money," Hob blurted out.

"What's that?"

"I," Hob repeated, raising his head in realization, "I have the money."

Ian only looked at him.

"I can, I can keep this place alive until he comes back."

Ian regarded him wordlessly for a few more seconds, then said, "I appreciate the thought, I do, but I reckon you can just establish a new one and it'll be less expensive. You can always, I dunno, put up some signs. 'This way to the new tavern' or something. Then when your friend comes around, they'll just read your sign and go to the new tavern."

Hob stared at Ian, mouth hanging open. Then he laughed, feeling a sleep-deprived lightness in his chest. He stood up and held Ian by his shoulders, still smiling. "Ian, you're a genius."

Ian chuckled heartily. "I try."

"And you're a hired genius."

"Pardon?"

"I'll need a bartender for the new tavern," Hob said, grinning.

Ian scoffed in disbelief, but he was smiling. "And what'll you name it?"

Hob thought for a second, then settled on: "The New Tavern."

Ian chortled. "You need sleep. Dearly."

---

send me a number and i'll write something based on the corresponding song in my spotify wrapped!

[anjasitdown]

girls i thought i could read these chapters with ease but this?

THIS IS THE LAST STRAW

i'm going to commit arson

[darling-birdie]

hear me out… what if we pile up a bunch of blankets and pillows to cuddle on while watching a movie…. and then at some point during the movie, you move the clothes we’re wearing aside and push inside me… and, ok, maybe the movie is kinda sad, so by the time it ends I’m curled against you crying…and maybe then you start slowly moving your hips…telling me it’s gonna be ok, n that I look pretty when I cry… moving us so your body weighs down on me, and we sink further into the blankets…

[dutybcrne]

I am a simple Allie: I see unhinged, I wanna put em with Taru or Kae

[dalennaugw]

Seeing people leaving some of the social spaces around here, at this time, is making the pit of my stomach feel like it's falling out.

[aeide-thea]

ugh

saw a post with a quote that basically tidily summed up the rebuttal i'd half-started drafting to someone's post about how homosociality in tolkien ~queers amatonormativity~ [spoiler: on the contrary, male homosociality has been engaged in a three-way handshake with both misogynist heterosexuality and amatonormativity for literal millennia, and far from undermining them, more typically serves as essential reinforcement], so i was like, great, now i don't have to actually write that essay, i can just reblog this instead and tag it #tolkien! :)

but then, like a conscientious idiot, i went and dutifully looked up the book it was from, because i think it's irresponsible to cite excerpts whose context you aren't familiar with; and very predictably it turned out to be by a r*dfem and to make all sorts of claims abt so-called 'phallocratic culture' that i dislike, both as a trans person and ally myself and also as a logical thinker who can tell perfectly well from, you know, lived experience of our society that having a penis doesn't in fact confer ready social acceptance, never mind dominance, on people who don't otherwise look or act the part of a Proper Man, because ultimately what we reflexively defer to is a particular vibe, produced by a combination of physique and affect and other things besides, which may imply the presence of a penis but neither actually reveals nor necessitates one…

so like. ugh. probably i'm gonna have to write my own essay after all. :/

[bright-and-burning]

thinking abt my frustrations w the way ppl (and specifically. europeans) talk abt americans as some monolith (often in a way that quickly devolves into classism and racism lol) and. you know what tumblr. for all that you frustrate and upset me. as someone who experienced a variety of gun violence incidents first hand as a kid and as a teenager. i do appreciate not having school shootings thrown in my face as some sort of "gotcha." the bar is in hell here (thank you twitter for that one) but by god at least i don't have to deal w that shit every time i even think about talking about the united states