#im back with shit writing
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Mother Superion kept tabs on what happened inside the new OCS HQ. She could never be too careful. Some FBCs still lurk around the world, hoping to revive the faith in a false god.
Vincent has been quietly supporting her in preparation for the Holy War, not complaining about the unkind and unaccepting glares of the sisters.
No, he repents in silence.
From time to time, Mother Superion would call Dr. Salvius to check if Ava had returned, and if there was a change in Ark. From time to time, she would look up at the sky, hoping to have a glance at one of her lost children.
A child she failed.
Maybe, if she had made an effort to show she appreciate Lilith, maybe she wouldn’t have gone to Adriel for help.
Maybe, if she had shown she cared for her, Lilith would have stayed.
Maybe, if she had been a better mother, she wouldn’t have lost Lilith.
#im back with shit writing#this time we take mother superion with us#warrior nun#sister lilith#save warrior nun#mother superion#mother superion is a badass#but a big ol' softie
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𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓:
♡ Aimée likes to present herself as an 'it' girl at school. She is a known exhibitionist in town, and is rumored that she gets around.
♡ Kleptomaniac. Pickpockets people during work hours and even during encounters. It gives her a little extra cash but she does have multiple jobs. Prefers stealing things rather than actually paying for them. Has been caught before but usually with a little bit of 'persuasion', she's able to get away scot-free.
♡ A sweet talker. (turns out paying attention in English class does have its benefits) She oftentimes tries to get out of a situation by finessing people. Her mouth is probably her best asset, in more ways than one :)
♡ While Aimée doesn't outwardly harass others, she enjoys teasing and messing with them. Silver-tongued, playful and witty, she finds that she enjoys pushing peoples' buttons, and seeing how they react after a measly few words is always a fun time. And if they fall for her somehow, then that's a major plus, breaking hearts is her favorite past time ♡
♡ In private, she is actually meeker than how she shows herself to be. However, she finds comfort in this persona she's created. Everyone knows that you're easy prey if you act shy and show any vulnerability, so she's learned the hard way to always take the first bite.
♡ By being promiscuous herself, it gives her a sense of autonomy in a way. In her mind, if she objectifies herself first, then she's taking away that decision people have over her body.
♡ Her arousal is kept high at all times so she can avoid overthinking, its a way to cope from everything. Sex is a great distraction. It makes her feel good, and all she needs to do is just focus on the what was happening during the moment, and on giving the person she's with pleasure that she's very happy to provide.
♡ Can't find herself to commit to anyone due to her fear of opening herself up to others. Sex is easy. To her, it's simple. And it's something she knows she's good at. Meanwhile, feelings and emotions are messy. It complicates a lot of things. But she can't help but get attached to some people. Whenever she realizes that she's getting too close, she distances herself and quickly moves on to a new person, minimizing the chances of any feelings developing further.
♡ This is where her reputation as a heartbreaker comes from. It's not actually something she actively likes doing, but it's a way for her to get even for what they had done to her.
♡ But no matter how many times she tries to convince herself, deep down, she knows this isn't how she wants to be. She does want to make genuine connection with someone. And despite being surrounded by (mostly unwanted) attention, there's still this lingering sense of loneliness that, no matter what she does, she can't seem to get rid of.
#srry i dont write i hope its not super cringe LMFAO#it was supposed to be Aimée the player for the double meaning (PC - player character + player as in playing with peoples hearts)#but heartbreaker is soooo much cuter sorryyyy#the name Aimée means beloved :333 beloved by all and yet she is unable to love anyone else back :3333333#also btw personal fav on that playlist is senior party by renzo#degrees of lewdity#aimee the heartbreaker#whitney the bully#robin the orphan#sydney the fallen#kylar the loner#DUDE.ACTUALLY FUCK THIS SHIT. I AM SO DONE I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN THIS IT THIS IS THE MOST EFFORT IM PUTTING TO A.POST#CAN ANYONE ACTUALLY FUCKING KILL ME.OR SMTHN. RENDERING BACK TO BACK TO BACK WITH CHARAVTERS INTERACTING I AM I AM NEVER.AGAIN MY GOD#GOODBYE. I WILL GO KMS OR SMTHN#ALSO I DID NOT ACCIDENTALLY POST THIS YESTERDAY U WERE HALLUCINATING.
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12 years of posting art on tumblr. it was challenging to only pick three artworks from each year, not just because of the sheer amount of art i've made, but also because i still like a lot of my old stuff! it makes me sad to frequently hear from other artists how they cant stand to look at their old art, when i have a deep fondness for the journey i've been on -- the ocean of characters i've created and all the silly drawings that got me through hard times, the techniques ive tried, the styles ive outgrown. its all precious to me. and while putting this together i was also fascinated to see the reoccurring themes that i am still mucking around with today, despite how things have changed. i will always like tragic relationships and scars and offputting inhuman fantasy creatures, and doing my best to tell stories in whatever medium i can. no matter if you've been here for several years or a single day - thank you! i hope to keep doing what i'm doing for many more.
#digging deep made me nostalgic for the oc asks that were popular back in the day#but i know i've also been focusing more on fanart in recent years#and getting more secretive about my ocs in general. because it helps me stay focused on actually writing about them#but it was nice to look back#and i hope im still making weird gay shit in 12 more years :-)
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Yeah, that about sums it up.
#in stars and time#in stars and time fanart#isat#isat fanart#isat siffrin#isat loop#sifloop#lucabyteart#me writing some of the most basic and not-a-new-concept dialogue possible: yeag ill finish this someday. maybe.#me realising the anniversary is soon: wait. extremely on the nose conclusion-of-an-essay ass dialogue is PERFECT for an anniversary piece#anyway happy birthday you fucking video game. christ. jesus christ. what the fuck happened. why have i drwawn these fucking things so much#adrienne what do you fucking Do to Me. what the Hell. thanks . i know how to draw comics now. legit. thanks but what the hell dawg#anyway no i dont know what the posing is on this theyre just kind of crumpled together. wasnt supposed 2 b a kiss because i dont think#that that fucker gets mouth privileges but like idk go nuts man. is this during canon? postcanon? some other shit? idk. your call#the world is yourrrrr oyster (this is my way of saying im hells of busy and am going back to neglecting everyone who followed me for this#specific weirdass ship content. bye. im dyig out there.)
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A Christmas Carol AU
Inspired by a prompt found in the @haunting-heroes-creative-games :) (i.e. back on my shit again)
When a 15 year old Jason, pissed at Bruce for taking Robin away from him, finds his birth certificate he realizes Catherine Todd is not his real mother.
Just as he resolves to go out and search for his birth mother, Jason finds himself accosted by three ghosts in his room, talking about A Christmas Carol of all things.
===
"So, what? We're gonna Christmas Carol him?"
Dan scoffs, crossing his bulky arms with an unimpressed look. "We hated that movie."
"I didn't." Dani chirps, disturbingly cheery, "I didn't see it!"
"We hate Christmas," Danny corrects, "But the movie was alright, and the logic is sound."
"I don't hate Christmas," Dani once again interjects cheerily, "I've never participated!"
"Sound my ass," Dan growls over her, throwing his hands up. "We don't even know this guy!"
"Minor detail." Danny insists, "Tuck can look him up."
"He's a fucking Bat, Danny." Dan scrunches up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose just like Vlad does when he's disgruntled with any of Dad's shenanigans.
"He's a Robin, actually." Dani pipes in, "And he's just a kid. How hard is it gonna be to pretend to be this kid's Ghosts?"
"You're a kid," Dan reminds her, crossing his arms, "And you didn't believe me when I told you sticking a fork in the outlet would shock you."
"I believed you," Dani sniffs haughtily, crossing her arms and pointing her nose up with a snooty voice, "The warning simply did not deter me from doing it anyway."
"We don't have to convince him we're his Ghosts, or even that we knew him before," Danny reasons, needling, "We just have to convince him that we're…"
He hums, pointing at Dani. "Past."
He points at himself, "Present."
He points at Dan, "Future."
Dani does a little cheer, arms up and twirling into the air before landing with her legs over Dan's shoulders, hands and head settling atop Dan's fiery, but harmless, hair. It flickers, before going limp into long white strands that Dani messes up by gently scrunching up the strands and running her fingers through them.
Dan lets her, huffing and looking weirdly like a downtrodden, wet cat. "Why am I future?"
"Because." Danny doesn't continue, because he knows it makes Dan annoyed. True to form, his scowl gets worse, like sucking on a lemon. They all know why anyway.
Dani grins, triumphant and knowing, letting her voice go real deep, "The future," she intones into Dan's hair, "is here."
"The future is now," Danny corrects her, but doesn't lose his smile, floating up to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear.
"The future is already here," Dan mumbles his correction, or is it a follow-up? "It's just not evenly distributed."
"How about you distribute some of those muscles, Gibson," Danny sighs, shaking his head "Waiting for puberty is such a drag, and we both know you didn't get the mass from Vlad's side of the family."
Dan makes a moue of disgust, but it serves him right. The consequences of his own actions, and whatnot. He looks up at Dani, who simply shrugs. "I think you'll do great." She leans down to give him two pats on the arm.
