#oh i need to see your face

[teathattast]

Oh, I'm on my way

Counting down the miles to your heart

Oh, I can hardly wait

I just want to be right where you are

[yesloulou]

Daniel and Max interviews with Georgie Tunny for Network 10 Australia | Wednesday, 2024 Australian Grand Prix 🇦🇺

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 101 (103): do it for Them

[sleepwalkersqueen]

NEW FEAR OF YOU CONTENT AHH

Not even written by me! @dahvampire wrote an entire fanfiction for Fear of you, check it out!! <3

Pretty much this dynamic:

[bakudekublogblog]

i know i watched mha specifically bc it looked like something homoerotic was happening but like oh my god??? something homoerotic is happening??? like how is this chapter real i’m

[elodieunderglass]

Chat how do you. draw.

[stbot]

Lydia + Walk Walk Fashion Baby (featuring an increasingly unhinged number of pins)

[rainbowpufflez]

Lusaman,,, Rose,,,, Girlus,,,,, Womandre,,,,, and a bonus Womanmore

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II ... Part XVIII - Part XIX

It hurts to see Peter hurting.

More than the state of their city (still theirs), more than the shattered buildings (he imagines the inferno of Christmas with a little shiver), even more than the dark smudges under their mother's eyes (he and Susan make all the meals during the holidays), it's Peter who wrenches at his heart, ache welling behind Ed's sternum.

He sees how Peter yearns for a sword, an enemy, a way to make all the brokenness around them right. More than sees, though, Edmund knows.

Knows the hunger that eats at the back of the throat, the way a single page in the newspaper swamps security like a tidal wave, the helplessness that weighs shoulders and hands till falling to fury or despair seem the only choices available. Hunger and helplessness had been his old play-fellows, back Before, and now he finds their heads reared again, but he also finds himself too taken up with watching over his brother to pay much attention to them. He forgets himself in his concern for Peter.

Peter does not cry again, not that Edmund sees or hears at least. He sleeps little, laughs less.

The girls too are shaken by the alterations to what had once been their world, but Lucy laughs more than she cries, and Susan steps easily into the motherly role.

Peter does all the shopping. In the span of their three weeks holidays, he also fixes all the bicycles in the garden shed, digs up the whole bed of the Victory garden, mends two broken chairs and a chest of drawers, takes a broken clock to pieces (Ed is the one who finds the problem), and fights four different boys, two of them more than once.

Many of the children who had stayed through the whole of the bombing are quick to sneer at those who did not.

“As if we chose to go!” Edmund complains.

“Cowards,” hisses Daisy Moore as she passes them in the churchyard, and her brother laughs.

“Got scared by a few rockets, and left your poor mother all alone in her shelter, listening to us all burn?”

Ed does not relax his grip on Peter's arm until Daisy and Danny have disappeared, until the tremble of taught muscles under his hand has melted away, until the growl has died in Peter's throat.

“Look,” Ed says with forced lightness, guiding Peter toward the street where Lucy leans against a small tree, singing to herself. “I know it was terrible, but there's no call for talking like that. It might make you feel better for a moment, but it makes someone else feel horrid for awhile, so it's definitely a sum-total loss.”

Peter does not answer.

The next day he and Susan come home from a walk, and his sleeve is torn and there is blood on his knuckles.

“They insulted Susan,” is all he says to Edmund in the mirror, bent over, washing wounded hands.

Edmund is glad when they go back to school.

At St. Maurice’s, Peter's responsibilities are clear, he's respected, he has the wide open sky and the wild moors to ride over.

They step off the train at the village station, and Ed sees him breathing deep, smiling at Colin's enthusiastic greeting, leaping to catch a stolen cap and prolong a wild chase along the platform.

Ed joins Peter very early for a ride the next morning, slapped awake by the cold wet May air, but he sees the light in Peter's eyes, the way he greets each horse in turn, and Ed strokes Rose's neck, tickles under her chin as he smiles himself.

“Perhaps he'll be alright.”

But then this term Wollers is gone, graduated, good, steady old boy off to the war, and the new Head Boy ticks Peter off twice in the first week for ‘interfering’, slaps Alexander Morrow in Ed's form with a hundred lines (in French!) for cheeking him in the hall, and generally does his best to let everyone know he's in charge, while also making everyone hate him for it.

Ed hates it, especially for Peter's sake, when Peter's only a year younger and also named head of the Sixth Form. A few weeks in, Peter joins Ed on the way in to lunch, and his brow is drawn low over still-smouldering eyes, jaw set in a hard line.

“Beaumont”, he says, without preamble. “Trying to tell me what to do about Gilly when it's a Sixth Form matter. Now who’s interfering?”

“Not you,” Ed says mildly, watches Peter's shoulders drop, watches him exhale. “Just don't give him the satisfaction of marking you up for anything,” he adds.

“I know, I know,” Peter sighs. “Jolly well wish I could box him, but I can't unless he starts it. I don't know why they chose him.”

