#he TRIED to stop it

[rhaenyradelights]

when you say rhaenyra is not daemon’s childwife, what do you mean?

this has been ennumerated exhaustingly by people much better with words that i, but they very very very specifically do not get married until rhaenyra is a grown woman, and that is both a result of daemon's aborted attempts at "saving her" from him, and a source of real deep pain for rhaenyra. it is so incredibly important to the crux of their dynamic that rhaenyra's childhood was marked by the euphoria of being around daemon and then long (frequent) periods of being separated from him. that's where the whole vision at harrenhal comes in....

he sweeps in and then he leaves the wreckage behind. and though a very large part of this is because of viserys, and daemon's continual banishments as punishment, it still harms her irrevocably. and even as he takes her to the brothel, he stops, and he does try to save her. it was never going to work, but it's like. very important that he tries. and not only does he try, but he leaves for a decade. and he is entirely ready to leave her again and go back to pentos with the dragon twins, before she stops him. and she, as an adult, proposes a marriage that is both politically advantageous but also an attempt to stop the constant wounding from abandonment that she carries with her. they get married in the style of old valyria, with a blood bond (are they not already bonded by blood), so that he can never leave her again in any way that matters.

but at this point. she's an adult. he's left her alone for ten years, and her childhood before then was a tapestry of dashed hopes. in all the spaces he left behind grew her fears of inadequacy, her fears of abandonment, her fierce attempts at Becoming Him when he wasn't there to be himself, an independent life carved out of a very particular cage of expectation but still, in rhaenyra's own word's, droll tragedy.

and so now when they fight, they are bringing a specific set of hurts and resentments and histories - tied to viserys of course, but also a result of the rope-burn from the stretched cord between them, and the tension between rhaenyra's current role as his queen that he must prostrate himself for, and his wife/niece, who remains, as always, the most beloved person in his life.... and rhaenyra's knowledge that even as he has married her, crowned her, and serves her, she can never truly stop him from getting on caraxes and acting of his own free will, and leaving her. he is the sword, he wants to be beholden to her and serve her, but she is not his childbride, and she never was, and that's a source of profound regret and also the site of some of their deepest pain.

[thelilylav]

Aziraphale is the most character ever. He ran out of ideas so he declared war on hell. He canonically says fuck. His favourite colour is yellow. He’s literally an angel and can speak every language on earth but still isn’t fluent in french. He told his boyfriend to shoot him for his magic act and made him go through with it when their miracles weren’t working. He gave away his flaming sword and then lied about it for the next 6000 years. He has a bookshop that never sells books. No one’s doing it like him.

[angsty-art-ist]

my magnum opus actually

[katsinspats]

Tragic: Guy you based your entire villain backstory on doesn't even remember you

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

"right, one more attempt, and then i think we're gonna have to call it the end of the session."

mumbo died on his last attempt. right before grian would have ended the session. right before grian could have saved him.

"but i just don't want to kill jimmy..."

he could have taken the shot then and there. he could have lived.

but the miner didn't want to kill the canary. he wanted the canary to live. and he died for it. because miners aren't meant to go into the coal mines alone.

[thankstothe]

this show rewires you fundamentally in 60 seconds and then just goes on to have more seasons. audacity

[jokamachai]

“LOOK AT THE SKY, MARTIN… IT’S LOOKING BACK!”

Hello son, I came back and brought the milk too!! Anyway yes I’m relistening to TMA (again) so there’s a chance that I’ll be posting some more art (maybe). Either way enjoy some delicious crazy Jon vibes!!

[omagpies]

i need a break, maybe i’ll take five

shake it up and medicate, maybe i’ll take five

[versasfanficwastedump]

my dad says that the worst day of his life was when I was 7 and we were fighting so I screamed that I hated him.

Anyway, imagine Bruce and Dick’s first fight. And Dick is just so angry and he wants to push Bruce away before Bruce can do it to him (or maybe he just wants to piss Bruce off), so he just shouts, “I hate you!”

but he’s not prepared for Bruce to freeze. Then he stares at Dick just long enough for him to feel guilty.