"So how's acting out A Christmas Carol gonna help us stop this Jason guy from blowing up?" Dani fiddles with Dan's hair, tongue poking out as she attempts a braid, "Will he even see us? Ghosts in this dimension taste funny."
"He'll be able to see us, it's magically rich enough for some ghosts to maintain a semblance of themselves," Danny explains for the third time. Dani and Dan hum at different pitches, and even though Danny is the common denominator he kind of hates that Vlad has more of a lasting impression on them. "The ectoplasm here is scarce and mostly corrupted, though, so it's rare."
"So there's lotsa bad ghosts here?" Dani eyes the messy braid she's made, proud, even as Dan's silky hair immediately causes it to fall apart, "Or 'mentally unsound' or whatever Frostbite called it."
"No," Dan grumbles, annoyed and indulging all at once, "Corruption begets ecto-rot, but the scarcity means they're not strong enough to actually retain their sense of self enough to rot."
"Shades," Danny explains when Dani looks even more confused, "There's lots of shades."
"Is this one of the Olympian dimensions?" Dani groans, flopping over Dan's shoulder as he sits down on the sofa, "I love Pandora and all, but if I see Zeus again I'm gonna lose it."
"It's one of the hero dimensions," Danny hums, taking over braiding Dan's hair the way Jazz made him when they were little, "There's a couple of Amazons walking about, but on the whole no Olympians."
"I don't know why he didn't just dump me in a Norse dimension." Dan leans back and closes his eyes to their ministrations. "Especially with my current occupation."
The three of them are sitting in Dan's apartment, a large loft studio located somewhere in the UK of the aforementioned hero-dimension. Alber-something, Danny can't remember. Doesn't need to, it being a different dimension from his anyway.
Dan doesn't have a lot of things: a sofa and TV, a bed in the corner, a decent but small kitchen. They're still trying to figure out decorations, but Dan on the whole is a minimalist so it's been slow going.
He's working as a bartender these nights, whiling away his odd existence now that his form has stabilized.
And wasn't that a trip? Learning that hey, adult lightning halfas shouldn't really be mixed with teenage ice halfas, actually!
Apparently, ectoplasm can become corrupted if you try to combine incompatible sources.
Apparently, side effects include (but are not limited to) unmitigated violence and a devastating need for vengeance.
Sound familiar?
"This dimension has a lot of time continuity errors," Danny reminds him, "Dropping you here gave the least amount of pushback."
"Yeah, yeah," Dan flaps a lazy hand, "Praise be the speedforce and flashpoints and whatnot."
"Plus," Dani adds softly, absent-minded as she watches Danny finish up the braid, "Lotsa heroes to help out if you relapse."
Dan heaves a slow, controlled sigh. Danny and Dani both pretend they don't notice.
"Is it bad?" Dan doesn't open his eyes, his voice is so low Danny can only hear him by virtue of his ghost powers, "Like me levels bad?"
"No." Danny shakes his head, leaning into his older self, his older brother of sorts, "He decapitated eight crime lords, killed a couple of assassins, maybe an innocent or two depending on your definition of things."
"Past tense?" Dan scrunches his nose. They all hate how confusing Time Shenanigans are.
"He's living as Red Hood, right this very moment."
"Red Hood?" Dani questions, "That his hero name?"
"Crime lord alias." Danny corrects her, "But he's more of a vigilante these days. Has a bat on his chest and everything."
"But it's bad enough to warrant a trip to the past." Dan points out, "Bad enough for us to try and persuade him. Does he relapse?"
"Not…exactly." Danny scrunches his face, not wanting to explain Clockwork's ambiguity.
Dani floats to spread over Danny and Dan's laps, sprawling out and purring like a cat. Self-soothing, though it's more for their benefit than hers.
"Like Dani said, there’re lots of heroes here, and he doesn't have powers." Danny continues, petting at Dani's soft hair, "The world doesn't end. He doesn't have the means to, even with the ecto-rot."
Danny pauses, and chooses his words deliberately and carefully. "And deep down, Jason Todd is a hero through and through. Relapse would be…difficult. His Obsession is similar to yours."
Dan lets that sit for a moment, but nods, Danny moving a little with the motion. The tension slowly bleeds out as they wait like that, enjoying each other's company.
"If the world doesn't end," Dani whispers, "Why is Clockwork sending all of us?"
Danny thinks on that, on his meeting with Clockwork. The Ancient's voice when he explained what would happen.
He thinks about Jason Todd, about Bruce Wayne, and Catherine, and Sheila. He thinks about Batman, and Robin.
He thinks about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, about Damian Al Ghul, about Cassandra Cain, and all of Jason's Outlaws.
He thinks about a tattered uniform that stays up in a glass case for a long, long time.
Most of all, he thinks about Dan.
He thinks about regrets and one bad day away.
And then he stops thinking about it, because sometimes the past is the past, and other times, it's the future that never happens that haunts you instead.
"You know, Dani." He settles on, "I'm not sure. He probably has his reasons."
Dan leans heavier onto him, and they lean together like that, with Dani in their laps.
Ghosts of decisions made, unmade, and never to be.
Follow the story on AO3 here!
#There will hopefully be another chapter release every day until Christmas#With an epilogue the day after!#Unless i get impatient or things happen and everything gets messed up#then ill just cry a little#but itll be out there eventually#back on my shit again#i watched the muppets a christmas carol threeish times for research#and watched a video essay on it rec'd to me by fen#and still it ended up being completely different from the actual movie#just like my haunted mansion au#history is repeating itself and im not sure i like it#danny phantom#my writing#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc#dc x dp#rambling#danny fenton#dcu#jason todd#dani phantom#dan phantom#christmas carol AU
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every iteration of the doctor can be categorized into two categories: dyke and twink
#13 you are firmly in the twink category.#twissy toxic yuri is my fav thing in the whole of dw ever LALALALLAALA#the doctor#doctor who#tenth doctor#eleventh doctor#twelfth doctor#thirteenth doctor#twissy#thoschei#tenrose#ninerose#ninejackrose#fuckin love ninejackrose that shit is fireeeee#fourteenth doctor#fifteenth doctor#DAMN DIVA THERES 15 OF THEM???? clutching my pearls rn i havent watched anything past when david came back#love you david tennant ❤️ you make a gorgeous woman. id smash.#ninth doctor#nwver actually finished watching 13 bc she was so so so poorly written. didnt she end up in lesbians with whats her face? idk man.#13 you a twink to me im sorry the vibes r frankly just horrendous. (what bad writing does to an mf)#a shame
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clinging to the sex warning for arcane like an angst with a happy ending tag on ao3
#i have no words#s2 is a certified banger#everyone's morally grey love it 10/10#when i tell you me and me friends screamed at the caitvi kiss scene i mean we were jumping up and down so fucking excited#its so rare to have canon lesbian characters who are genuinely affectionate and not played for laughs or sex appeal#especially not in mainstream#although the jayvik shit is fucking insane too god DAMN#im a little annoyed by the way caitvi is taking a backseat to them but i honestly think its more that people are offput by caits behavior#whereas viktor and jayce have that 'any lengths to get you back anything for you' going on#and we all know what happened with cait and vi#abandonment - which people didn't like#which i think is sad bc i want them toxic#caitvi#jayvik#vi arcane#caitlyn kiramman#jayce talis#viktor arcane#arcane#my posts#text post#ao3#writing
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do you have any fave long bucktommy oneshots?
thank you for asking, i absolutely do! here are my long bucktommy oneshot fic recs. these fics are 10k-30k words (admittedly there are a few exceptions, but those feel longer than they actually are), and they are posted in one chapter. listed in order of published date. enjoy!
i sing of bitter earth by @middyblue [ao3 profile]
Published: 05-07-2024 | Words: 12,037 | Rated T
In his head, on the job, he can walk away from it. The underworld that lies in wait inside him stays behind and it’s just him and the rope, the hose, the halligan; give him a puzzle to solve and a caller to rescue and it’s like everything is air, rosy and clear and fragrant as an open field.
The Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve floods. Taylor falls; Tommy falls; Buck falls.
this was one of the first 9-1-1 fics to make a serious impression on me. i was, and still am, so taken by the imagery, the action, and the thematic storytelling. it bravely leans into being an emergency-based fic, and it genuinely made me want to tell a story like that, too. the prose and the characterization and the taylor/tommy dynamic are all so brilliant. definitely one of my most formative, influential, and cherished 9-1-1 fics.
an outlier that should not be counted by @dadvans [ao3 profile]
Published: 05-11-2024 | Words: 7,429 | Rated E
Buck knows a lot of random trivia. Tommy falls in love with him one fact at a time.
okay, i know this the shortest thing on this list, but listen. where would we all be without this fic? there is a reason it's sitting pretty at 22k hits. could honestly be the origin of many of the fandom's core bt dynamic headcanons. a delightful, witty read that captures the early excitement of bt like lightning in a bottle.
awful quiet here since love fell asleep by @cecilyv & @liminalmemories21 [ao3 profiles x & x]
Published: 05-14-2024 | Words: 15,632 | Rated M
The Buck/Tommy break up/make up fic that literally no one was asking for but me. Things don’t always work out, the first time around.
