#forever pushing this agenda

[gojoest]

can you all just stop whatever you're doing and look at his undercut please thank you

[maybe-a-dinosaur]

thank you to the legend ghostchse for fueling my fire and caandlelit for handing me the wood this is so hanamaki takahiro (26) librarian matsukawa issei (26) vampire?

hiro is like this is suspicious and checks all the boxes on my evidence board but also i can’t outright accuse him and be wrong bc he’s hot . also potential bella swan moment so

[emryarts]

Damn, wish he'd left them there...

Should i be working on artfight? Maybe so

However the brainworms are stronger and im actually the funniest person ever

Original from @t.willy2 on tiktok/insta

[greatkateweathermachine]

the community american psycho episode that doesn't exist where jeff goes on an ego and insecurity driven rampage and kills a bunch of people before eventually breaking down and leaving a deranged rambling confession on abed's voicemail at like 3am while curled in a fetal position underneath the study room table. and then when they all have study group in the morning he asks abed if he got the voicemail and abed's like oh yeah nice reference i love american psycho :) and the group carries on like normal while jeff is inner monologuing and staring at his blackberry like this:

[try-set-me-on-fire]

My old friend

I'll see you again

I'd do anything

[emlovessid]

@jegulus-microfic january 11, fever, 188 words

“Are you feeling alright? Do you have a fever?” Sirius asks, pressing the back of his hand to James’ forehead.

James swats his hand away, repeating himself, “I said, I’m in love with Regulus. Your brother.”

“I know that he’s my brother, twat,” Sirius laughs. “It’s the you being in love with him part that I’m confused about. Are you, like, asking for my permission? Because Regulus is his own person and that’s not mine to give.”

“No, no. I just – this is a big deal to me and you’re my best friend, so I wanted you to know.”

Sirius’ smile softens as he watches the way James speaks, slight blush in his cheeks, nervous smile on his lips.

“I’m happy for you, mate. Just don’t be too put out if Reg doesn’t feel the same way. He’s a tough nut to crack,” Sirius says, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when James bursts out in laughter.

“Yes, well. Considering we’ve been dating for the past few months, I think it’s safe to assume he feels the same way.”

Sneaky bastards, Sirius thinks as he punches James in the arm.

[thunderon]

dream team to survive the horrors when you’re stranded in the wilderness:

- a prophet who loves shoplifting

- an italian-american with a gun

- a girl who has two first aid classes and a love for malpractice

- The (self-proclaimed) Only Sane One Around Here

- The Sane One’s Shadow Self

- a butch

- a butcher

- a girl who will stir the pot literally and figuratively

- just some guy who is now considered One of the Girls

[calxia]

Ghouls making those incredibly cute little mrrrr? Noises cats make whenever they are woken up by surprise

Ghouls ekekeking whenever they see a bird through windows that they'd like to hunt but the glass stops them

Ghouls doing those sleepy little purry mehhh noises whenever they are super content and basically asleep and someone pets them

Just ghouls making cat noises

[clownakai]

They're everything to me

[thesarge]

Like uncle, like nephew

[infinite-orangepeel]

my imagined account of how the party discovers steddie is a thing…

the party shows up fifteen minutes early to steve’s house for movie night and walks right on in bc ofc steve’s given them each a key at this point and normally they’re more than welcome to show up any time. except for like right now.

as they enter the living room, they’re horrified to find that their beloved babysitter is making out with some girl (they asssume) that happens to have dark curly hair and look a lot like someone they know very well. unable to see the mystery woman’s face, they loudly gasp and shudder at the drama playing out in front of them. decidedly speaking for the group—mike jumps the gun and on the verge of tears yells:

“nancy ! what the hell ? how could you do this to jonathan ? i can’t believe you ! mom and dad didn’t raise you this way !”

and in response—with grand theatrics and a heavy dose of attitude, eddie munson—their adored dungeon master—tosses his curls over his shoulder, pulls away from steve and addresses the children they share (not officially but still):

“THANK YOU ! finally, someone sees the resemblance—stevie, i told you. you totally have a type; curly haired, doe eyed beauties !”

