#how nasty and cold

[aaandbackstabbed]

Goldie comes from a big family like a BIG FAMILY

[shirecorn]

Tumblr keeps popping up to sell me ad free dashboard. But what it doesn't understand is that me and the ads have a sort of symbiosis at this point.

The guys from the fake gameplay trailers for a predatory mobile app are my blorbos

[altcvnningham]

picture frame {request}

adler x f!reader (pregnant!reader)

request: for anon, who asked for pregnant!reader x adler who does nottt wanna get on reader's bad side!!

tags: fluff, pregnant!reader, reader is ex-cia, domestic, so domestic it's practically an au, adler is ooc but let him be happy, future girldad!adler, author is feeling christmassy so christmas mention wc: 1.3k

a/n: i'm not usually a fan of pregnancy fics or fluff without underlying angst but i enjoyed this one, it was so comforting to write!! i hope i did this justice!! adler is a bit ooc but i don't wanna succumb poor reader to deadbeat dadler, so this is like post-bo6. also had to bind my hands to make sure i didn’t veer off writing an honorary uncle woods segment….. that man already has a whole david mason to worry about never mind miss adler junior. anyway enjoy !!

There isn’t a thing Adler fears in this world, but if he had to choose whose bad side he’d rather avoid getting on, it’s yours.

And that being said, it’s a fear coupled with excitement that verges on delirium- the ex clandestine special officer had never thought himself fit for married life, given his failed attempt in the past, and had all but given up on the faraway white picket-fence dream long ago.

There existed an Adler once, Russ, soft-faced and scarless, who’d dedicated such a dream to a snippet he’d spied once in a magazine; some schlocky, oversaturated Home Style issue perched upon a grocery store counter, featuring a staged photograph of an all-American nuclear family on some Christmas morning by the tree. Husband kicked back in a recliner with a cigar and eggnog, pregnant-bellied wife tinkering with baubles on the tree, two bright-eyed girls at her feet in matching pyjamas tearing into red-ribboned gifts. So sweet and saccharine a picture it verged on tooth-rotting.

A man of twenty or so at the time, already welded to the army fatigues he donned like a second skin, he’d rolled his eyes, checked out his pack of cigarettes, and went on his way. But he’d never forgotten the picture, or the bittersweet sadness lodged in his chest beside it. Perhaps partly knowing that such a life could never be his, fictitious and just out of reach. Were he a different man- a better man- maybe he’d wake up one morning to a pretty wife sleeping beside him, kids giggling down the hall, his hands soft and bloodless. Were he a better man, maybe he’d deserve such a thing.

And Adler is not a better man. Certainly no more than he was the day he’d seen that picture, and even then he doesn’t reckon he was wholly good. So God knows what he’d done to deserve this.

“No, no, a little to the left,” you say as you gesture with a rolled up interior design magazine, lips pursed in a sigh. A hand caressing your belly, crumpling your agitated, paint-flecked face, you’d been working on the nursery for hours.

Adler won’t admit how his aged back strains when he holds the picture frame up to the wall, nor can he hide the amused smile that starts to unfold when he catches wind of your ire. Balancing effortlessly atop the stepladder, he throws you a look back over his shoulder.

“Any more to the left and it’ll be goin’ out the window. You’re asking me to move mountains here.”

“And I’ll be asking you to move out if you don’t get that picture straight,” you tease, half a smile. “I’m not telling our daughter that she can’t know what gramma and pop looked like ‘cause you couldn’t hang a picture frame.”

Adler raises a hand in a surrender as he blithely succumbs to your demands, moving the frame leftward and fastening it exactly as you’d asked. He knows not to provoke your anger, a little pricklier now in your last few months of pregnancy, and though it’s all in good fun he could almost swear he’d near lose his head last week when he’d made a joke about your odd cravings, your empty coffee cup primed and ready to be launched at him.

But he’s as loving as any man with a blackened heart like him could possibly be, doting on you to a degree of obsession that was nigh unimaginable; both of you a world removed from your respective lives within the CIA, a far cry from having to dig out the odd bullet from one another and patch each other up in the midst of gunfights, sheltering for cover behind old splintered buildings. Domestic life wasn’t exactly a warzone, but it had been hard to settle into a vague sense of normalcy, almost like adopting new identities entirely. A prospect he’d joked about, now he was no longer officially CIA, changing your names to Mr. and Mrs. John Doe. Yeah, you’d groused, good luck hiding anywhere with that scar.