"We'll be friends?" Because this is the right move, the smart move.
There's an expression he can't read that crosses Tommy's face, but then he nods, and sticks out his hand for Buck to shake. "Of course."
Buck hates it. But he made the bed, it's his to lie in. They shake on it.
the original break up fic. this is an amazing buck character study that honestly feels a bit prophetic in retrospect. i remember how i felt reading this, so heartbroken but so obsessed with the way buck navigated through understanding his own loneliness. it's absolutely joyful.
something ‘bout a boat by @swiftietartt [ao3 profile]
Published: 05-30-2024 | Words: 9,825 | Rated E
Tommy introduces Evan to his friends.
this is my one of my most cherished fics, i honestly cannot articulate how intensely i feel about it or do its brilliance much justice. begging you to read it if you haven't. to this beautiful author, should you ever write buck and tommy again, please know i will be first in line to read it. this story is charming beyond belief. this version of tommy is not one that you read about often, and i fucking love that. in this story, tommy is aloof but well-loved, has a delightful circle of true friends, and he has a fucking boat. there is not that much buck in this story, though he is omnipresent in a way. it builds and builds up to them finally getting to be alone below deck, and it's all the more delicious because of the wait. fabulously unique, there is really nothing else like it.
a full-body workout by @persiflager [ao3 profile]
Published: 07-02-2024 | Words: 7,901 | Rated E
When Tommy turns back to Eddie he finds Eddie giving him a knowing look. “Laundry and meal prep, huh?”
another one that is so carefully written that it feels longer than it is. one of the things i love so much about this story is the trio dynamic. the evolved friendship that eddie has with buck and tommy is, at least for me, best depicted here than anywhere else i've ever seen it. and, on top of that, there is just something so appealing to me about spending an entire day wanting to fuck so bad, but your friend is over so you've gotta practice patience. the anticipation that builds is really nuanced, it's truly a perfectly told slice of life.
the suffering of evan buckley('s sex drive) by @sugarpenchant [ao3 profile]
Published: 07-16-2024 | Words: 10,513 | Rated E
Tommy has been gone fighting fires for a month as vital air support, which would be fine—except for the fact that Buck has finally gotten a taste of sex with Tommy only for it to be cruelly whisked away. Buck finally gets his chance to join the firefighting efforts on the front lines and hopefully, someday before the world ends, ideally, he’ll get to see Tommy again.
There is a chance that Buck is being a little overdramatic about the whole thing, but a month is a really long time to go without the wonder of your brand new boyfriend.
posted for day 2 prompt of five alarm fest: after a dry spell
i need you to understand exactly one thing. this is the hottest fic ever. no like, this is the hottest fic i've read in years. buck, having just gotten dicked down for the first few times loses a summer of lovin' to a wildfire. tommy's on the frontlines, and what does buck do? he joins the ranks just for the possibility to be physically closer to him (and his dick). the world-building is fantastic for its length, particularly with the inclusion of lone star characters. when they finally see each other that first time, goddamn. the way they want each other but can't do a thing is a tease like nothing else. but where there's a will, there's a way. the fuck they manage to fit in between fighting the wildfire is a high that buck is able to ride (pun intended) for a while. i'm literally so addicted to this fic. erotic perfection.
knee deep in the passenger seat by @firstaudrina [ao3 profile]
Published: 08-08-2024 | Words: 9,039 | Rated E
What Buck liked best was that first thrill — a smile returned, a flirtatious joke — and then the heated next-next-next, all the things he still had to learn there.
aka Buck begins (in bed).
this ends with bucktommy, but it's a lot more than that and that isn't the draw of this fic. this is for the evan buckley lovers. this is like going to your favorite porn star's profile and watching a snippet of every single thing they've ever starred in. it's so good, it's so hot, it's so complicated. a great and very unique read.
bop it, twist it, pull it by @al-the-remix [ao3 profile]
Published: 08-14-2024 | Words: 21,642 | Rated E
“Hey!”
He doesn’t mean to yell, but Tommy still jumps a little beneath him. “Jesus, Evan, what–”
“You have a fucking dick piercing,” Buck half proclaims, half accuses. This is what Tommy has been holding out on all this time?
or
Buck discovers more about Tommy (and himself) through Tommy's piercings.
there's something about this fic that fits so perfectly into my fantasy of tommy. there's this punkishness about him in my head, and maybe that is a feeling that carried over from seeing pictures of lfj as a young, bulky, pierced scoundrel, but this story fits that image. super hot, a wealth of edginess.
fever's high with the lights down low by @kirkaut [ao3 profile]
Published: 09-07-2024 | Words: 11,731 | Rated E
No one has ever done this for him before. He didn’t even know how badly he wanted someone to do this - to think of him this way, to not only shoulder some of his weight but to want to - until this moment. Most people he’s dated have tended to give him a wide berth after a long, grueling shift, and he’d always thought that was what he wanted. It had been a little lonely, sure, but there wasn’t much he typically did afterwards that wasn’t refuel and rest.
Maybe he should have known better when it comes to Evan, who had jumped feet first into this relationship and never once looked back. Evan, who has worked these kinds of shifts himself and understands Tommy in a way that none of his exes ever have before.
Evan, who pours the love out of himself like it's as easy as breathing.
i remember reading this story for the first time. i was on vacation in a hotel bed, and i just felt so luxurious and indulgent getting to read this unbelievably hot, heartfelt story in utter comfort. it's the perfect analogy for how this fic makes you feel. it's pwp at its honest best.
engine purr by @epiphainie [ao3 profile]
Published: 09-16-2024 | Words: 15,010 | Rated E
“Oh! Yes. My car, my Jeep, I mean,” Buck said, gaze falling on the hands reaching for a rag. “It just sputtered and died on me right outside of town and there was no reception… I-I didn’t know what to do so I just… walked.” He swallowed and looked up again. “I thought I could call Triple A? Or maybe 9-1-1?”
The guy looked at Buck. There was a slight furrow to his brows, a tinge of bemusement in his eyes. The lines of his face were sharp and straight everywhere, but well-worn too, making Buck realize he was older than him by at least a decade and some change, if not more.
“That’s not for 9-1-1. And Triple A costs an arm and a leg if you don’t have a membership,” he said in a languid voice. “Lucky for you, though, you walked into this town’s one-and-only repair shop.”
buck takes a road trip before his new job, the jeep breaks down in the middle of nowhere, a small-town mechanic helps him out
my friend is a genius. okay full disclosure, au is not always my thing, and never my preference. i know that is a very unpopular opinion, but i think i am just very picky about it - but when it's done well, it can't be beat. this fic is fucking amazing and the age difference is a thing to behold. i always find myself so immersed in mimi's stories, particularly the dialogue. as i was reading this fic, i would find myself deep in one of buck and tommy's conversations and be so struck by how tangible and accurately articulated the characters are. in my own writing, i drag my feet over dialogue, never really knowing if something is too long-winded, or far too short. that happens to be mimi's strength, especially here - their conversations are perfectly paced, chatty, and true. beyond that, i could probably gush just as much over how hot the tension, build-up, and well-earned sex is in this fic. my fiancé called it the hottest bt she's ever read. by the way, even as i write this little blurb, my mind is saturated with images of tommy's apartment over his shop, and that is a true testament to the visceral and descriptive writing that is achieved here. i will wrap this up by saying i truly cannot wait until the next part in this story is posted! god, i love good writing.
in a yellow wood by @cecilyv & @liminalmemories21 [ao3 profiles x & x]
Published: 11-10-2024 | Words: 9,847 | Rated E
It’s been three years since the break-up when Tommy saves a family and it upends his life.
He’s paying more attention to explaining what the various levers and controls do than he is to what’s going on in the hangar and his head whips around when he hears a familiar voice saying. “Kam, the whole point of leaving my kid with you was to not take him to work.”
this is one of two break up/make up fics that i hold very dear. there are things that ring very true about it, and things that are legitimately haunting. they're apart for years - right from the jump, that is a sobering revelation. buck has a baby. buck doesn't look like he used to - his hair is shorter, he has a slighter frame. his life, his body, his world has changed. but he wears the maturity well, and he wears fatherhood well, and tommy wants in and he fucking earns a seat at the table. he earns love, he earns a family. it's a fucking beautiful rosy picture of what a future could be. it's so special, and so healing.
closet conversations by @eyesonstars-feetonground [ao3 profile]
Published: 11-12-2024 | Words: 10,599 | Rated M
Six months is a long time to stick around if he thought you’d dump him.
OR
After his boyfriend dumps him, Evan Buckley goes on a date, makes a new friend, has some conversations, and realizes he's queer. Tommy haunts him every step of the way.
this break up/make up is a triumph. very, very special to me. my favorite thing about this story is that it is a love letter to queer media and culture. this fic grabs one of the loosest threads of buck and tommy's canon relationship and pulls and pulls at it, taking a closer look at what it means for buck to date and fuck a guy for six months but not be able to correct some girl that he was on a date (for his six month anniversary, no less), or correct maddie that he isn't gay. it's one of so many things that deserves closer analyzation, and it's done so brilliantly here. buck and queerness go so, so well together - i am desperate for more carefully constructed analyses and stories like this one.