[lemonzestywrites]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz MWAH ty bestie adore you!!

i know zesty’s back to writing— CRAZY right? anyways here’s a little bucktommy fix-it fic cause if i’m being honest gang even as much as my multishipper heart loves buddie that breakup was fucking wack and if there’s anything i love doing, it’s ignoring canon when it suits me

anyways hope y’all enjoy :)

====

“He wanted serious, and I—” Something violent. A grey and harsh shoots through his veins. A sicken feeling that Tommy hasn’t felt in so long. He almost forgot what it felt like. He swallows deeply, trying to shove the rash of emotion that threatens to crawl up his throat. He glances over, hoping his eyes don’t look as wet as they feel. “Lucy, no one wants serious. Not with me.”

“It sounds like Buck does,” she insists.

For a second, a fleeting moment, hope flickers in his heart. Dancing at the idea of something more. But the emotion only lasts for so long before it feels extinguished by something else— something greater.

It’s like a dog he can’t control, something rapid and full of hate. Tired of mistreatment, of being used for another purpose. It kicks back wildly at the thought, harsh memories shooting back through his mind so many times before.

Of promises pressed into intimate skin. Of someone else he used to know so damn well that left him like a stranger at a train stop. In another life maybe it worked out. But being used isn’t abnormal to Tommy. He’s better as an experience.

A fragment of time that was glorious and good. Like a meteor shower hung beautifully in the sky that you witness for the night while the moon sits overhead. The promise of something better.

Tommy redirects his eyes back into his locker, head down as he finishes buttoning up his suit, prominently ignoring the hung photo of him and Evan on a picnic date a few weeks back that Tommy hasn’t had the heart to take down yet.

“Sal didn’t.”

tagging - @hippolotamus @devirnis @aroeddiediaz @jeeyuns @shyaudacity

[st-danger]

SISTER IMPERATOR APPRECIATION POST

FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT THIS WOMAN IS ABSOLUTELY STUNNING AND I WANT HER TO BE VERY STERN WITH ME AT ALL MOMENTS

SHE IS A REGAL LADY AND DESERVES MORE ATTENTION

(The actresses name is Maralyn Facey, or as I like to call her, my future wife)

[brrrritscoldinhere]

I have a headcanon where if Carver never happened and the season 2 group lived happily ever after, Luke revives Clementine's love for drawing!! He'd go out scouting for supplies and conveniently come back with colouring pencils and sketchbook from a home he searched through. At first Clem is hesitant because drawing and coloring is a thing she thinks is reserved with Lee, because she only did it when she was with him. She never touched another crayon and paper ever since he died, so she takes what Luke offers her with a lot of hesitation.

She, of course, still has her drawing of Lee in her bag. She's never let anyone else see or touch it, and she considers it a very special, very important part of her. It's the only physical thing left of her and Lee's time together. She doesn't ever want to draw after that, feeling like she's doing Lee's memory wrong by 'moving on' with drawing again. Of course that's just her guilt talking, though.

Luke, however, accidentally comes across it when Clementine leaves her bag (conveniently) open, and the drawing slips out. The illustration is obviously done by a child, and it's definitely made with a lot of love (Luke can see how it is, very determinedly, coloured within the lines) and he wonders if this is Lee who Clem told him about. He notices that the sketchbook he's given her is still empty, and while he can't say he understands (because he never will, he's accepted the fact that Clementine has her past and it's not his right to dig into it) he feels an urge to get her to start drawing again. She's eleven years old but at this point, she might as well be a seasoned veteran with how much she's gone through.

So one day, he gets her sketchbook, the colouring pencils and sits down in front of her.

"Hey Clem. I used to have this really neat horse, but I'm shi- uh, crap, at drawing. If I described it to you, do you think you could help me draw it? Have you ever seen a horse before?"

Clementine squints her eyes at him. "On TV, yeah. I used to watch My Little Pony."

Good enough.

