#patrick is innocent

[martha-dobie]

patrick just giving up in the middle of you're crashing pre-chorus reminded me of this interview and im on patrick's side cause i try and fail to sing some of the songs

[niallsdaya]

“art is just as bad” “art is a manipulative snake” i too would do anything to marry zendaya, he’s not evil, HE’S REAL‼️

[evanpetersbf]

what the fuck do you mean by ‘scary serial killer’? that’s literally my wife. 🎀

[mattdillonbae]

𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐂 𝐔 𝐑 𝐓 𝐈 𝐒 𝐒 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑

𝐏 𝐎 𝐍 𝐘 𝐁 𝐎𝐘 𝐒 𝐂 𝐎 𝐔 𝐑 𝐓 𝐓 𝐑 𝐈 𝐀 𝐋

˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ᯓ★ ˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

The room was unnaturally quiet, a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm raging outside. Raindrops pattered against the window, each one a silent whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the world with it. Inside, a single lamp cast a warm, flickering glow across the worn wooden floorboards, illuminating the huddled forms of the Curtis siblings. You, the youngest at twelve, had your knees drawn up to your chest, your eyes glued to the judge. The judges voice droned on, recounting the events of the night that had led to her brother Ponyboy's arrest. You bit your lower lip, the tremble in your hands betraying the fear you tried so hard to keep hidden. Ponyboy's face, etched with a mix of shock and defiance, filled the small room. You felt a lump in her throat, the gravity of the situation threatening to overwhelm you. Darry, the eldest of the siblings, sat in next to you and Sodapop, his eyes never straying from you. He could almost see the storm of emotions swirling within you. As the case report grew more intense, your trembling grew worse, and your breaths grew shallow. With a gentle sigh,he placed a firm but comforting hand on your back, his thumb tracing small circles in a soothing rhythm. His eyes remained on what the judge was saying, his jaw clenched tight, but his attention was solely on you.

"It'll be over soon, baby," Darry murmured, his voice low and steady. "Pony'll be okay."

You nodded, trying to believe his words. You felt the warmth of his hand on your back, his touch a silent promise of protection. Despite the chaos that had become their lives, Darry had always been your rock, the one you could lean on when the world felt too heavy. His kiss on the top of your head was a familiar comfort, one you had known since you were a child. It was a silent language that spoke of love and reassurance, a tender gesture that seemed to calm the tempest of your fears. Sodapop, their middle brother, returned from his daze. His eyes searched their faces, noting the tension in the room. He gave you a gentle smile, “Darry’s right, Pony will be okay.” His voice was softer than usual, the usual teasing tone absent. Soda knew the gravity of the situation; he had seen the same fear in your eyes that he felt in his own heart. They were all walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of a future that seemed uncertain and perilous. You managed a small smile for Soda, but the sadness and worry remained, pooled in your eyes like rainwater in a storm drain. Darry took a deep breath, his own eyes reflecting the turmoil of the night's events. He didn't know what to say to ease your pain, so he just held you closer, his arm wrapping around your slim shoulders like a protective shield. The whispers grew louder in the room, as random people and friends of the family trickled in, their hushed voices a cacophony of concern. They spoke in low tones about the trial, the tension between the Greasers and the Socs, and the fate of the youngest Curtis. Darry's jaw clenched with every mention of Ponyboy's name, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and fear. He knew that his little brother had been forced into a corner, and the thought of him facing the consequences alone was unbearable.

———————————————————————————

Hours later, as the storm outside finally began to abate, the news broke. The judge had ruled in favor of Ponyboy, stating that he was not the one who had committed the murder, but rather had acted in self-defense. It was Johnny Cade, their friend, who had made the fateful decision to protect them both from Bob Sheldon's violent intentions. The words "not guilty" echoed in the room like a distant bell, bringing with it a wave of relief that washed over your taut frame. You looked up at Darry, your eyes wide with hope and unshed tears. Darry and Soda both let out breaths they seemed to be holding and chuckled a bit but didn't say anything. The tension that had coiled around them like a tightening noose slowly began to unravel. For the first time that night, Darry felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling her into a fierce hug. Soda, too, let out a sigh of relief, his eyes misting over as he released his tie that he'd been clutching. The room was still, save for the distant thunder that rumbled outside like a fading echo of their fear. As soon as Ponyboy got off the stand and met his siblings outside, he rushed the rest of their makeshift family. Then they all rushed toward the him, pulling him into the warmth of their embrace. The room was a tangle of limbs and emotions, mostly relief and joy. "I love you buddy," Darry said, his voice choked with a mix of pride and fear as he held Ponyboy tightly, his eyes glistening. It was a declaration of brotherly love that was rarely spoken aloud in their tough exterior world, but it was felt in every bone of their bodies, every beat of their hearts. Ponyboy leaned into the hug, feeling the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. The warmth of his brother's embrace was the most comforting thing he had felt in weeks.