#bucktommy#fic rec#911 abc#evan buckley#tommy kinard#btw im not including the want series by mellowyellow bc in total it is like 60k so i don't think it fits this list... obviously love it tho#also i may have to go back and read more fics from june bc i was writing one way trip and probably missed some good shit
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the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!😍😍so if im not as active then thats why LMFAO
1 like = 1 prayer
#bro was literally trying to rent us a silent hill apartment#we already paid first and last too which was 2700k and he said hes not gonna refund us EVEN THO WE DIDNT EVEN MOVE IN!!#like first month i get BUT NOT EVEN THE SECOND MONTH?? all landlords go to hell#looking back at the og listing like.....yeah i can see why he never took pics of the outside......literally looks like a landfill😃#we're SO LUCKY that uhaul allowed us to keep our things stored with them bc if they insisted on our shit still being dropped off#we woulda been so screwed/forced to move in and then would have had to hire ANOTHER uhaul to move back OUT lol#AND I HATE MOVING the idea of unloading all of our stuff just to pack it again literally makes me wanna perish#but even tho i may be a homeless drifter rn that wont stop me from also working on my oneshot between searching for places😍#the oneshot has a smut scene at the beginning LMAO and smut takes me forever to write so id been putting it off#but now that im over that hump (pun intended) i think ill be faster now brrrrrrrrrrr 9k words so far#its probs gonna be like 40k LMFAO maybe longer... idek#but also ill be hella busy trying to find a home so LMFAO who knows...chat im so fucking TIREDDDDD🧎♀️🧎♀️#my moms trying to see if she can fight him and get our money back but it aint lookin good bros#if i randomly open commissions then youll also know why LMAO
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save me tododeku 3rd yr AUs..... save me.... (this whole thing came from a single panel gag, bet you can guess which one)
#typical 3rd yr shenanigans am i rite lads (<- delusional)#tododeku#izuku midoriya#shouto todoroki#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha fanart#mha fanart#mha comic#bnha#mha#bnha comic#i drew 10 (TEN) all mights for this... and i almost gave deku all might sheets too but... nay#im almost tempted to go back and have deku say 'oh sweet neptune' bc it keeps making me crack up#also i love writing shoto as a teasing little shit <3 feels good feels organic#the version of bnha that lives in my head#olly art#tddk
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It is no hardship, Emmrich tells himself, to wear his face. It is his, after all. The one he was born with, the one that grew and shifted under his own patient gaze, seen in puddles, in mirrors, in the glass of a carriage window as he smoothed down his hair with the flat of his palm. A face he had stared at for far too long that first time he shaved, and again a few years later when he invited that very pretty boy out for a promenade and wanted, with all the force of a young man’s vanity, to be just as pretty himself—no hair astray, the kohl at his lower lids an almost imperceptible shadow, the perfume at his neck a whisper of carelessness, though in truth, nothing had ever been more deliberate.
For a decade now, they have called him distinguished. Before that, they called him handsome. He knows his face, likes his face. Its summoning should be no trouble at all; especially now, especially like this, stripped down to something more elemental, all ivory angles and nothing more. But Rook is uneasy. She does not say so—she is all sorry, shit, don’t mind me, fuck, fuck, I’ll get used to it, I’ll get used to it—but she is not made for the sight of bone in the dark when she wakes abruptly. He has had years to come to terms with the unmaking of his flesh. She has not.
So he does not miss his face, not really. But Rook does. And for Rook, he will pretend.
No, he tells himself again, he does not mind. He does not.
Lichdom, as he had once explained to her, sanded down most of his senses. Blunted them, rubbed them smooth. But in their place, others have surfaced. Senses without names, without proper edges, ones that slip through language like smoke through a cracked door. He cannot smell the perfume she wears, though he knows it is dreadful, some sticky, saccharine thing she bought in Treviso with Lucanis and spilled all over her shirt. But he can see her pleasure when she presses a little figurine into his palm, triumphant and insistent. This one, she affirms, is so much prettier than the first, and most importantly, not haunted.
He watches her giddiness churn inside her, thick and writhing. It is purple, inexplicably. It loops and knots, wriggling sideways, swelling through her veins, a restless thing. It coils, slippery, around her heart before pouring from her mouth when she speaks. When she presses her lips to what passes for his cheek, he thinks he can taste it. Or something like tasting. As if she had chewed it to a pulp, crushed it between her molars, worked it down to something fibrous and wet and pressed it into him, like carrion slipped between teeth, offered as a gift.
He swallows it, slow.
Perhaps this is what purple has always tasted like.
There are other things. Other feelings. They arrive misshapen, crawling over the edges of his thoughts, curious, pestering, impossible to ignore. They perplex him. They amuse him. And sometimes—sometimes—he wishes he felt nothing at all.
Like when she cuts herself, and he watches the blood spill, a slow, indifferent line along the curve of her arm. But it is not blood, not in the dull, medical sense. Not something as pedestrian as iron and salt. It is a ribbon, impossibly red, and he can see the rest of it coiled inside her, packed neatly away, waiting to be tugged. How much could he pull free before she wavers, before her lips lose their color, before the bright, stubborn thing inside her gutters out?
He heals her arm. Does not look at her when he does it. Says nothing of consequence.
But he wants to take that ribbon and wind it around her wrist, knot it, twist it, pull it so tight that it ceases to be a ribbon at all. Flesh yielding to pressure, pressure forcing permanence. A bracelet of skin. A smooth, bloodless seam. A correction.
Rook thanks him. A glance, a nod—already half-gone as she turns toward Rivain. There are things to be done there for her, and he cannot stray from the Necropolis for long. What things, exactly, she does not say, but he knows their shape well enough: dragons, impulse, the peculiar magnetism of disaster. She has always been like this, drawn to the spectacularly unwise with the certainty of a moth misjudging distance.
He can no longer follow.
She will return. He knows this. And yet, if his hands still possessed the capacity for tremor, he suspects they would betray him now.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," she sings, a careless, looping refrain, a child’s chant repurposed for a woman who has never quite learned to tread lightly. She chatters as she moves; this and that, something or other, a bad decision or three. She shows him rings, delicate and stolen, lifted from a dragon’s hoard, then tells him of a strange mug found in the same place and promptly lost to someone forgettable in a game of cards.
"Look, look," she says, because excitement makes her redundant. "I kept these for you."
The rings slide onto his fingers—bandaged, skeletal, indifferent to the distinction. He flexes them. Smiles, because each one carries an emerald, and green has always pleased him.
"I was meaning to ask you," Rook says. She is still holding his hand, turning it gently in her own, left, right, right, left, as though testing whether it is truly there. "You are smiling now."
"I am."
"Don’t interrupt me."
"My deepest apologies."
"It was a joke," she says, but absently, without weight. Then, again, softer: "You are smiling now. But is it real? Or do I see a smile only because I expect to? Because I believe it should be there?"
"It is quite real," he reassures her, lifting his free hand, brushing two fingers against her cheek. "The glamour does not fabricate emotions. It is a projection, not an invention. A polished pane of glass through which I am seen, rather than a mask obscuring what lies beneath. It filters nothing. It simply allows you to perceive what is still there, as it was."
She exhales. He watches it unfurl from her mouth, a slip of breath that curls, dissipates, wrapped in green. Relief, perhaps.
"Good," she murmurs. "That is good."
There are things he misses more than others. Some he had not expected to mourn, believing that lichdom would cauterize the want before it could take shape. And perhaps it would have, if not for Rook. But she exists, unavoidably, and so the loss takes shape, outlines itself, defines itself against the hollow places she touches.
The intimacy of the body: its mechanics, its heat, its crude and glorious simplicity. He misses the way skin clings, damp and sticky, the tack of sweat drying between them. The way lips grow chapped from too much kissing, saliva sapped away until the skin cracks, until the next kiss stings. He misses the raw and graceless rhythm of it, the press of her thighs around him, the slow loss of self in the churn of it all. He misses the way he could press his palm to her stomach, still sheathed within her, and feel himself there, caged by her.
And afterward, in the languid sprawl of spent nerves and loose limbs, the way his mind would wander, taking him by the hand, showing him its little fantasies, its secreted-away indulgences—let us get married, Rook, I will buy you so much gold, let’s get married, yes, and then let’s have a child, but not immediately, not at once, let’s linger here a while, let’s lose ourselves in this, let’s glut ourselves on one another until we are utterly ruined by it, and then, yes, then, we will have that little thing.
Now, he feels her differently. Not through skin but through something more fundamental, a closeness that eclipses anything flesh ever allowed. It is fuller, sharper, deeper than anything he could have imagined.
But it is not the same.
And he does not yet know if he prefers it.
Time, as always, will decide.
Pleasure has not abandoned him. It has only changed its nature, its source, its means of arrival. Now, it exists solely through her. He sees, now, how men dissolve into drink, into smoke, into whatever tincture delivers them to sensation. The body remembers its peaks; the body conspires to reach them again.
"Will you come for me, darling girl?" he murmurs against her ear, his fingers curling inside her as they have done so many times before—when his hands were warm, when they ceased to be.