So they spend the rest of the afternoon drawing horses, colouring them different shades of brown, black, white, grey - and he doesn't mind when she colours one in pink, because who is he to get in the way of artistic expression? - and by the end of it, she's on her stomach, feet swinging in the air and humming softly to herself.

He pretends not to notice when she starts to draw people instead of horses, when her illustrations start to look like a certain man he's seen in her bag. He pretends not to notice when she illustrates different scenes. They range from happy and sunny pictures to bloody and violent sketches. He can't help his smile though, when he spots a very familiar brown-haired man in a sitting position next to a little girl with curly hair, both of them drawing.

[yallthemwitches]

Film Studies

The transfigured projector pours light onto Lily’s face, creating a glow akin to moonlight. Every time he is able, he steals a glance at her, loving how her eyes are always wide with wonder despite already knowing what is going to happen. Her gaze dances around the screen, trying to take in every small detail until, finding something that interests her, she leans in just enough to whisper some arbitrary fact in his ear, as precious to him as a prayer.  He wants her to look at him the way she looks at those images: full of awe and a love purely born from happiness. But sitting next to her, on his bed, not touching, is currently the best he is going to get.

I wrote this piece for @jilytoberfest as a double prompt for Day 21 "Let me distract you" and Day 23 Indulging in Hobbies, as I originally had no intention of writing a piece a day, but now that I've miraculously kept up with the prompts, I feel a sense of duty to continue my daily streak..I guess we will see.

AO3 Here

 “Are you scared yet?”

“Not particularly.”

On the projection, an elevator chimes and golden doors open. A wave of blood rushes towards the screen, jump cutting from the whoosh of the fluid to a close up of a screaming child, mouth open but mute. 

“--Now?”

“If you keep asking Evans, I might never be.”

Lily makes a pouting face and it coils under James’ skin, itching to turn his head and kiss it away. Instead, he keeps a safe, friendly distance from her like always. It's an unspoken barrier neither of them dare to cross—but Merlin does he want to.

 At this point he could write a rulebook about being with her: shoulders can rest together side by side, but never overlap. Feet can touch, but only in the shifting of bodies. Arms stay firmly at the sides, behind the head, in the lap— never NEVER reaching across the small distance to feel her, so close yet absolutely out of bounds. 

He has being friends with Lily down to a science—but it doesn’t mean it isn’t absolutely torture. 

To be fair, it is mostly by his design. He had been the one to suggest Muggle Movie Mondays (he is proud to say he came up with the name) and he suggested using his dorm to do so. In theory, it was a brilliant idea, if he had thought through the finer points…like the fact that the only comfortable place to watch a film was to share space on his bed.

And despite what all of his mates say, he really hadn’t created the idea to make passes at her. He was honestly interested in the films she talked about. Being able to spend quality time with her was a perk, but mostly he loves the way her face lights up when he asks about a certain aspect of muggle movies. It brings out a light in her that nothing else did. She always becomes so animated, lost in her own thoughts when going on about a particular director or how something was made (“It's called a shot because it clicks like a gun—you do know what a gun is right?”). It reminds him of himself with quidditch: there are just some things that make the world feel livable.

The transfigured projector pours light onto Lily’s face, creating a glow akin to moonlight. Every time he is able, he steals a glance at her, loving how her eyes are always wide with wonder despite already knowing what is going to happen. Her gaze dances around the screen, trying to take in every small detail until, finding something that interests her, she leans in just enough to whisper some arbitrary fact in his ear, as precious to him as a prayer. 

He wants her to look at him the way she looks at those images: full of awe and a love purely born from happiness. But sitting next to her, on his bed, not touching, is currently the best he is going to get.