And then Bruce justs bursts into tears.

[blueskittlesart]

Now that you're gone

[grinchwrapsupreme]

shawn's deep trust of lassiter keeps catching me so off-guard like when he's held captive and lassie and henry both turn up he tries to yell "carlton" not "dad" and when he sees a guy with a gun come into the restaurant he goes straight for lassie and keeps trying to get his attention instead of literally any of the other dozens of cops in the room with them and when he's telling someone to call the police he tells them to ask for lassiter, not jules, not vick, lassiter. like he spends all his time provoking lassie but the second there's danger there's literally no one else he trusts more

[thatpunnyperson]

According to NBC here in the US, the missing titanic sub has been found. As debris. Off the bow of the Titanic wreckage.

And it looks like the sub suffered what we all suspected, and what was undoubtedly the more merciful of the two options: a catastrophic implosion from the pressure.

Also, more info has come to light about the fishing trawler with the hundreds of migrants that sank cataclysmically off the coast of Greece, indicating that the greek coast guard knew about the vessel AND how much trouble the vessel was in, and were towing it at a speed that made it capsize, at which point they unhooked the tow line and watched the trawler sink without helping the passengers to safety. Despite a bunch of other ships trying to help as well throughout the whole ordeal.

So a lot of people are dead, all because of regulations (and the lack thereof) regarding sea-faring vessels and rescue protocols. People shouldnt be allowed to make a business charging a ton of money for a ride on an uncertified, unsafe, un-seaworthy ship going deep into the ocean with no distress beacon or tether to the mothership. People also shouldnt be allowed to enact laws that criminalize the ferrying of refugees, which then force the refugees to hitch rides on fishing trawlers, and which also prevent people from helping those fishing trawlers full of refugees due to fear of legal consequences.

Hopefully BOTH of these events spark changes on an international scale in terms of what is legally allowed to be sailed, who is legally allowed to be the passengers, and what the rescue protocols are in the event of disaster for any seafaring vessel, illegal or not. It shouldnt be just the global 1% who get 24/7 search parties and remote-operated submersibles helping rescue them.

[riaki]

ur highschool bully gojo was chefs kiss 💋 what do u think about them going to the same college and taking the same classes?? and the reader sitting next/talking to some other guy and satoru gets jealous?? arwahhhshdhshshs so many possibilities, i hope u continue writing it!!

hi nonnie !! thank you so much :) this is ur official part 2 ! i was struggling to think up some possibilities but this helped a lot :oo | read part 1 here ! -> cw: swearing, jealousy, i let it get fic length oops

(former) highschoolbully!gojo on the brain again… like. when you end up seeing him again however many months later, and you can tell that he’s changed. it’s not like its immediately obvious to anyone who doesn’t really know him like you (used to); but he’s a little softer-spoken and his smiles seem nine times more genuine. it’s not a hundred percent; the kind that really lights up his face instead of just barely falling short of his stark blue eyes, but it's something.

of course, you have nothing to base it off of, because when you do inevitably see him again it's the very definition of meet ugly.

college is a new frontier, but its also a clean slate. its your first time going into something so new without your old bestfriend at your side, but some faint flickering thought reminds you that it might be better that way. but the universe is against you from the very first day, when youre gettin yourself some coffee from the same chain you did the morning of that fateful presentation so many moons ago. you're too busy thinking to yourself what kind of strange parting ritual it is to relive your trauma to notice the lanky, white-haired boy who hits his head on the chiming bell over the doorway. people are giggling around you n sighing dreamily but youre too deep in the music pumping through your headphones to notice and your eyes are glued to the class schedule on your phone, trying to ensure you dont get lost on the first day when—

you blink and your ass is flat on the dirty floor of the coffee shop, and the first thing you register is that your stomach is soaked and burning. you'd spilled your coffee. it takes you a moment to realize, but when you do you're pissed. so you quickly get to your feet, trying to reign in what little of your ego you have left to give the offender who bumped into you a piece of your mind as you look up, then..

how unlucky do you have to be?

just like that, satoru's slid himself back into your life, after ramming through its locked gates. you forget that he always forgets the point of keys, both when it comes to his apartment (which you still have the spare key of in case of emergencies), and the door to your heart. to rub salt in the wound, the only thing that's stained with your coffee order are his shoes, which look like they cost three weeks of your old job salary, but it's all over your shirt. of course it is. because why not? make it look like you tripped and fell into a patch of mud on your way to the lecture hall and tack on an unwelcome reunion with your ex-bestfriend.

to you, it's like the cloud of gloom from your highschool youth has resettled over your head like a swarm of gnats on a dreary, hot summer day. the stars always seem to skew and misalign themselves for you. but for satoru, the stars have handed him one of those huge swirly lollipops that you only ever see being paraded about by toddlers. he recovers almost instantly, trading the burn on his feet and the way it sours your expression like he's just squirted pure citric acid into your throat for a pleasant burn of his own on his cheeks. but it's whatever. girls seem to like it when he blushes, for some reason. he won't question it, if it works on the only one he cares about.

he holds his hand out, ready to help you out like the good samaritan he's become— and it's like a real burn to his heart this time when you ignore it and stand up on your own, refusing to look up and meet his pleading gaze. might as well have taken an iron stoker right out of the fire and jabbed him with it. but he's gojo satoru! he won't be defeated by this one mere, maybe very significant reunion. he's got stamina.

so he offers to buy you a new drink, feels his heart sink when you shake your head (can't even spare a little 'no' in his direction), and talks enough for the both of you when you leave the dingy little store make your way down to campus and the lecture building. you clearly don't want to see him, but he ignores that in exchange to notice the way you shiver every so often. the previously searing-hot coffee that stains your shirt turns cold fast, and moisture n wind don't mix well. he wishes he could offer you some of his own warm coffee, no doubt sickeningly sweet, but he has some sensitivity now, apparently. so, in a brash moment, he decides to take his blazer off and drape it over your shoulders instead.

when you cross the threshold between city and campus, you expect him to yank it off your back and be on his merry way. but he keeps walking next to you, so you walk a little faster, and you absolutely loathe the cheeky little grin that curves the corners of his lips up to show a glint of teeth when he effortlessly keeps up. you curse his long legs when you find yourself winded, but at least you can lose him when you get there.

or, that's what you think. once again, your constellations break themselves to rebuild anew for satoru. you're about to call him a stalker when he follows you all the way to your classroom with that smirk that's growing exponentially until— oh, no.

your phone that's been on the schedule up until now desperately scrolls to the roster— and there it is. he's in your class. needless to say, not another word goes between you as you stomp in and take a seat. luckily for you, you've already corresponded with your roommate's brother (who's annoyingly cute, satoru notices) and agreed to sit next to each other. satoru takes the seat right above you and never stops kicking his freakishly long legs against the wood the entire time.

so yeah, it's obvious he's not a saint; he still has that undoable ego and he's cocky as fuck (as you have the misfortune of finding out when he quickly bullies your professor), but there's a certain familiarity in that no matter how ugly it might appear to others. and if you asked (which he really, really hopes you will someday), he doesn't hang around douchebags who use kids' foreheads for ashtrays and treat girls like they're candy from a glittery pez dispenser. and at least he's switched harassment targets. even though he has an overwhelming sense of superiority over others and never has his lips together for more than five seconds, and even though he has this hellish habit of clicking his pen whenever he's not talking (or when someone else is), it seems like he's changed.

and over time, you gradually find yourself warming up to him. the spunkiness that used to get on your nerves ceaselessly becomes an object of endearment, and you don't really mind the way he never seems to stop moving anymore. it's a nice sort of distraction in the lifeless still of the lecture hall, albeit the pen clicking still drives you near insanity. you notice he always does it obnoxiously and quickly when you're talking to your roommate's brother, but you ignore it.