And she does what she always does: she writhes, she gasps, she laughs, she moves against him with the helpless, thoughtless grace of something yielding to gravity. Her hips chase the friction, her mouth parts, her breath hitches, her lashes lower, heavy with pleasure. And he—he is there inside her, feeling it as she feels it, tasting it in a way that has nothing to do with taste, swallowing it down, letting it course through him. It is vast. It is staggering. Pleasure enough for two, for more than two, enough to fill the space where he no longer exists.
Afterward, she is breathless, boneless, staring up at the ceiling and laughing that strange, impossible laugh. He no longer tries to make sense of it. Some things cannot be translated. She has a laugh for anger, a laugh for excitement, a laugh for surprise. He thinks he knows this one well enough by now, the one that trickles out of her in the aftermath.
A trick, an echo, the imitation of a thing once real. He kisses her where he would have kissed her once—her mouth, the sharp ridge of her collarbone, the small curve of her breast, except now there is no heat, no wet drag of a tongue, no parted lips. Only the careful architecture of a spell, a memory sculpted into sensation, something just close enough to pass for real. He trails lower, following the old pathways, the ones his hands remember even if they are no longer the same.
She sighs. Again. Again. Another time.
He lingers where she yields the most, where she is all pulse and warmth, where her thighs, slick and trembling, part for him before he even touches her. Where breath quickens and thought slips away. And through it, he drinks. Draws from her as he always does, as he must, in ways he does not fully understand, or perhaps does, but has decided against understanding. He takes until she is weightless, drifting, until her voice emerges in that low, drowsy enough, enough, until she exhales, unconscious of herself, shifting, turning into him, her cheek settling against his shoulder, her body already gone to sleep.
And he wonders—if he did not stop, could he empty her?
What is it that they share, exactly? What does she give? What does he take? Is it taking at all? Perhaps she is feeding from him just as he feeds from her.
He could ask. He could go looking for the answer. It is what he has done his entire life.
But he does not. Because the answer, whatever it may be, does not matter. Because, at his core, he knows this much to be true:
He is an empty thing now.
And all empty things must be filled.
It is a dreadful experience, watching her get hurt. Dreadful in its predictability, in the casual inevitability of it. Rook, as he has come to understand, is the sort of person who leaps from a cliff first and wonders, mid-air, whether there was perhaps a gentler way down.
He saw it in Hossberg—how she, in some fit of blind fury over a slight he can no longer remember, kicked a blight boil with all the grace of a petulant child, only for the thing to rupture, spraying its filth over her boots, her legs, her hands, her face. Later, when he spat out his anger—you could have infected yourself, and then what? Where would the Veilguard be without their leader?—she had, without hesitation, lifted her middle finger and held it aloft, like a banner, like a flag planted firmly into the dirt, a gesture so profoundly Rook that it settled the argument before it could begin.
She returns from Rivain with a sprained wrist and, predictably, does not acknowledge it until he gestures toward it, a quiet inquiry rather than an accusation.
So he buys her things. Things with weight, with shimmer, with the ability to distract. A bottle of wine she favors, a dress the precise shade of blue that once made her pause in front of a shop window, jewelry that catches light and throws it back in a thousand fractured directions. Loud things, bright things, expensive things. The kind of things a magpie would die over. Because Rook—misnamed, mislabeled—is no rook at all, no solemn, shrewd thing perching in the rafters. She is a magpie, ever in pursuit of the next gleaming fragment, the brightest piece of a broken world. That is why she is away, isn’t it? Always away. Always chasing.
But Nevarra has more gold than the Rivaini coast.
He wants to say—won’t you stay? Won’t you, at last, stay longer? But there is something perilous in the asking. The wrong phrasing, the wrong weight to his voice, and she will fold up like a map, unreadable, distant, already turning toward the door.
She lifts a necklace, lets it spill through her fingers, a thin chain pooling in her palm. "Ooooh," she hums. "What’s the occasion?"
"I have missed you terribly," he says. "You were away too long."
"I missed you too."
"Then stay. My townhouse is yours, of course. It is in the heart of the city—"
"But you won’t be there," she interrupts, without sharpness, without accusation. A simple statement of fact. "You’ll be in the Necropolis."
"Then stay with me in the Necropolis," he says, more softly.
She looks at him. Long enough for him to grow aware of the silence. Long enough for him to think he ought to say something more, to fill the space with some innocuous remark, something to break the weight of it—a comment on the weather, the slow drip of rain against the windowpanes, the scent of damp stone, the candlelight shifting across her cheek, the peeling corner of the wallpaper he has been meaning to mend but never does.
Then, at last, in a whisper, as if she is considering each word before releasing it:
"I'm trying."
A breath.
"I'm really, really trying. I love you so much. This frightens me, but I love you, and I'll stay longer, I promise, and you needn’t hide your face, no, no, you can stop hiding it now, but it is so terribly cold here, and I can smell the bones, Emmrich, did you know one can smell bones?"
Senseless, rambling little words, leaving her mouth with no regard for order, no real expectation of being understood. He listens anyway. He nods as if these words, specifically, are the ones he has been waiting to hear. He holds her hands, pressing his fingers lightly over hers, as though reacquainting himself with the shape of them, the bones beneath the skin. And this time—this time—she stays.
He does not move. Does not speak. Instead, he lets the moment settle around him, lets it press in from all sides, cautious and weightless, as if sudden motion might send it scattering. A trick of the mind, surely, nothing more than habit, the vestigial longing of a body that no longer exists. And yet—something, something faint and absurd and wholly impossible—something like warmth uncoils in the vacant spaces of him, and for the first time in too long, he allows himself to believe in the illusion.
And he is happy, so terribly, foolishly happy, until she steps where a step should have been, onto stone that no longer exists, because the Necropolis, fickle and treacherous as ever, decides to shift beneath her. One moment she is there, cursing the cold, flicking dust from her sleeve, and the next she is gone, swallowed into the dark, falling before he can reach for her. Then—impact, the sound of something snapping, something that should not snap.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," she spits, voice sharp with pain, her frustration seething through clenched teeth. "I hate this fucking place. This miserable, shifting, plague-ridden, necrophiliac fucking mausoleum. This—" she swallows, gasps, rage momentarily overtaken by the white-hot shock of agony, then forces the words out, savage and breathless—"this godsdamned, dusty, corpse-stinking labyrinth of a tomb. Fuck this place. Fuck you for living in it. Fuck this floor for moving. Fuck my fucking leg."
She hisses even as she cries, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to will the hurt out of her body. He sees, at last, what has happened. A break, and not a clean one: bone slick and white against torn skin, jutting through muscle, her blood already thickening where it pools on the stone.
And then—something strange. A pull, an unraveling, something unwinding before him, leading away. The ribbon again, unspooling, slipping from her, stretching outward, as though guiding him somewhere he does not wish to go. His vision narrows. He follows it. He follows it because he cannot help but follow it.
"Emmrich?" Her voice has changed. The heat is gone, as is the anger. She sounds uncertain now. She sounds concerned. "Emmrich, are you—?"
But he is looking at the ribbon. Watching where it leads. Watching where it ends.
And he would weep if he could.
He has spent his life in a state of want, always reaching, always grasping, always aching to be something necessary to someone. And now—now, at last—he has what he has longed for. Rook, quick and wild and untouchable. Rook, who was born lovely and careless and beautiful, who could have wrapped herself around anyone she pleased but chose, instead, him—old and grey, and then, simply, bone. Rook, with her hands always outstretched, her eyes always searching, who once told him, so offhandedly he almost believed she didn’t mean it, that she would have given him a child.
Now—now, she sits before him, cursing under her breath, her leg twisted, her blood sliding across the stone, and he understands, too suddenly, too clearly, that he cannot keep her.
One day, that ribbon will slip from her entirely.
And he will be wanting again, except this time, there will be no remedy, no second chance, no indulgence to dull the ache.
Because she—she—the only thing that has ever fit the hollow inside him, will be gone.
A year. Ten. Twenty. Perhaps less. Perhaps more.
She will be gone.
Gone, gone, gone.
"It will not break again," he tells her.
"Really?" she asks, pale from hurt.
"Truly."
He stands, glances over the chamber, and selects a sconce, its veilfire guttering weakly within its iron frame. He snuffs it out with a flick of his wrist, wrenches the metal free from the wall, and lets it sag into liquid in his palm. The Necropolis will not miss it. It devours offerings every day; what is one more? The molten iron shifts, pulses, rolls like living mercury as he shapes it between his fingers. She watches, suspicious, wary, but when he takes the pain from her, she sighs, slackens, her body a thing that yields, a thing that trusts.
Bone is simple. A structure, a framework. Break it, mend it, break it again. He has done this before, he will do it again, and the body always obeys in the end. With a slow push, he sets her leg back into place. Crack, crack, crack—shattered edges realign, splinters withdraw, raw ends fuse like wax pressed to wax. He sees the place where the bone has chewed its way free, white and wet against the torn meat of her calf.