At least Pete has rugger to shine at, Ed thinks. Peter had sat his Junior Cert at the end of last term (and passed with Credit or Distinction in all subjects, which Ed is very proud of him for) so he's more relaxed with his own studies, making time for more tutoring of the young ones, and making the rugby team.

Edmund tries out for the Junior team, gets named a spare. He knows he's not strong, but he is fast, and slippery.

A letter from Dad comes, forwarded from Mum, and it is cheerful, telling them things they already know about the successes in North Africa, expounding on his work learning Arabic, giving a brief written sketch of the desert sunset that strikes up vividly at them like heat from the sand till Edmund can see it as clearly as the view west from Tashbaan.

Peter is quiet though, broody for days after. Ed watches, wonders, worries.

Three months and Peter will be 17, a year off of signing up. Sometimes Edmund is certain Peter would have already gone, fudged his age and signed his name; he doesn't doubt they would take a strapping youth like Peter with very few questions. But he'd promised Mum, and Peter Pevensie is not a promise-breaker.

He's also not the only one hurting, not the only one missing Dad, missing Narnia, but Ed doesn't like to worry his brother, doesn't want to add to the concerns Peter carries.

There are questions sitting somewhere in his stomach, and he tries to ignore them, but they've grown heavier over the days, weeks, months. Time ticking by, another spring, and something about the sunrises, the green flush racing across the quad, rising in the victory garden, the apple trees by the stables bursting into bloom, it makes the longing flare bright in him.

As always the memories stay hazy, sometimes fearfully so, only brought back in sharp relief, a cleared streak in fogged up glass, in odd moments. Ed thinks there's a pattern in it—when a lie hovers on the tip of his tongue, he hears Oreius's voice; when Peter turns with an angry word, he remembers tense council rooms; when an apology fails to melt Edmund's own shame, he sees Tumnus's face. But there are smaller, less specific flashes too, and one day, hard at work with the violin in one of the practice rooms, he gets lost in the music, notes dancing under his fingers, spinning, swooping, diving, soaring, and he plays and plays and plays until he coasts to a halt, stands breathless and a little dizzy, feeling exactly as he had after his first real flight on the back of a gryphon, and his hand on the bow grips involuntarily tighter, as if feathers and fur are slipping through his fingers.

“Oh, don't stop.”

A hoarse whisper making Ed spin round, but it is only Peter leaning in the doorway, yearning writ large across his face, until their eyes meet and it twists into sorrow.

Only then does Edmund realise his cheeks are wet, and he pivots quickly back, lays the violin down gentle, deliberate.

Peter says nothing, but he comes across the room, stands close behind, close enough that Ed decides he doesn't care, and turns, falls into Peter's chest.

Arms wrap strong around him, smile bunches the cheek that presses against his head, but still Peter says nothing, and Edmund is glad. Just for a minute he hides his face in his big brother's shoulder, and lets himself cry. Peter holds him, safe and tight, and he stays, sniffling into Peter’s vest, until Peter says, “It sounded like Narnia. What was it?”

Ed sighs, pulls away to scrub a sleeve across his nose. “I don't know. It just sort of… came over me. Or out of me. Or to me– I don't know.”

Slow grinning pride breaks across Peter's face. “So you're a composer now too!”

And Ed must needs shove him away, rolling his eyes. “I didn't exactly write it down, so I'll probably never be able to play it again.”

“That doesn't change how beautiful it was,” Peter says, hopeful and true like Edmund needs him to be.

He fingers the violin strings, plucking them gently, tick tock tick tock tick, and he says it quiet.

“It's been about ten years. In Narnia. Without us. If the time difference between the professor's visit and ours is consistent.”

“Corin will be a man,” Peter murmurs in the surprised tone of grown-ups talking about nieces or nephews they haven't seen in ages. “And what would you bet Aravis and Cor are married?”

“Peridan and Anna must have several children by now.” Ed’s voice catches in his throat at the thought of his friend, who had sworn he would make Edmund godfather of all his sons, as well as letting him teach them all how to fight. And oh, Ed had stood up at his wedding as best man, hadn't he? While Peter had given Anna away, in lieu of long-lost father or brothers.

“Erah and Pearl–” Peter starts, but can't finish.

“We weren't trying to leave,” Edmund says. “I wish they knew that.”

“We were only following Lucy into another adventure.” Peter has a little half-smile on his lips, and then his arm around Ed’s shoulders is warm.

“The professor said it wouldn't all be easy.” Edmund rests his head on Peter's shoulder.

“Do you ever wish-?” Peter starts, but cuts himself off with a decided “No, I don't.”

Edmund knows, he's wondered himself, once or twice on difficult days, but he always answers the same as Peter. He'll always be grateful they had been brought to Narnia.

But there's one question he does hesitate over, as the seasons change, and the clock ticks on, and he voices it now, barely above a whisper: “Are you so sure we'll go back?”

“Of course,” Peter says at once. “Aslan said we would always be kings and queens of Narnia. We'll get back somehow.”

“You're sure?” Edmund pulls away enough to look hard up into Peter's eyes, searching for a hint of doubt.

“Quite. We have to.” Peter swallows hard, looks away out the window where the rain falls steady in the quad. “We have to,” softer now.