A shot of a bathroom. Walls painted a muted shade of lime green with orange trim. The camera perfectly framed at a bathtub accentuated with a white gossamer curtain. It cuts to the main character, his eyes wide, lower lip quivering with either fear or desire—intentionally unclear. The camera cuts back to the tub and behind the gossamer is the form of a woman, fingers crawling to pull back the curtain…

He took it as a joke earlier, but Lily was right to say movies are like magic. In one moment, he could be laughing about the complete ridiculousness of muggle imagination then the other be completely enraptured. Watching as a nude woman slowly prowls towards the foreground, he feels his mind start to go fuzzy, wincing in an anticipation he didn’t expect from something as distant as a projected image. 

A shot of warmth curls around his arm, making him jump. His mind still jumbled from the scene, he looks down to find her holding onto his forearm with both of her hands. Her body is curled towards him, face lowered like a cowering animal. Her eyes juggle between wide concentration and tightened shut and a voice floats up to him, small and shaky. 

“I hate this part.”

Any interest he has in the film is gone. He does his best to steady his breath, hopeful that Lily will read his quickened heartbeat as a reaction to whatever is occurring on screen. Her hands are clenching harder now and her face shrinks down against his shoulder, pressing one eye into his shirt while the other continues to be mesmerized.

Against better judgment, against all of his little rules and invisible walls he has created to keep this platonic friendship with her afloat, James pries Lily’s hands off his arm just long enough to wrap around and pull her into his chest. 

At first, she doesn’t seem to register it, still using his body to half shield the film from her eyes. She settles into his embrace and their legs intertwine. Maybe it was more out of the necessity of comfort than anything else, but the feeling makes James’ body vibrate. He thanks the dark enclosure of the four poster bed for hiding the flush of his skin and he pushes forward, curling his other arm around her, holding her tighter in a protective embrace.

“Are you scared yet?” His voice comes out lower than he intends, but the teasing is evident. Lily looks up at him with squinted eyes, their faces dangerously close. 

“--And you're not? You arse. I’m never showing a movie to you ever again.”

“Oh, don’t be like that Evans,” he murmurs, giving her body a small squeeze. The pressure of his arms around her makes blood rush to her cheeks. 

Something else flashes across her face and her eyes dart between holding his stare and looking down at his lips. He can still feel her heart pounding against his, but now he is unsure if it's because of the horrific looking woman on screen or him. 

“You’re distracting me, Potter.” 

Her voice sounds inviting, no longer riddled with the nerves of fear that it had earlier. 

“You seemed like you wanted a distraction. I hate for you to be scared on my watch.”

Again, the same expression. Her lips start to part, and he feels the tug of her hands on his torso, still grasping at his shirt from her moment of fear. 

Then it passes, as quickly as light itself. She pushes her cheek back against his chest, not removing herself from the embrace, but averting her eyes back to the curtain.

“Watch the film.”

But he can’t, not with her like this, and it seems like she can’t either. He starts to keep a running log of every move she makes. When he adjusts his position, she moves with him, careful not to break free of their hold. When something jumps on screen, her leg snaps up, hooking against his thigh and not moving back to its more modest place beside him. When a character is being chased, she presses her whole face into him, her breath creating condensation on his shirt, a small squeak of fear sighs into his chest. 

Neither of them give attention to it: a new unspoken agreement. 

He can tell she is still afraid. Even he can admit the film ramped up the horror in the last hour and in some twisted way he enjoys it: her heartbeat frantic against him, fingers contracting as the tensions on screen rise.

It is bliss. Horror filled, tortuous bliss. 

As the credits roll and the world comes tumbling back into the confines of the bed, James waits for Lily to stir in his arms, but she remains frozen against him. He lifts his hand and gives an experimental caress to her cheek, savoring every second his thumb skims across her warm skin. Her eyes close at his touch. 

“Did you die of fright?”

He can feel the muscles of her face curl upwards into a smile. 

“Piss off, don’t act like it wasn’t scary.”

“I’m not.” Emboldened by his first attempt, he moves his hand back to her cheek, resting it there to cradle her face against him. She sighs into his shirt again, his chest erupting in warmth. 

“So Godric Gryffindor—thoughts?”

“A very relatable cautionary tale about not taking shit jobs in haunted hotels.”

He feels Lily’s laughter rumble against him.

“You have personal experience?”