[hum--hallelujah]

Patrick being like yeah I'm not the words guy lyrics aren't my strong suit that's Pete's thing it's a good thing Pete writes all the lyrics... I could make this post about Soul Punk but mostly I'm just thinking about how "Pete and I attacked the laws of Astoria with promise and precision/ a mess of youthful innocence/ and I read about the afterlife but I never really lived more than an hour/ more than an hour" makes me feel

[bleachersgirl]

all he wanted was to talk about something other than tennis with the two people he loved most in the world :(

[anthonyboyledarling]

[whateverbrunettewants]

“When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.” ― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1657 – Death of Franciscan friar and historian, Luke Wadding, in Rome.

Wadding was born in Waterford to Walter Wadding of Waterford, a wealthy merchant, and his wife, Anastasia Lombard (sister of Peter Lombard, Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of Ireland). Educated at the school of Mrs. Jane Barden in Waterford and of Peter White in Kilkenny, in 1604 he went to study in Lisbon and at the University of Coimbra. After completing his university studies, Wadding became…

[five678patty]

Glitter

for @schittscreekdrabbleblog

[ants-personal]

patrick stump 🤝 evan myers

Shortest member of the group that gets possessed by a demonic entity and kills their friends.

[badolmen]

Soldiers kill sheep in the streets and I see bison skulls piled high, the bullets are made in the United States.

Trees are set ablaze by tanks and I see Moses kneeling in fear and reverence, God does not speak from these flames.

The people starve and I see seaweed gathered in baskets on Irish shores, Dutch tulip bulbs boiled with rabbit bones.

When they said ‘never again’ it was never for love of the hundreds of millions murdered, nor fear of the systems that allowed such evil to rise. They said ‘never again’ to shipping lane inconveniences, to stock market woes, and to being seen for cowards.

At least a coward would sit in quiet fear, content in inaction. Now they sign over billions, condemning millions to the total destruction. Where is the shame? Where is the apathy? At least in that I can call them mere cowards. What else am I to call them but the evil they so long taught me to revile?

God have mercy on their souls. God have mercy on ours. For the body is doomed - the bombs will still fall, the blood will still spill, the graves of thousands will fill.

(How long is the queue to the pearly gates? Is St. Peter agrieved to see so many young faces? Are wives rejoicing or grieving the reunion with their husbands? Does the brother laugh or cry when he finds his sister among the crowd?)

From Carthage to Auschwitz we were warned. From Roman roads to shipping lanes we watched the weapons trade hands. And when we cry out to the powers that be, they turn away - unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling. Machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts.

But the horror is in knowing they are not machines. This is not their nature. They are men. Born with a love for humanity in their hearts, a desire for community and companionship and art. How did they lose such a fundamental part of their being? Was it beaten out of them by bitter men before them or did they discard it themselves, as though it were a cancer to be excised? Does it matter when they so zealously jump knee deep in blood and bone among bomb shattered homes?

And while it is troubling to consider that, being human, we too can have our hearts hardened, it is far more uncomfortable to consider that, being human, they may one day revert to natural compassion. And what does one do when the machine becomes man again? When he proves it was a choice all along? A choice he refused and snubbed until the bodies cooled and the graves grew grassy with age?

God forgive what I cannot.

[rogue205]

So Aquaman 2 is said to be a “bromance” focused on Arthur and Orm as they fight to save their home from Black Manta and his new power.

And Amber Heard is out there whining that “her role got massive cut backs” from the film. (Oh gee, I wonder why. She’s trying to play the victim yet again. Too bad she can’t act.)

.

.

.

.

.

.

Okay. Sign me the hell up. 👍 I was gonna boycott it because of her but I’ll see how things play out.

[mariocki]

Six Plays by Alan Bennett: One Fine Day (1.5, LWT, 1979)

"One o'clock? It says 'while you wait'."

"Well, you can wait. But you don't want to hang around here all morning, do you?"

"Well, what takes so long?"

"He's got arthritis."

"Perhaps you ought to take the sign down."

"Well, we're ready for retiring. We've got to come out of here anyway. All this is coming down. Is it important? The key?"

"No, it's not important. One o'clock."

[the-carpal-tunnel-of-gingers]

God damn google put patrick on blast there

[lyekisses]

are there statistics on top!patrick pre vs post hiatus because i think the whole uwu innocent smol bean cinnamon roll thing completely tanked his reputation </3

i’m not sure if we can get an accurate picture of pre hiatus fics just bc so many have been lost to time/livejournal but i feel like at least from the selection i’ve read it was at least BALANCED. but yeah patrick’s cinnamon roll blue eyes baby face persona def influenced post hiatus fictions 😭 just because he’s CUTE doesn’t mean he can’t FUCK!!!!