and for satoru? he hates that he can kinda sorta really tell that you're the only one who can read him like he's a damn book, cus you slowly start to soften up in the nostalgia of his presence like cold playdough between warm fingers that tell you he may have finally caught you again after letting you slip the first time. and he notices it. this time, he's determined not to let you be the one that got away again. but youre really giving him a shit time outta it with the way you constantly entertain the guy who always has his breath in your face.

yeah, he's got a cute face that's sunkissed by freckles. yeah, his hair looks like he models for shampoo companies. and fuck, he has a nice voice. but what of it? satoru's the one with the mesmerizing blue irises and the cloudy white hair your professor wishes he had instead of sad little wisps of old age. still, as chilly days turn into frigid weeks, he gets the perfect backseat angle of the growing relationship between the two of you. the boy's kinda dumb so you copy off of satoru’s work when you need to (he has to hide the 1-0 scoreboard between him and the guy on a sticky note from you when you take his notes), but said guy’s always buying you stuff and lending you erasers and laughing when you flick the shavings at the annoying girl who never stops whispering in the front of the room.

satoru tries to act unbothered, and he almost convinces everyone. including himself. but the angry, burning knot in his chest that's entirely different from coffee stains suggests something more. that should be him at your side. him, making balls of paper with rude scribbles and silly doodles to throw at the people he knows you don't like. him, surprising you with little gifts and the cheap trinkets he knows you adore so much instead of all the luxury things he could afford. there's no way this punk could possibly measure up to him, right? but at least you and satoru are well on your way to becoming friends again. not as close as you used to be, but it's something. substantial. and he's learned to be patient in the time you've been gone.

but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't tired of it. he’s endlessly plagued with thoughts of increasing intensity— first, it starts out with just you. only you. the way he likes it. the way he likes your face, and your pretty eyes and your gorgeous lips and your soft hair and your figure and the complimenting clothes you wear. but it takes a turn; thoughts turn into dreams that turn into fantasies and he's lying when he says he doesn't enjoy them when he accidentally lets it slip during a group study session— and it’s all fine— but then, that guy appears. the brat who seems to sit a centimeter closer to you with each coming day. not only does he haunt satoru in real life, he’s tormenting his dreams, too. tainting the image of beautiful you.

needless to say, satoru starts to wake up with his hands gripping his damp pillow like he's choking it, acutely aware of the sweat sliding down his neck and over his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the dorm's air conditioner run and thinking of what it'd be like for dreams (the ones where he replaces the boy) to become reality.

it's a buildup. and soon, he reaches the apex; it's like a rollercoaster, that stomach-twisting moment when you reach the top of the rail that points to the steep descent downward. but this time, he hopes it's a thrill he gets instead of the usual falling fright; the one he got when he realized he’d slipped between your fingers in highschool.

and satoru finally comes to a grinding halt at the top of the ride one breezy fall day when he decides he wants you back in his life after you smile brightly at him and wave goodbye for the day. he’s tired of you having one foot in and one foot out of his heart; he wants, needs more. he always has, he realizes.

so he’s thinking about you and how to approach the feelings he’s realized during those long lectures, and one morning he comes up with some semblance of a plan when he’s high on the sugar from the fruit tea you bought him that morning. and he hopes that, by the end of it, he'll leave your apartment with your hand in his currently empty one, chilled with the remnants of cold condensation from the bottle.