Ed sees the longing in his brother's eyes, and he wishes suddenly that just being here with Edmund and the music and the rain was enough for Peter. But he loves his brother anyway.

“Alright, your majesty,” he says lightly. “Now come on, the supper bell will ring any minute.”

He snaps the clasps on the violin case closed, leads the way out of the room, humming the whisper of wings in a blue sky.

Behind him, Peter is silent.

[bakaramia]

Vox no matter what the ppl on twitter do to you you will always be the overcompensating insecure tsundere baby I saw and fell in love with the first time I watched Hazbin.

[hyohaehyuk]

He got affairzoned (x)

The video interview is called Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid share all of the details on their series Interview With The Vampire S2 - People Interview

So in the interview they ask them what they would do in a day off and Jacob mentioned that spending his day off with his wife and kid is his happy place and Sam reaction just broke my heart.

Sam was trying so hard to have a normal reaction but I think he had a reality check and either he realized he was the mistress or that jacob is not interested on him at all romantically.

Like, call me delulu how much you want it but i bet any other cast member wouldn't even had bat an eye at Jacob' answear but Sam was clearly affected and couldn't keep a poker face (dude you are an actor. Do smth 😭).

To be frank i dont know if at that time they was aware of each other feelings (i dont even know if they are now) but if they was, then Jacob was really cruel answering that question in front of Sam*, especially bc in the previous one, about what it would be their last meal, Sam said the one he had in Prague with Jacob every single night and a bit later Sam even admitted he didn't liked the food which just meant what he liked was the company. Jacob, honey, read f*cking the room

*i dont know, he could just have said something more simplified with the same meaning, like "spending time with family and friends".

[hetfieldlovebot]

hetfield x trans masc reader

this has been playing on my mind all day so here we goooo

80’s James my beloved

.

.

.

~

the both of you had been laid there a while, your legs hooked over his shoulders, pressed tight to his chest. His fingers buried deep inside you moving teasingly slow, whenever you’d let out a desperate whine or moan, he’d curl his fingers and rush to cover your mouth.

earlier on, it had been playing on his mind all day, resenting the fact he couldn’t be constantly inside of you but he wanted to savour the moment.

“such a good boy for me hm? you like that don’t you?” he’d growl into your ear and nip at your neck.

letting out louder sounds this time you look up at him with pleading eyes, unable to control your hips which were grinding down on him, rolling and trying to fuck yourself harder.

“please jamey…please”

shaking his head and looking down at you, soft golden strands of his tangled hair tickling your face.

“no, sweetheart. you’re gonna stay right there and let me have my fun, don’t move and don’t make a sound.”

you look at him and glare in protest, but you follow his instructions, staying perfectly still and biting back moans by shoving your face into the crook of his neck. sucking at the skin in an attempt to distract yourself.

“that’s right, so perfect for me, my sweet boy.” his hand moves faster now, brushing past that sweet spot, curling up into you and moving with strategy. your head tips back and you cover your own mouth, eyes glazed over as you stare at him, struggling not to squirm under his touch.

“mhm taking it so good, doing fantastic for me baby, keep quiet and i’ll let you have what you want, okay?” his words roll of his tongue, sounding sweet but you knew it was a lie, squeezing your eyes shut you focus on the feeling. he was going to deny you regardless, might as well enjoy it.

thoughts of the previous night running through your head, the visuals of him sloppily licking your clit and whispering sweet nothings seemed to drive you crazy, helping you along the way. he notices this and takes his fingers out, producing a hiss from you at the loss of sensation.

“no, no. not yet beautiful. i know what you’re doing.”

your eyes flutter open and you look at him with frustration, unable to speak you can only part your lips and pull him in for a kiss, running your hands through his hair and tugging at it in a needy plea.

“you don’t get to cum until i say you do pretty boy, don’t want you cumming so soon” he whispers after parting from your lips.

a huff escapes you, as you shake your head

“we’ve been here for over an hour, please…i can’t anymore…i need it so bad”

he smirks, finally getting you where he wanted you. “then why didn’t you say so handsome?”

you glare at him again and are about to make a snarky comment, quickly interrupted by him lining up and slamming himself inside. he let out a satisfied grunt hearing you whine at the motion. there with that shit eating grin as he brushes your hair out of your face, running his thumb over your lips.

“you did so well for me honey, gonna make you feel even better now..”

[sunforgrace]

he sat there on the ground and cried. for cas. cas told him he loved him was taken away and he buried his head in his hands and wept

[bedforddanes75]

the way i would suffocate myself with his thighs is something that needs to be studied by scientists worldwide

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

four to doomsday is a funny serial because it’s objectively kinda dull but it’s so SO good at showing us what makes fivey and his friends tick

[bonkalore]

It wasn't super intentional... but ended up with a lot of power fantasy of uprooting a corrupt government and taking out those who enforced it that were in power within the Bleeding Magic AU.

I wish life would imitate art with that.

It really just be like:

Lucy: The system is broken and must be fixed. Jayce: The system is working as intended and must be destroyed.