He presses his fingers into the wound, past the sealing skin. The iron above them stirs at his will, stretching like a cat in the air before obeying, flowing down, clinging to the surface of the bone. Not inside it, no. That would be crude, inelegant. Instead, it forms a layer, thin but solid, a second skeleton over the first. It cools as it settles, solidifies, binds itself to her as if it had always belonged there. He guides it lower, shaping it over her tibia, letting it follow the curve of her ankle, turning his wrist slightly to direct it sideways, until the fibula is covered as well, safe beneath its new armor. There.
The final shreds of her wound pull themselves shut, sealing over his work, concealing what has been done.
She shifts her foot, tilting her head, considering. "Oh," she says. "I suppose I'll be heavier now."
He kisses her cheek and feels the faint shift of muscle beneath his lips, the small, secret curve of her smile. This time, for once, her happiness has no color. Not gold, not red, not that strange, shimmering violet he sometimes sees curling from her ribs. Just happiness, unembellished, undisturbed. And because she feels it, he believes it, and because he believes it, he takes it for himself, drawing her close.
"I am so, so happy that you are safe," he hears himself say, a confession with no real shape, a drunken speech without the mercy of intoxication. "I worry when you are gone, and I worry when you are here. It seems that no matter what I do, something always finds you first."
She hums, arms looping around him, her fingers idly mapping the planes of his back, tracing aimless patterns into the fabric of his robes. "I don’t know what to say to that," she admits, her voice softened by exhaustion, by the slow retreat of pain. "But I am so, so happy with you too. And it’s all right, it’s all right. Every time I break, you can repair me." She pauses, then adds, utterly deadpan, "Guess that makes you my skele-tonic."
It is an objectively terrible pun.
"Until you stop breaking altogether," he murmurs.
Another hum, vague, thoughtless.
He draws from her as he always does: pleasure, warmth, something deeper, something without a name, though it must have one, must have been cataloged somewhere, written down by some scholar who spent his life studying things that could not be grasped. He has never fully understood what it is he takes, only that it belongs to her, and that, by some quiet, unspoken permission, it is his as well. He wants to love her forever. But more than that, he wants to ensure that forever remains within reach, that it does not remain, as so many things have, just outside his grasp, dissolving the moment he closes his fist.
He has spent too long watching what he yearned for unravel before he could fasten it down. This, he will not allow. It will take gold, it will take iron, it will take something far stronger, something absolute. Until she ceases to break. Until breaking is no longer a possibility, a concept, a word that has anything to do with her.
He does not yet know how. But he has time—too much of it. More than she does. And he has always been a man of precision, of hypothesis and proof, of elegant solutions to insufferable problems. He will find a way. Through metal or magic, through that ribbon of red that keeps slipping from her, unspooling itself in slow increments, always trying to get away. He will take it, force it back into place, stitch it to the marrow, fix it with something incorruptible, something permanent, something that cannot be unwound without unmaking her in the process.
He presses a kiss to her temple, then to her forehead, and speaks of flowers. The new blooms in the Memorial Gardens. Hideous, by all accounts. She will adore them. She appreciates beauty, certainly, but she loves foolishness even more. He kisses her cheek, the tip of her nose, her small, stubborn chin, and feels it again—that bright, quiet thing. Happiness.
And, miraculously, when he takes a piece for himself, it does not feel stolen.
"Enough, enough," she murmurs at last, the same word twice, as she always does when she needs a break from him, when she has given too much, when she feels him pulling, drinking, taking in excess without meaning to. Laughter ghosts beneath the words, thin but present, a reminder that she is still here, still whole. She taps his wrist with two fingers, light, quick, final—a gesture that, for all its carelessness, feels uncannily like closing a book.
#i can't sleep so i quickly edited this thing i wrote a while back so it's not as raw and am now throwing it out into the depths of tumblr#we don't condone lichdom in this house#there is no way emmrich would remain a sane human being as a lich if he romanced rook#frankly they should have given us the option to break up with him if he decided to go full lich#he is only gonna transfer his fear of death onto rook#and it will not be healthy#it will be weird and uncomfortable and maybe downright creepy#aight im gonna try to sleep now#emmrich volkarin#emmrich x rook#emmrook#rook x emmrich#lich emmrich#dragon age the veilguard#datv#shortstories#my stupid writing#< those last two are just my personal tags for finding my own shit if i need it btw lol ignore them
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[ID: a digital drawing of riz gukgak from fantasy high. in the front is a relatively small drawing of riz juggling books that are falling out of his hand and a phonecall, and he has a huge backpack on. he looks a bit overwhelmed, hair flying in all directions, and has a nervous smile on. in the background is a large shadow of riz, only one glowing eye and a shining gun visible. the background is red, giving an eerie feel. End ID]
Kill your best friend
Cheat your way to your rogue teacher
Announce your presidential campaign
Don't let them know how angry you are
LEARN TO RECOGNIZE A MONSTER
#riz gukgak#fantasy high#fantasy high junior year#fhjy#fhjy spoilers#fantasy high junior year spoilers#ik the 'uh oh i fucking miscalculated big time' applies to all the bad kids BUT riz is my little blorbo so#and he was the first to go full brutal in s1 and was likely the one ppl would've seen it coming from the least#i dont need to justify myself i love all their dichotomies. my homicidal blorbos who're on a slippery slide to becoming the villains#as they grow more powerful but still react to threat with a 'no holds barred' approach#wait wait this isn't an analysis post jskdjsdjk art! had a lot of fun with this one#have the funniest 'sketch' for this that i did that was me drawing w my laptop touch pad (? the touchy mouse thing) w notes so i dont forge#the idea back when i didnt have the juices to draw it and was also in the armchair writing fic and didnt want to move stations#im still experiment with colours and now im also figuring out gradients which is super fun! correction layers my beloved <3#also didn't use my usual canvas size and had to keep making it bigger and bigger so its unfortunately compressed#such is life#did some warmup before this for once bcs i felt like working on my no-underdrawing drawing skills#have this beautiful pen brush and a new big (for me) sketchbook so i went to town with some references open#also working on tackling the wretched face angles. why do our faces Do That#anywayyyy the list is from kipperlilly's pov in case it wasn't clear#im looking forward to eventually rewatching s3 and giving her another chance#like i COULD get sick abt her. theres potential there bcs i do love angry annoying women who stick to their shit#im leaving now i simply have to hydrate its been hours#eyestrain tw#sorry for the late tw i work with so many layers of eye protection on my laptop that it took looking at this on my phone to go uh oh
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mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.
now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.
He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.
(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)
The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.
The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.
And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.
(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)
The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.
anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)
#mxtx svsss#svsss au#scum villian self saving system#shen qingqiu#shen yuan#luo binghe#disciple shen yuan#scum villain#svsss#*points at SQQ/SY* i want him to go nuts. as a treat. let him crumble just a little over the stress of his fate and the stress of survival#and the stress of having a lack of autonomy over a handful of his decisions. starry craves angst and she craves a very specific SQQ angst#he was a number 1 hater back in the day and lbr being a hater takes energyyyy. ive heard that this man was the BIGGEST hater i wanna#see him rip a man to shreds with nothing but his tongue and a voice that could cut marble clean in half. skin a man alive sqq you deserve i#*mortal kombat voice* FINISH HIM#i love without-a-cure but unfortunately i dont think SQQ would be able to have WAC and also survive in the abyss.#the succubi nest that adopted him tried seducing him at first. it didn't work. but he did somehow charm them with his cringefail ways#so now they have a brand new mortal big/little brother to dote on. SQQ is frankly delighted to learn all about succubi culture that doesnt#revolve around sex. he makes quite a few friends/allies in the abyss because of his pure fascination and unbiased desire to learn about#demonic culture and all the different niches and nuances of it across species. he's still going insane tho. like that's not stopping.#there's a single LBH pov chapter in the fic and its frankly so unhinged it was fantastic. he's so possessive. he straight up goes:#'oh SQQ isnt gonna be the next peak lord. he's ascending to heaven with me when i do :)' when Sha Hualing (also peak lord) told him that he#couldn't keep his disciple in the bamboo house all the time. what was SQQ gonna do when LBH ascends and he becomes the new peak lord?#gosh that first chapter is rotating around in my mind so bad. LBH was SO unwell. like losing his actual shit over SQQ near the edge.#i so want to write a oneshot abt this where SQQ is also in hysterics (albeit over slightly diff reasons) and tells LBH on his knees:#'this disciple deeply apologizes to his shizun. for he will not be ascending to the heavens with him.' right before he falls into the abyss#this au being disciple SY is for shits and giggles but i can also see it happening for regular SQQ bc 'fuck it im a dead man either way'#frothing at the mouth at this idea also being a SY-is-SJ au too. for the extra angst of SQQ trying to bear the weight of multiple lives on#his shoulders and trying to figure out what is real and what isn't and if he's meant to suffer in all of his lives no matter what he does.#not once in his life has he ever been free to do what he likes has he? self-hatred to the max. he's going mad. poor boy :]
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I've been crying the whole DAY. Look back is literally an ode to someone who loves to create, who works their ass off to improve at it and sometimes it just doesn't matter because they are still going to be people that will be better than you and then you think you don't love that much anyway, so why care to keep doing it at the end? You enjoy it better as an spectator, without all the trouble that comes with doing it yourself
Until you remember WHY you started loving in the first place, why despite the fact it takes time, it's stressful, makes you angry, makes you sad or even if people tells you that you should be doing something else... at the end, still makes you happy, still makes you find people who love the same thing as you and you made them happy too, still makes you feel that you can do something that comes from you and no one else can because it's You.
And if you worked so hard for it once, it was for a reason, and sometimes you just forget what it was, but doesn't mean it isn't there anymore. Because the past you, the now you and the future you, come from the same place and it deserves to be happy, and that's unique and it is something worth working for
#i just. i love this shit so much dude i have been crying like 20 hours.#i dont know if its because it hits too close to home or im just mentally unstable or botH#AAAAAAHHHH#look back#im so sorry for yapping so much about this its just i love writing and the inherent human love for creating something#I'm crying again
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I JUST GOT BACK FROM SEEING DUNE PART 2 AND HOLY FUCK OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HOLY FUUUUCK I NEED TO. I NEED TO. I NEED TO TALK SO BAD HOLY SHIT
below the cut because oh boy do i have a lot to say and i dont want my poor followers to suffer when i post this
oh my god okay okay where do i even start
opening with irulan's narration to mirror her notes in the openings of the chapters of the book. oh yeah baby. i ate that right up
watching paul get close with the fremen,,,,, fucking hell that hurts. dune really is a tragedy at the end of the day huh. they go from reluctant allies to friends but the whole time you know the switch will happen any moment now and they will be devotees and he will be messiah and that gap between them will never be as small as it is out in the sand. huddled in those tents. sharing drinks and laughs. im not doing ok
this especially hurts with chani. their love is so genuine and pure and she wears blue for him (which by the way sticks out so much more with how muted the colors of the rest of the movie are... i could talk about this all day) but she can see what he is becoming and he's trying to avoid it for her so hard but there's no avoiding fate. LORD ABOVE!!!!
i loveeee jessica being the manipulator thats pulling all the strings, urging paul towards becoming messiah. rebecca ferguson is such a talented actress she really understands the character so well. also as a hashtag certified alia atreides enjoyer her scheming with her unborn fetus might be the most unhinged thing ever but thats also so fucking funny aka its as dune as it gets. dune is WEIRD and im glad theyre not shying away from that. thank u denis
arrakis looks so much more beautiful in this movie like theres defo been some changes with how its framed and presented it feels so much grander and idk just ??? what it makes me think is that we're not seeing arrakis, we're finally seeing dune. we're seeing the land as the fremen see it as paul becomes one of them. i might be looking too much into it but who cares. god i love this movie
but yes more on the fremen in the first section of the movie. i like how there's this cluster of non-believers almost?? its a nice breath of fresh air. its hard to believe every single person would be just devoted to the prophecy and it adds some depth.
i will say the one thing i didnt like is the way stilgar is characterized?? i dont think he was so blindly devoted to paul in the books, and definitely not alia and leto ii after him as the atreides line went on. he's always been a source of small doubt towards paul but i think they're moving that element of him onto chani, so i think i can let it slide. i'd like to see him question alia more in the future though.
the scene where paul was named muad'dib and usul??? god it was so cute which made it so heart wrenching. all the fremen coming together and welcoming him into their lives. as a brother. as a friend. only for him to turn around and make them all bow before him. ohhhhh i cant do this
OH BOY THE WORMS THE WORMS AND THE WORM RIDING AND THE AHHHHHHHHH OH LORD
jesus christ. what the fuck. how is this allowed on cinema screens how is something so amazing allowed
the tension. the effects. the sound design. the sand rushing past the wind the worm moving forward paul struggling to hold on the fremen all watching and then cheering him on HOLY FUCKKKK HOLY FUCK I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH
all the worm riding scenes were so intense and so well done like. when i first read that stuff in the books i didnt think anything could ever capture how i imagined it exactly and yet. AND YET. DENIS!!!!!!!!
once more dune hits the idea of scale SO well everything is HUGE and they MAKE YOU FEEL IT. that shows especially with geidi prime but ill talk about that in a bit. but yes this applies to the worms too lord above them WORMSSSS ARE HUGEEEE AND I LOVE THEMMMM
rebecca ferguson put her heart and soul into that water of life scene and we all need to thank her for it
the way jessica is so quick to switch up and go all in on the prophecy. it makes me think of leto's "im not asking his mother, im asking the bene gesserit" like. the bene gesserit really come first for jessica and she takes her opportunity to fulfill her duties. to be the reverend mother. to rub it all in the faces of the other bene gesserit. she is the mother of the messiah and by god will she make everyone well aware of that
okay. okay okay. i think i said my peace on the early fremen stuff. i think. okay fuck okay SHIT fuck SHIT
FEYD FUCKING RAUTHA LADIES AND GENTLEMEN
oh my god okay. okay ill admit it. i doubted austin butler. i saw the cast list and i was unsure(tm). i saw him in the trailers and my faith was restored. and holy fucking shit did he DELIVER
stellan skarsgård's baron harkonnen is already such a threatening figure it feels like it would be impossible to make someone even more terrifying and yet. AND YET
just the way he's introduced. killing servants with zero remorse. LICKING THAT KNIFE THE WAY HE DID??? OKAY WHORE. I SEE YOU. GO RIGHT AHEAD. MAKE IT SLUTTY IN HOUSE HARKONNEN. I RESPECT IT
when the arena doors open and that loud ass fucking music BOOMS. makes the room fucking SHAKE. thats a PRESENCE right there. THATS how you introduce your antagonist.
the music playing as he fights being as fucking deranged as he is. chaotic and weird and unsettling. just. oh my god feyd had such a presence from the moment he showed up and he did not lose it for a single second. you could feel him LOOMING over the movie the whole time just as he looms over the whole book from his very first scene. oh my goddddd oh my godd
GEIDI PRIME. THE ARENA. THAT MASSIVE HARKONNEN PALACE. oh my god. once more. that sense of scale. the harkonnens love to flaunt their wealth so ofc they have huge fuck off arenas and castles where everything and everyone feels so SMALL in comparison.
dont even get me started on the black and white. the way it accents those coal black teeth and mouths. the way it makes everything look so much more inhuman and clinical and PERFECT because harkonnen power is so absolute and ruthless.
and the way the baron sits so so high above watching the fighting. literally impossible to picture his elevation above his people above the rest of the universe. the way feyd looks to him for approval after every movement. even as his uncle is trying to kill him they exchange those little looks and feyd knows hes getting his chance to show off while the baron gives him his "gift" what a fucked up family what the hell
speaking of fucked up family! wow! they are SO fucked up! there is something seriously strange being hinted at with feyd and the baron! feyd making his own brother bow and kiss his boot! those constant threats of death against rabban as if theyre nothing! this family is capital f FUCKED up. they hurt each other as much as they hurt everyone around them. theyre made of violence and blood and they could never show each other kindness because they dont know such a thing
what can i say about the feyd/margot scenes that hasnt been said already. like wow just unpack the boy's trauma like that. use him and then throw him to the wolves. once again the bene gesserit make it so clear this is THEIR empire and THEIR bloodlines and THEIR messiah. too bad jessica doesnt see that collective "ours" and instead settles for "mine" when it comes to the messiah
special shout out to dave bautista before i move on. just cause. his rabban doesnt get enough love. he really sells that balance of ruthless power but also incompetency compared to his brother so well. can you guys tell i REALLY like this cast
WE ACTUALLY GOT TO SEE GURNEY PLAYING THE BALISET WE FUCKING WIN Y'ALL
the paul/gurney reunion being the last shred of the old paul. how he gets so happy "i recognized your footsteps, old man" shoot me in the fucking brain stem it would HURT LESS
a bit off topic and it happened earlier (sorry my thoughts are so all over the place) but i like how they actually showed the process of how the water of life is made. it was actually exactly like how i imagined it when i read the books so thats neat !!
anyway. back to the horrors.
i already talked so much about feyd's presence so just another small note. that scene in sietch tabr. he is a MONSTER and i am EATING IT UP
i cant even begin to explain. how much it fucked me up. when paul took the water of life. i knew thats where we were going. i knew it was unavoidable. and yet still. when chani bent over him and screamed at everyone for making him follow this prophecy. when she was forced to shed tears to save his life. when she got him back only to realize she lost him and he wasnt the person she loved anymore. it broke me
chani's utter hatred for the prophecy and what paul is becoming added to it so much. i know some people are unhappy with how much shes been changed from the books but i think its elevated her character and all these scenes so much. and oh my god does zendaya DELIVER when the spotlight is on her. i never doubted her for a moment but all those changes to chani really allowed to let her shine. thats that euphoria acting coming out baby !!!!