soon enough, satoru finds himself extinguishing his nerves and raising a tense fist to knock on the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and a flimsy plan to ask you out on a midterm study sesh and maybe even a date, but he stops when he realizes it’s slightly ajar. a brief thought of what look might be on your face when he surprises you crosses his mind, so he lets himself in quietly, because he knows every single floorboard that creaks like the back of his palm from his childhood. he’s hit with a wave of warmth and an achingly familiar scent that twists at his heart, and your apartment is cozy and safe and it screams you and he thinks he catches sight of his jacket slung across the back of the couch in your living room, but he’s not sure so he takes a step forward and—

he’s greeted with the sight of that stupid guy with the nice hair and the freckles, and it makes his heart drop. but even worse, he’s kissing you and his arms are winding around your waist but you’re kissing him back with a slight hesitation that’s blinded to satoru by his shock and the fingers he thought would end up in his own tonight card through the boy’s hair and your lips glisten with the strawberry-kiwi flavored gloss he watched the boy give you a few days back and his world is turning red and he feels like his throat is constricting and he can’t breathe—

and he doesn’t even realize you’ve parted lips and you’re calling his name through the newfound tightness of his chest and the painful ringing in his ears thats even louder than any silence of a lecture hall, or the void that should’ve been filled with your voice during the time you were apart. but now satoru realizes he’d take that any fucking chance to have that again because it’s so much better than what he’s stuck with now. having you, but not really having you, because you’re there but you’re someone else’s and you’re not his and he isn’t yours. the best thing he could ever hope for was for you to own an article of his clothing and a piece of his shattered heart, broken into a million fragments. some cruel voice in his buzzing head reminds him to change the scoreboard to 0-100.

and he could buy you cheap hot coffee or earn your smiles from scrunched up paper balls or even hear your laugh with crude jokes, but there’s no point when he realizes he can’t buy you with caffeine or earn you with hitting the back of people’s heads with his bio notes or have you and your laugh all to himself anymore.

it’s almost pathetic, the way satoru’s voice cracks and changes. the look of unadulterated concern on the face of the boy who stole your lips just adds fuel to the fire.

“gojo? what are you doing here— hey, are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

he noticed you’d stopped calling him satoru a few weeks back. he should’ve seen it coming.

“huh? oh, yeah. i’m good. i think you’re the one hallucinating.”

he’d never told a bigger lie in his life.

satoru had left after excusing himself for intruding. how very unlike him to be so polite, you think.

so in the end, he leaves your apartment with something in his hand, after all. but it's not your own— just his blazer that you’d given back to him before he stepped out the door, taunting him with the faint scent of coffee and lingering perfume. his hope was foolish, so it seems. it’s too bad, he thinks. if it were him, he would’ve sandwiched you against your counter while he kissed. but it wasn’t. apparently, it was your turn for your stars to align at the price of his.

and so, gojo satoru, the boy force-turned man with a chipped ego and a completely broken heart, loses you again.

bonus bonus.. part 2….

[sinswearslaughter]

Luke Skywalker, a farm boy who grew up on Tatooine, with the worst scum of the Galaxy around him any time he goes to any town, would not be a naive wimp.

He is a kind kid, yes, Owen was a bit overprotective but that would NOT be enough.

Realistically speaking, Luke would have :

- enough stamina to work for a few hours in the sun, without breaks (so possibly even longer in a more gentle climate)

- an alcohol tolerance rivaling that of most Rebellion veterans (I refuse to believe blue milk is his go-to and that drinking age on Tatooine is even a thing),

- quite possibly knowledge on how to make moonshine out of dirt, sticks and a little water, because what else did they have on Tatooine,

- street intelligence, not highlighted enough in the movies I feel - he is a trouble magnet and if he lived to be 17 then, he had to have something to make up for it,

- large amounts of knowledge about slave trade, water trade and Hutt politics, because whether he likes it or not he would pick them up casually, just by living in a society,

- a lot of random everyday skills that people like Leia would not have, mending clothes, creating makeshift tools, home health remedies etc.

Say it with me - LUKE IS A FARM BOY.

Farm boys rarely can afford to be naive or trusting for no reason. Farm boys have to be street smart. Luke would be more competent than some people like to think.

[ryllen]

Older Sylus as actual dad 😭👌✨

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Breaking Bread, and Spilling Soup.

[Bonus art]

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