Still, it was fair game when he chose to get on your bad side. You’d once laughed, pelting him with your oven mitt after he’d thought it wise to joke about your cooking- your fault for getting caught in the crossfire.

“There,” he groans as he descends from the stepladder, shuffling back next to you so he could glimpse the frame from your perspective. “How’s that please you?”

It was a lovely thing. Not just the picture frame now hanging perfectly above the undecorated cot, but everything. This, your quaint home in the suburbs, away from the noise, playing your little game of house. Between the odd intel request from Woods, who’d jokingly insist he’d trade your help deciphering transcripts for him hosting the next Fourth of July cookout in your backyard, it was, relatively, a normal life. One that in truth you never thought you’d live to see.

It’s the little things, you suppose. Like the picture frame above the cot, in the little pale blue and pink nursery, half-complete.

You caress an idle hand over your tummy, feeling Russell’s own waver on the small of your back. Admiring your shared handiwork, you tilt your head with a smile.

“Mm. Perfect. Looks nice with the walls- wouldn’t have picked it for a girl but I think the duck-egg blue is just right.”

If Adler had resisted the urge to snidely tease just to get under your skin, he’d sorely lost. And if hours of sifting mindlessly through paint swatches had taught him anything, it’s that you took the choice of particular hues deathly seriously. He smirks.

“Oh? I thought it was periwinkle.”

There’s a deafening beat of silence before Adler flings his arms up in defence, warding off your attacks as you smack at him with the rolled up magazine; no amount of time out of the CIA had made your right hook any weaker, and you’re relentless with your barrage of attacks, met only by sounds of feigned agony and raspy laughter.

He doesn’t much remember what that picture in that old Home Style magazine had looked like, as his life slowly assumed the shape of you. He had everything he needed right here, and wanted for very little else. Wasn’t exactly choice to be excommunicated from the CIA after the mess in Panama, but he’s happy working for himself, for Marshall, teaming back up with Woods for the occasional op, only now he has an excuse to actually watch his own six, knowing who and what he had waiting at home for him. Home. A foreign word. It almost frightens him, to think how simple and easy a life he’s got between all the blood and the mess, how undeserving he feels of even a lick of it.

But a month or so later, come Christmas morning, he gets struck with the strangest frisson of déjà vu. Over a glass of eggnog, helping you fix the tinsel that had fallen from the tree again, he looks at you and he sees it. Feels it, some nameless void in him suddenly filled. A blink in the back of his mind and he sees that faded magazine article, only it’s you, rosy-cheeked and smiling as you are now, tinsel tumbling from your hands as you rush wobbling to his side. You let out a frantic gasp, seizing his wrist, and pull his hand to press against your belly, insisting that you feel a kick. And all he can do is laugh, teasing with a dry smile.

“Look at that. Just as strong n’ mean as her mama.”

[lcdrarry]

📽 Grab your popcorn! 🍿 LCDrarry is back 🎞

"Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry, LCD) is an anonymous prompt-based fest, where authors and artists create pieces that are inspired by or based on a film, a theatre play, a TV series/show, a podcast, an audioplay/drama or an audiobook. The main pairing for all submissions is Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter ("Drarry"). Podfics are also very welcome! More information in the fest rules on AO3.

Find all of the important infos & links under the cut!

Fest Timeline

Prompting: January 10 to January 17

Claiming/Sign-ups: January 20 to March 15

Submissions due: April 15

Posting begins: May 1

Reveals: June 15

Important links

LCDrarry Prompts for Fic and Art <- browse the fic & art prompts!

LCDrarry Prompts for Podfics <- browse the podfic prompts!

LCDrarry Sign-up/Claiming Form <- OPEN TILL 15 MARCH

LCDrarry Rules and AO3 Collection

LCDrarry Fest Discord

Please share and signal boost! We’re so looking forward to all your ideas and creations! 

Your LCDrarry mods Tami @celilasart​ & Suzi @erin-riwen​

[fyodcrs]

The trial by flood was appropriate for me, seeing as I am a servant of God. But I'm rather sickly. I would be in real trouble if I were to fall ill. So I'll repay you with the same trial. Well, then, I'll be off. I pray that you both will be in the arms of your God in these final moments.