“Oh yeah—it's a long story though, maybe another time.”

Another giggle. He likes the way it vibrates into his bones. 

She peeks her eyes up at him from his chest, round and a brilliant green from the light of the projector.

“Promise you won’t take the piss out of me, but I actually think I’m scared enough to not want to walk back to the girls' dorm.”

He knows she can feel his heartbeat quicken under her, but he doesn’t care. He tries his best to sound natural.

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

She hesitates, the hand that has been clenching a part of his shirt tightening its grip. 

“Hmmm. Can I just stay here?”

He stares down at her, mouth gone slack as she looks up with innocent eyes. If there was any question before, he is now completely convinced: film is magic, or at least magical enough to make Lily Evans, THE Lily Evans, the one who he has pined over and slaved to forge a platonic friendship with, want to sleep in his bed. 

“Yeah, of course.”

He wants to flip her over, push their bodies together and kiss her until they forget the world entirely. Every possible scenario flashes through his head from worst to best. Is there even a worst case? Lily Evans is effectively about to sleep next to him, presumably touching, presumably sharing the same air. 

Lily extricates herself from his arms for the first time since she entered them and wiggles into a lying position. James transfigures the projector back into a spyglass, then adjusts in the darkness, trying to find the perfect balance of body language between we are just friends but if you want, please sweet merlin, let me hold you forever.

Thankfully, she takes charge. As he settles onto his back, she immediately curls herself around him, resting her head back where it had been during the film. Her leg edges against his, threatening to take the quick jump to slot around his thigh. 

“Hey James.” 

She never says his first name, at least never to his face. It sounds reborn coming from her mouth, like a song he could listen to for ages and never get tired of. How did she plan to end her sentence? I am endlessly in love with you? Can you shag me into the mattress? Can we never be apart for the rest of our lives?

“No one has ever put up with my stupid muggle movies like you have—not even Marlene or Snape.”

Her tone brings him back. The comment is raw, a broken piece of herself. He immediately feels like the worst version of a teenage boy, imagining all the ways the night could go, not thinking that maybe Lily just needs someone to be just close to her for once.

“Sounds like all your friends are arseholes.”

She picks up her head from his chest, her face close to his now. Even in the dark her eyes somehow find light to glimmer from. 

“Well, it means a lot to me.” She murmurs.

“You mean a lot to me.” 

She searches his face and his nerves run rampant. They have been crossing all sorts of barriers today but putting words to it? That might be the most unforgivable. A smile forms before her lips press against his cheek, warm and soft against his skin. A wave of relief flashes over him and his arms instinctively curl around her to keep her in place.

“I know.”

Pulling away slightly, she hovers herself back over him, so close her breath tickles, and rests her head inside the crook of his neck. A small, hot hand reaches down and finds his, giving it a squeeze. 

He can’t believe he does, but he finally drifts to sleep, feeling her heartbeat slow against his, her breath hot on his neck. In the morning he wakes and she is still there, not some phantom made by his design, but flesh and blood and Lily. 

From beyond the curtains one of the boys slams the bathroom door and the distinct wail of Sirius’ singing crashes like cymbals into the room. She jolts awake, pressing both hands into his chest.

He bats his eyes open, pretending to be lulled from a dream rather than ripped completely from sleep just like she was. He looks up. Her eyes are beautiful and round and completely filled with terror. 

“Oh my god.”

Another slam, another screech, this time from Peter. The stern, ennui riddled voice of Remus pierces through the curtain. 

“Oi, Prongs. You promised me you’d help me study this morning. What are you doing in there?”

James can’t help but feel a grin crack on his face from the absurdity of it all. Lily stays frozen against him, eyes closed as tight as possible with a face twisted into some form of embarrassment and shock. 

He can’t help himself. He reaches up and presses his palm against her cheek, letting his thumb dare to skim against her jaw. 

“What is it Evans? You scared?”

[stargiirl27]

I have all the evidence that the beatles were having a torrid fourway love affair, but every time I try to explain it I look like this: