#letter* not later

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

your former ex-boyfriend, dick grayson, is nervous.

he’s planned the day out to the letter. some of your favorite things, a museum stroll and a picnic in the gorgeous spring weather. (he made sure you took your allergy pill this morning, too.) he got absolutely no sleep, up all night with nerves, trying to take deep breaths into your hair as he cradled you close. he knows where you two need to be and when, and he’s got a square shaped box in his pocket poking into the meat of his thigh every time he takes a step. a step further with you, a step forward into your future together. but he’s nervous.

nervous you’ll say no. nervous you don’t want him the way he wants you. nervous he’s still not in the clear. it’s only been a year or so since he’d broken up with you, trying to decide he knows what’s best for the both of you.

he’s taken note, though.

of all the times you’ve joked about your ‘bare ring finger.’

all the moments he’s caught you lingering in front of a jewelry store.

you do always tell him you want him forever and always.

he’ll mention something in the future, float the idea of kids, or more pets, and you’ll talk about wanting to buy a house with him, asking him his opinion of architecture styles when you go on walks together.

the topic of the future is heavily woven into almost every interaction you have, fitting into place as perfectly as your hands do when he grabs yours.

but he’s nervous.

dick is being so weird. constantly checking his watch, hurriedly texting. eyes shifting around. you’d hugged him this morning, and felt his heart beating behind his ribs like a caged bird. he’s been a gentleman as always, curling your hair for you and asking you to twirl to show off your outfit. opening every door for you, walking on the side closer to the road as you walk down the sidewalk. but you know him. and something’s off.

you link your arm through his as you point out the brushstrokes in the rembrandt in front of you, and he nods in response, distracted.

“dick.” you say, exasperated.

“yes, angel?” he replies, obviously still a little distracted as you two continue down the gallery.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, probing. he looks at you, the intensity in his blue eyes suddenly fully focused onto you. it’s a little jarring, one thing about dick you’ll probably never get used to. (and never want to.) having his full attention feels like being under a spotlight, like you’re the only other person in the world, and he wants nothing else but to hear what you have to say.

“i’m thinking about how gorgeous you look,” he says, the unexpected compliment sinking into your skin, warming you from the outside in.

“thank you, baby.” you say, a little flustered still.

he gives you his full and total attention the rest of the time you’re there, letting you look at every single exhibit until you’re satisfied.

he buys you a ridiculous keychain from the gift shop, a cutout of the panicked figure in edvard munch’s the scream.

it goes onto your keys immediately, dick’s satisfied smile even better than the keychain.

you head out of the museum, back to the car. dick opens your door, rounding to his side. he gets in, buckling his seatbelt after he’s sure you’ve already done yours. he kisses you on the cheek, starting the car.

“where to next, dick?”

“that’s for me to know and for you to find out.” he replies, and you laugh, rolling your eyes.

he drives further away from the city, deeper into the suburbs of gotham. the houses grow nicer and nicer as you drive up the hill, and you point some of them out to dick. he smiles, a knowing look on his face.

dick pulls into a park you’ve never seen before, and you get the oddest feeling in your stomach. almost a little apprehensive? you’re not sure why, you and dick have done a million dates like this before.

he parks, and opens your door for you, holding out a hand to help you out, even if you don’t need it.

you try to take the picnic basket from the trunk, but dick stops you, an incredulous look on his face. you smile in response, picking up the folded blanket instead. he easily slides the handle of the basket onto one arm, grabbing your free hand with his.

locking the car, he leads you to the hill crowning the park.

it’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining but not too warm. birds sing out to each other from the trees, a light breeze rustling through the leaves, the lush grass covering the ground. one side of the park is covered in blooms upon blooms of flowers, intricately planted in order to be easily walked through. big, fluffy clouds float across the sky, every once in awhile in front of the sun.

you make it to the top of the hill, shaking the blanket out, setting it onto the grass. he sets the basket down, pulling out sandwiches and drinks from the cooler, a container of cut fruit, your favorite kind of chips. you go to sit down, take your shoes off, but he stops you.

bringing you over to the other side of the hill, he wraps an arm around your waist as you gape at the view. you’re overlooking the city, as far as the eye can see. the sun glints off of some of the high rises, and you pick the wayne enterprises building out easily. dick smiles at that, kissing your temple.

you turn from the view after that, focusing onto the one standing right next to you. his black hair gleams in the sun, his tanned skin making his blue eyes pop. he’s dressed so nicely, a good pair of jeans and a new button-up, his favorite pair of converse freshly scrubbed clean, a habit he has that’s so baffling to you.

you could’ve sworn you felt a raindrop or two, but nothing about the sky declares rain to come. you brush the idea off, turning back to look at the gotham skyline.

“angel,” dick says, and looking at him, you gasp.

he drops to one knee, and everything quiets except for the words he’s about to say. you can’t breathe, one hand is pressed to your chest, over your heart, the other one gripped tightly in dick’s. the ring in its ring box is positively breathtaking, but you only glance at it. he could propose with a ring pop, for all you care.

he opens his mouth to speak, and he’s cut off by a rushing sound. you both look up, confused. torrential rain sweeps across the park, across your picnic, thunder shaking the sky.

you’re soaked, your clothes and hair plastered to your skin. dick looks miserable, but you almost can’t help but laugh. poor dick, trying to get everything perfect. trying to do everything right, just for the one thing he couldn’t control, to be what ruins it.

dick’s only thankful for the rain because it’s hiding the tears threatening to fall.

“angel..” he starts again, his voice cracking. you shake your head. he doesn’t need to say anything, anything at all. you know what he has to say, and you agree with all of it, all of it and more.

his face sets into grim acceptance as he nods, but you just laugh again. he starts to close the ring box, but you stop him.

you slip the ring onto your wet finger, the stone glistening and sparkling, even under the dark skies. dick’s eyes light up, his mouth agape. before he can say a word, you tackle him into the grass.

“yes.” you say, peppering his face with kisses. some of the wetness on his face tastes salty, and you have no doubt in the world he was crying.

“yes, dick,” planting another on his forehead,

“yes,” his cheek,

“yes,” the tip of his nose,

“yes,” his chin,

“a thousand times, YES!” on his lips, rolling him on top of you on the wet grass. he sighs into your mouth, relaxing into it, and you can feel the smile on his lips.

dick grabs champagne from the picnic basket, shaking it as he pops it. you squeal when he sprays you with it, grabbing it to do the same to him. you take a swig, giving it back to dick as he copies you. you kiss, tasting the alcohol, the cool rain on his lips. he picks you up, spinning you, and you’ve never felt so free, so happy.

later, you’re back in the car, the heater on full blast as you sit there soaked.

“mrs. grayson,” you say, sighing happily. dick blushes, his eyes popping. he watches you admire the ring on your finger, pulling you closer, into a kiss. you deepen it, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“did you mean to propose on the same day you broke up with me?”

“what?!”

☆ ☆ ☆

idea courtesy of @cottage-worm

love ya bae, you got one heck of a brain on you

go read her writing too! @wormwrites

☆ ☆ ☆

post divider!!! @saradika-graphics

[anbaisai]

Eeeh, I didn’t know today was also NRC Founding Day! What a coincidence. It must be fate or something!

Happy birthday to Mayu! 🎉🎉It just so happens to fall on the same day as Twst JP's anniversary, so let's have a big celebration today! ✨ (Voice lines under the cut!)

Credit to @/twstinginthewind for the blank Ramshackle card edit!

When Summoned: I didn’t think I’d get to celebrate my birthday in another world. I’m grateful that I’ve found friends in Twisted Wonderland to share this with.

Home: Wah, my hair’s sticking up everywhere!

Swap Looks: Time to get ready for the day.

Home Transition 1: Gotta make my bed before I go! Yup, everything’s neat and tidy.

Home Transition 2: I’m always so hungry first thing when I wake up. Alright, let’s see if there’s any leftovers from last night I can munch on!

Home Transition 3: I look like I have a sprout on my head? Well, we’ve gotta go out there and make sure it gets its sunshine then!

Home Transition - Login: I’m not expecting any gifts, but it would be nice to get some practical things like cleaning supplies. It’s hard keeping Ramshackle spic and span on the headmaster’s meager allowance…

Groovification: [LOCKED]

Home Transition - Groovy: [LOCKED]

Home Tap 1: Jamil-senpai wished me happy birthday and handed me a homemade bento. He really is just like a diligent housewife…

Home Tap 2: The Ramshackle Ghosts surprised me this morning. They woke me up by singing happy birthday. It was really thoughtful of them, so I’ll cherish this memory ‘til I’m a ghost, too!

Home Tap 3: I don’t do anything special to my hair or makeup. I just kinda do what feels natural! Although everyone here seems to know a lot about makeup, maybe I should try asking for tips some time...

Home Tap 4: Ace can’t be nice to me even on my birthday! He just gave me a noogie and said he’d bump me a few times, one for each year. Can you believe him?

Home Tap 5: I really didn't expect to be able to celebrate my birthday with so many people around this year. Nothing beats getting to share all this food with my friends- h-hey Grimmy! That's my share!

Home Tap - Groovy: [LOCKED]

[nenoname]

made a rough edit of the mystery shack family with their post series (but pre stan o war 2) looks!!!

[powpowhammer]

All the Spy x Family Chairs as of March 27 2025

I got sick of not having a good reference guide updated to current. All the chairs are Modern, but some are identified with related/sub-movements. this will be very embarassing when door inevitably corrects me

Volume 1: Le Corbusier, LCF Grand Confort LC-2 (Cushion Baskets, 1928) wikipedia

Volume 2: Irving Harper for George Nelson for Herman Miller, Marshmallow Sofa (Marshmallow Love Seat #5670, 1956), MCM wikipedia

Volume 3: Charles and Ray Eames, Chaise Lounge (La Chaise, 1948/1991), MCM eames

Volume 4: Eero Aarnio, Ball Chair (1963), MCM/industrial wikipedia aarnio

Volume 5: Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Lilly Reich, Barcelona Chair (1929), Bauhaus wikipedia knoll

Volume 6: Verner Panton for his Series K with Vitra and others, Heart Cone Chair (1958-1959), pop-art vitra panton bklynmsm

Volume 7: Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Willow Chair (Chair/Settle[sic] for Willow Tea Room, 1902-04/1973), Glasgow school glasgow

Volume 8: Charles and Ray Eames for Herman Miller, Eames Lounge Chair and Ottoman (1956), MCM wikipedia

Volume 9: George Nelson for Herman Miller, Coconut Lounge Chair ("Coconut" Chair, 1956-58), MCM bklnmsm

Volume 10: brutalism, whose name comes from the french 'beton brut' meaning raw concrete and frequently incorporates concrete and rebar as design materials, was in several ways a rejection of the modernist movement that could have been said to only have been made possible in part by post-war prosperity in 'allied' nations

Volume 11: Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Hill House Chair (Ladder Back Chair [for White Bedroom], 1902-04/1973), Glasgow school glasu

Volume 12: Harry Bertoia for Knoll, Diamond Chair (1952), MCM/industrial knoll wikipedia

Volume 13: Eero Saarinen for Knoll, Tulip Chair (Tulip Side Chair, 1955), industrial/proto-space age wikipedia knoll

Volume 14: Frank Lloyd Wright for The Robie House, Robie Chair (Dining Table Side Chair, 1907-1910) smartmsm

Volume 15: Hans Jørgensen Wegner for Johannes Hansen, Peacock Chair (Påfuglestolen/PP50, 1947) wikipedia

[swantranslations]

Miyazaki's Retirement Declarations (chronologically)

Translated from last week's NHK documentary on the production of The Boy and The Heron (more under cut). I saw people posting a screencap of this and I just couldn't contain myself. THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON WAY LONGER THAN I IMAGINED LMFAO

This is from the NHK programme "Professional - Their Working Philosophy" (プロフェッショナル 仕事の流儀) a few days ago (16/12/2023). The episode investigates the production process of The Boy and the Huron, and how the late Takahata Isao influenced the movie.

(It was confirmed within the documentary that Mahito = Miyazaki, Great Uncle = Takahata Isao, The Heron = Suzuki Toshio, Kiriko = Yasuda Michiyo)

The documentary is currently available on the NHK Streaming Service (Location Limited). If you have your own ways of watching and you know Japanese, I would definitely recommend the episode as it gives a lot of much-needed context to The Boy and The Heron. Personally, I haven't found a way to watch it yet, so all I know about the documentary are hearsay I saw on Japanese twitter.

Original screencap:

Also, at the very end of the episode, Miyazaki was shown working on a Naucicaa piece without any explanation, which led to many people speculating whether he could be working on a sequel for Naucicaa of the Valley of the Wind.

What do yall think? Do you think he's going to finally retire or release yet another animated film in a few years? I would love to see Naucicaa 2 but I also feel like he really needs to... yknow, chillax a bit and stuff. He deserves a long ass vacation.

[vaguely-concerned]

the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)

[frenchphobe]

griddlehark modern pen pal au where they don’t know each other but are assigned as pen pals for those pen pal projects you get in middle school and it just turns into them sending each other hate mail and somehow they just keep going for several years, even though they dont rly have to

[equill]

Reuniting with a distorted past.

Extra:(New personality tested gone wrong)

wanted to play with rin living in the aftermath aus aswell and had these drawings laying around to share so yay

Panel 1: Was buried alive.

Comic 1: Who are you supposed to be?

new friends

Comic 2: Misguided protection.

obito still sensing the warning signs of rin losing her temper. anyways they proceeded to be dragged into the ocean by rin like some sea monster

Comic 3: Finding out (Now what will you do?)

obito is harshly brought back from his delusions because now its not just kushina but rin too who he needs to ripped out the tail beast from

[royaltea000]

This man has no idea how close he is at all times to being attic wifed

[satorkive]

CAN I GET A KISS ୨୧ EREN

when you ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead, eren just melts. suddenly, his thoughts fizzle, his mind goes blank, and his eyes close to feel the warmth of your love.

moments like this are his favorites. the gentleness of your hands, the warmth of your love radiating outside, the feeling of your solid body colliding against his, and the touch of your kiss makes him want to merge souls with you and stay until the end of time.

past memories, late ancestors, the rumbling, ongoing war, marley, paradis, ymir, his dad, his mom, the world—everything had faded when he’s with you.

“thank you for loving me,” he says as he smiles against your cheek. “and thank you for being you.”

[hater-era]

happy OFPD day!!

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you? 'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love mine, all mine, all mine

something something about enjolras being grantaire's source of light all this time but at the moment of enjolras' death grantaire reignited that hope/light in enjolras (it's subtle but their hands are glowing!!)

[hyperfocusthusly]

@bucktommyfluffebruary day 7 - love notes/ letters

Absolutely gone for the idea of Tommy leaving cute little cheesy notes in Buck’s lunch box/pillow/locker/anywhere he can think of so I drew a few up 🫶🏻 (part one is here)

Also one day Tommy is going to find a little box under the bed which will have every note because of course Buck saves them all and he will have a little cry about it

I had such a fun time making these that if you send me an ask with a cheesy pick up line, I will do a little post-it just for you 😘

Tagging some beloveds (as always let me know if you want to be added or removed);

@leashybebes @livelaughlou @loucifersbitch @dark-alice-lilith @mmso-notlikethat @laundryandtaxesworld @hippolotamus @bucksaiga @sad-girl-hours23 @littlepaws9 @evansbuck-ley @jamieroyjamieroy @typicalopposite

@moonydanny @teenmaximoff @bucksboobs @ohithankyou @bi-bi-buckleys @rubydaiquiri @hellion-child @aringofsalt @sweaters-and-silly @theotherbuckley @comfortingevanbuckley @epiphainie @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard

@sunnywithachanceofbi @desert--moonchild @big-urchin-energy @fyrehose @buckleyskinards @owlgirl495 @honeyloulou @setmeatopthepyre @salty-autistic-writer @thecarrott

[chanafehs]

“For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life.”

[squieezie]

pony turns the corner, making immediate eye contact with darry who’s sat on the couch with his head in his hands.

when he hears pony he stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“pone, sit down.” this was weird. darry- darry wasn’t supposed to be home for ages. pony had just got back from track- so it should have been hours until he eventually got home. and he was biting his lip, eyes a little bleary- those uncommon but obvious telltale signs that something was wrong.

he complies, sliding onto the couch where darry was just sat. darry sits down opposite, on the old recliner were their pa would sit every night.

it was a weird sight.

“dar? whats-“ he starts, leaning forward slightly.

darry interjects, running a hand through his hair in a nervous tic he’d picked up from their father years and years ago.

“pony..” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath, preparing for the correctly estimated onslaught of outrage and hurt that would be reciprocated from the message. “pone, baby-“

ponyboy’s breath picks up, bordering on hyperventilation.

“curly, he-“ the words hit like a punch to pony’s gut, a confused glance being thrown at darry with eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared.

“he in the cooler? reformatory?”

darry gulps.

“no, no honey. curly- he died. i’m so sorry, pony.”

if the past words were a punch to the gut, these were a stab to the heart. a switchblade tearing across his valves and veins. drawing blood and smearing it across the walls.

darry grabs the stack of letters that’s sat on the coffee table, pony’s name written in scrawled handwriting on the front of each. he passes them to pony, sighing.

“tim- tim found these, in curly’s room.”

pony’s breath hitches, and he throws the letters at the wall.

“he’s not- he’s not dead, dar! don’t- don’t lie, please don’t fucking lie to me right now-“

darry shakes his head, moving to sit next to him.

“he’s gone, pony. please don’t do this to yourself-“

“how?”

darry tilts his head, confusion etched across his face. hidden in his frown lines, marked in his eyebrows and scribbled into the bruise on his chin. pony should probably ask him about that, shouldn’t he?

pony continues, glaring straight ahead.

“how did he- yknow.”

darry runs a hand down his face.

“stabbed, with a switchblade. tim thinks he was on tiber territory-“

“oh god.” pony murmurs. “oh god, dar.”

“i know, i know baby.” he wraps his arms around pony in an attempt to of comfort.

ponyboy begins to sob, looking everywhere but the crumpled letters on the floor, everywhere except darry’s teary eyed face. his hands were warm as he held him, pony’s were probably the opposite. cold and clammy, unfortunate and lost.

“i killed him, didn’t i?” pony cries out, hands gripping the back of darry’s work shirt.

darry pulls him in tighter.

“no, no. pony you didn’t do-“

“i’m cursed dar, look at me. everyone- everyone just. dies”

darry can’t think of good enough response, so he lets the silence fill the room up with thick smoke that curls around their bodies, intertwined in the hope that it will help him squeeze pony a little tighter.

[vigilskeep]

i’ve got to be real with cullen that everything he says about samson unfortunately makes himself seem worse and samson seem cooler

[hey-hey-j]

"Hey! Anybody here remember FUN?! I'll give you a hint: it's the exact OPPOSITE of being in BroZone!"

(★ my Kofi) | (★ commission info)