[harbingersecho]

grif: locus you're not, you're not blushing right you wouldnt.. u oudnt not, sarge?

locus:

grif: please pleas eno

[yumeurl]

real tweets that james and regulus have made

[sukugo]

there's something terribly soft about sukugo, which i think is very interesting when put beside the conception that exists of their characters, or really, what their characters actually are and stand for.

bc sukuna and gojo are the strongest. they represent jujutsu in its entirety and carry the true essence of it in their selves. they are jujutsu personified.

and the world of jujutsu is not easy, it's cold and ruthless and destructive. and they are the pinnacle of this endlessly cruel world, drenched in death and everything that jujutsu entails, capable of so much destruction and horror (are even considered to be inhuman)

but then, their relationship with each other, is not so.

it's... the opposite. their relationship is one of joy, of fulfillment, and love. it's not destructive, it's not cold or ruthless. it's warm and loving and constructive. there's a thread of tenderness that laces all their interactions, from the very first till the very last.

and you can really see it in the entirety of their confrontation. it's joyous, they're ecstatic. even in the end, when sukuna finally kills gojo. it's all warmth. it's all love. gojo's death isn't sad. it's joyful. he dies with a smile on his face. sukuna smiles back at him. they give each other, not take from each other. gojo gives love and sukuna gives love back. and that's what ultimately leads to the culmination of their battle. gojo dies for that love, by that love.

[moongothic]

So the Seraphim only take orders from certain people they've been programmed to follow (namely the Vegapunks and the Gorosei), but also they do take orders from individuals who possess an authority chip. Between that and the knowledge that the Seraphim are cyborgs, it makes me wonder...

Like, do they have somekinda control chip installed somewhere in their bodies (brain, spine?) that acts as the thing that forces them to follow orders and not act (too much) on their own will? 'Cause would the existence of an authority chip, a thing that essentially "sends out orders", not also imply the existence of something that recieves the order (like other than their brain) and forcibly puts it into motion? Something similar to whatever visual scanner+database combo Vegapunk installed into Kuma that allowed him to instantly recognize certain people and whether or not they were enemies or allies to him (at least as far as the WG thinks)

'Cause if so, like. I wonder. Could you remove that chip and basically free the Seraphim from being just borderline-mindless flesh robots?

In that scenario... what would they become?

Because, like, we don't know how much Free Will the Seraphim even have, how developed their minds are? Are/would they be fully functional human beings (if immature because they're still kids) who have just had half their mind essentially turned off so they don't think about anything else except following orders? If you freed them from the WG's control would they be able to live and function freely just like Stussy's clone can? But when being under that kind of control is all they've ever known, would they know how to function? Like what do you do, where do you go, who do you become? Who are you to begin with, does that even matter? What about your relation to the person you were cloned from, what does that mean? Are you doomed (🐊🦩🦇) or expected (🦈🐻🐍🦅) to become just like the person you were cloned from? Do you even want that? What will having that kind of freedom to do and become whatever you want even mean to someone who has never known what it means to even want something for themselves?

(But also, depending on who you were cloned from, would people even trust you enough to allow you go free and live your own life, or would you be deemed a threat by simply existing because you are the clone of a horrible, heinous person?) (Of course, we know existing is not a crime, and no one is born into this world a criminal. But we also know the World of One Piece does not always think this kindly)

[winedogs]

this trial had EVERYTHING. knocked bars. technical difficulties. blown teeters. bad handling. good handling but Jay blew me off and did what he wanted anyways. flawless dogwalk contacts that meant nothing because he popped the weaves for no reason. and a perfect 6.7YPS JWW run with one singular bar to make me go insane.

[talentforlying]

tbh i think the coldest and most shocking thing that can happen in an argument with this man is if you call him "john" and he corrects you to "constantine". biggest red flag you can find on the play. sounds pretentious when you're not experiencing it. means he's absolutely fucking furious with you.

[express-archives]

thinking about esfir.....

[whifferdills]

putting stevia or aspartame into drinks not explicitly labeled diet ought to be punishable by death tbh

[hey-heigo]

im freakin sick.................

[sleepwithangels]

ringing the new year in with me being on my sick bed..sooo unfortunate!!! oh well. happy new year to the beautiful people in my phone. i love you!!!

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

235. Witchfinder General (1968)