SPEAKING OF GOOD ACTING
TIMOTHEE
FUCKING
CHALAMET
listen i hate the fact that he gets cast in everything these days as much as everyone but hes such a talented actor and i cant deny this anymore. the water of life scene really sold it for me.
he was such a perfect paul already in the first movie but this was the moment it really came out. the way he wakes up so calm and collected. lifeless. monotone. theres nothing theres literally nothing
paul atreides the boy who became duke far too young is dead usul who was the lover of chani is dead muad'dib the fedaykin fighter is dead only the kwisatz haderach remains and thats what the prophecy was always leading us to and yet the moment it happens its so haunting
like i cannot say this enough. that complete switch is so sudden but so subtle at the same time. its still paul technically but hes so different
what makes dune's weird concepts so easy to take in once you get into the book is all that internal monologue that really leads you through these complex concepts slowly. and yet in a few shots and a few lines of dialogue timothee chalamet somehow manages to express the idea of "i just learned the secrets of the fucking universe and im about to start a holy war" ???? HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THIS???? HOW ARE YOU THIS TALENTED???? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT WAS A FEW LOOKS A FEW MOVENTS JUST THE RIGHT TONE OF VOICE AND THATS HIM!!! THATS HIM BABY!!!! THATS THE KWISATZ HADERACH AND THE UNIVERSE IS FUCKED !!!!!!!!!
also. anya taylor joy alia. we only had you for a split second but i cannot wait for you. im sure youre going to completely slay the third movie. give us our beloved tragic meow meow. alia is my fave character so i will be JUDGING HEAVILY. she better bring her a-game istg
when paul storms the war council and just completely takes control of the room so easily. thats the bene gesserit conditioning giving him his pedestal and he is making the most of it. he knows exactly what the fuck hes doing. and once more oh my goddddd all that shouting all that emotion and yet a complete lack of it. timothee spare a crumb of talent for the rest of us
also the way in that scene gurney is hesitant about it all until paul proclaims himself the duke of arrakis. and suddenly gurney has house atreides again and he doesnt care what chani does anymore. hes a follower to paul just as everyone else in that room. nothing changes. fuck me man i cant do this anymore
have i mentioned yet im so excited for chani in the next movie. her arc is so interesting. children of dune is defo not happening with the way chani has been set up so i doubt we'll see leto ii and ghanima but. lets hope we still get all the cool stuff wit alia at least. and maybe chani can be the one who leads the charge against her
okay i need to really fucking. get along with it im dragging this post on im so sorry this movie is eating my brain alive
chani still wearing blue during the final fight. im not saying more than that i might cry if i think about it too much
THAT. FINAL. FIGHT. OH MY GODDD OH MY GOD
IT ALL CAME TOGETHER SO SO WELL
THE WORMS
THE SENSE OF SCALE
THE FIGHT CHOREOGRAPHY
THE MUSIC HOLY FUCK THE MUSIC HANS ZIMMER YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY TIME
THE SOUND
EVERYTHING FLOWING TOGETHER SO WELL
the way the fremen fight for their messiah but still fly the atreides banner. the way paul leads them as their messiah and as a "fremen" but always proclaims himself duke of house atreides first. oh lorddd im unwell
every time paul menacingly emerged from fog/sand/smoke my life was extended by like 10 years thank u denis
gurney killing rabban with as much ease as he did cleared my skin and watered my crops <3
the way the baron was literally dying and still crawling towards the throne.......... the way at the same time feyd ignored him completely and looked towards the doors reveling in the fight ahead..... if that doesnt tell u everything you need to know about house harkonnen idk what will yall
i also love how no one intervenes as paul walks in and kills the baron. not even feyd. feyd looks like he was a little TOO into it as paul killed him tbh. feyd u little freak. austin butler you talented talented man. im unwell
i AM sad we didnt get to see baby alia stab him but ah well. we got a bunch of other weird dune shit so ill let this one slide. the psychic toddler may be too much even for denis and everything he did give us. we'll always have our 1984 alia <3
OHOHOHOHOHOHOH. OH. HERE WE GO
HERE WE GO YALL
THE SCENE IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE READING THE BOOK
THE SCENE THEY SHOWED BITS OF IN THE TRAILER AND THE SCENE IVE BEEN NON STOP YEARNING FOR SINCE!!!
THE DUEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
oh my god oh my god oh my goddddd where do i even start
okay so. the way theres no music. no fancy cuts no slow mo no over the top effects. its just the slashing of the blades and those BEAUTIFUL shadowed shots with the setting sun in the background. this really is the sun setting on the peaceful universe. just pain and suffering ahead marked with the blood spilled from the two who were meant to produce the messiah but who both got thrown off this path by the greed and selfishness of their forefathers. guys im normal about paul and feyd. definitely. i definitely have very normal thoughts about how they are foils and yet two sides of the same coin. yes guys
paul making the emperor kiss his ring is already such an insane fucking scene and it translated to the screen so well. amazing performances all around
i didnt talk much about florence pugh's irulan but she really didnt have much time to shine. im excited to see where she goes next and i definitely think shes a great fit but i need to see more of her to really be able to say more
i will say this. the way chani, irulan and jessica are the only ones who dont kneel for paul. the three most important women in his life who give him his power, everything he has. jessica made him and she made him the messiah. chani opened her life up to him, helped him become and in turn control the fremen, and she shed her tears for him and fulfilled her role in the prophecy against her wishes. irulan is his path to the throne, his key to being emperor. and none of them bow before him because why would they bow before a power they are responsible for, a power they own, a power they gave?
but for chani its different ofc. she also refuses to bow because she despises everything paul stands for.
oh my god i could say so much about the last scene being chani. not paul reveling in his victory. paul leaves for his next bloodshed and chani is left behind crying for the person she loves who she knows is gone. crying for her people, again enslaved. crying those same tears that brought the messiah back into this world.
theres a lot to be said about the role of gender in dune and how it hangs over every facet of this world but thats a whole separate analysis post to be had so ill just throw it down here in this little point
another thing chani does very well in the movies is she really makes paul's villainy explicitly clear. SO many people read dune and completely misunderstand it and walk away from it concluding its a "white savior narrative" and nothing more which. yes!! yes it is!!!! but thats not a good thing!!!! its never stated to be a good thing!!!!
this movie is not gonna let you misunderstand the message of the story no matter how blind you try to be to it. paul is not a good guy. hes never been the good guy. hes the protagonist, but hes not the hero. and chani allows that to translate from book to movie very well. have i mentioned yet i love movie chani
chani fills in the holes left behind by the narration and internal monologues of the book and, bonus points, she holds the people who dont understand what dune is about by the hand and tells them explicitly "PAUL IS A BAD GUY!!! DONT IDOLIZE PAUL!!!! DONT WALK AWAY FROM DUNE THINKING ITS PRAISING PAUL'S ACTIONS!!!"
i think thats pretty much all i had to say. i might reblog with additions as they hit me but yeah i. i enjoyed the movie. so so much. i think i might watch it again sometime soon while its still in cinemas.
sorry for being unhinged hope u enjoyed my rants. kiss kiss night night <3
#dune#dune part two#dune part 2#paul atreides#chani kynes#jessica atreides#feyd rautha#feyd rautha harkonnen#rabban harkonnen#vladimir harkonnen#stilgar#alia atreides#irulan corrino#im so crazy im so feral holy shit#okay im going to bed now#its 1 am lmao#ive been writing these down for like 2 hours since i got back
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they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think
#gravity falls#stanford pines#stanley pines#lg doodles#i drew this a few days ago but im so tired after work ngl . sittingnin bed like =__= ..#and im visiting family this weekend so idek if ill get to it until next weekend#but ya i love them i loge them so much#i love the tension in atots right after stanford comes back#and hes like writing sll this shit ab stan in the journal#while learning that he stole his identity and so on and stans like hey so i did this rly selfless thing for u can you at least#acknowledge it and they r just stewing in their own anger 😭#actually i love their dynamic so much . the arguing as they mimic each other 1:1 and rhe animosity and#ykw im gna make another post but the grammar stanley scene is my favorite#magbe its not post worthy nvm idc but thats probably one of my fav interactions in the whole series#its so stupid that u know its real HELPPlike yeah that rly isnjust how it is . in fact ive done more over less 🫶#HAHAHAHAH#ugh.love . lovee i wish#i dont think gf needs a continuation im totally in the 2 season boat here#but if they ever did a post series stan and ford exploration ohhh believe . trust tht i would not shut up ab it ever#i want to see them talk so bad . im so greedy bc i feel like they didnt talk enough in the series bc im partial 2 them i just want them in#everything .#i think their personalities are so fun esp bc ford isnt the annoying nerd archetype i like that hes a cocky bitch#and i like that stan is an equally cocky bitch and they both have too much pride that they butt heads over literally everythjng#but they also recognize how ridiculous it all is like 😭. even when theyre fighting over the journal they both r like ok pause r u ok#hmm.. so many ppl here capture their dynamic well too.😭at least the people who dont generalize either into a single personality trait yk#imso tired im tired#but guys i love talking ab ford and stan theybr so everything to me in ways i dnt think incould ever articulate like u see them and u just g#get it . ugh. turning my head and passing out . ford is so funny hes so stupid i love him i cant bekieve i was a ford hater im sorry ive#atoned im changed im a changed oerson i didnt realize the magnitude of his serve .but stanley as my day 1 will never change . just know .(k#idk if anyonf ever reads this fsr down but if u r here say cheesee📸📸
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