#quiet-but-not-blind

[autumnal-thunder]

Happy Birthday! 🎊

Thank you! (:

[thatscarletflycatcher]

16 and 24, for the Austen asks?

16.Least favorite film adaptation

If we are including all movie/miniseries adaptations, it's Emma 1970. I know it has its defenders, but to me it was half too weird and uncomfortable, half very, very dull. I haven't seen Doran Godwin in anything else, but she never blinks (on that note, "actor never blinks" would somehow be a relatively accurate rating of worst to best XD)

If it is only movie adaptations, that crown MUST go to Persuasion 2022. Boring answer, but what can I say.

If it is only movie adaptations that screened in cinemas, then it goes to Mansfield Park 1999. I've talked about this movie before, and it is widely known how much it departs from book canon, and how much that breaks it in the end. That's a factor. But I'm picking it mostly because it never ends. Somehow those are the two longest hours of one's life.*

*It is worth mentioning, however, that people that say stuff like "it is as bad as the Netflix Persuasion" are being unfair. At the very least Patricia Rozema put THOUGHT in what she was doing, and research. Where the Netflix Persuasion has Lady Russell doing sex tourism in continental Europe DURING THE NAPOLEONIC WARS in a story in which the navy features prominently, Rozema goes the length of including a bit where Maria and Julia play the glass harp -for which at that time there had been claims that it caused madness in those who played or listened to it much- to serve her extended transformative concept of Mansfield as a place of corrupted psychology instead of the book's corrupted morality. As much as it might pain me, they are not the same XD

24. Favorite supporting character

Tough one! I'll go for captain Harville this time, because he's underrated.

From this ask game.

[exxhaustedhope]

YOU’RE BACK!!!!! 🩵

I’M BACK! I MISSED YOU!!!!!! 🤍

[mienar]

stillness in these waking hours

instagram | shop | commission info

[gomzdrawfr]

Getting creative with recognition

uh not so cute/funny random drabble of the AU:

warning: not proofread and just me rambling, bad writing LMAO

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

6 Less Commonly Discussed Autistic Traits/Experiences

Neurodivergent_lou

[osvald-linds]

Woop

Just watching don't mind me

[dgalerab]

every fic just like "aizawa borrowing some horrible neon shirt of mic's even tho it's too bright and he prefers to wear black" like EXCUSE you mic is intentionally punk and aizawa will wear pink sweatpants inside of a yellow sleeping bag. if anything he probably wears black bc he doesn't have to wash it as often and otherwise he'll just buy fucking whatever while mic is behind him being like ARE YOU FUCKING COLORBLIND

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Cannot Unsee. Cannot Unknow.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

ok but Foul Legacy with a blind reader

you like going out of the Harbor for walks, to get away from the hubbub of the city. you're quite adept at navigating the plains and mountains of Liyue, even if you can't see them, having lived in the nation of Geo your whole life, and it's on one of these excursions that you come across a stranger in the forest.

or rather, you hear a stranger's footsteps when you're stopping to rest. you turn your head in the direction of the noise and the footsteps, heavy and slow, pause. for a moment you simply stare in that general direction, then face forward again- if this person wanted to harm you, they would've already done so, and you go back to enjoying the peace and quiet. the footsteps approach again, then stop as the dry grass crackles and bends, presumably as the stranger sits down beside you to admire the view you can't see.

it becomes a bit of a routine, as the curious presence continues to return whenever you walk that route, inching closer to you every time you sit. it's comforting in a way, and you find yourself growing more and more used to this mysterious someone, whoever they are. on days without wind you can hear them breathing deeply, relaxing- almost basking- in your company. occasionally you hum a song, quiet and absentminded, and you swear you hear a growling croon from your new friend, but you're not frightened in the slightest.

one day, the creature- you're sure it's a creature now- dares to even rest their hand over yours, all armor and claws compared to your soft flesh, and you smile, giving their hand a quick squeeze of affection.

Foul Legacy nearly squeaks in delight when you- the one human who doesn't fear or hunt him- lace your fingers with his, and he settles next to you as usual, a soft, steady purr running through him from sheer joy.

[r0b0t1me]

you should watch motorcity

[autumnal-thunder]

Lime

Lime - i can't tell if you're serious or what but i am avidly waiting your next post. Aw thanks, you too! (:

[eggplantgifs]

Kazuki Tomono: Halston » 2023 Japanese Nationals

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[kaddyssammlung]

~~~~~~Hands appreciation~~~~~~

[icarusredwings]

It's quiet uptown.

(Wrote this at like 2 in the morning. Had to spell check the hell out of it to even understand what my incoherent ass was trying to say. Give a hand to my 2 am. self because this is beautiful.)

Thinking about Logan doing small side jobs to make extra money for the house like mowing lawns and helping old ladies move their antique furniture to or from the attic, etc.

You heard me right. The Wolverine has started mowing grandma's yards for extra dough. Kinda weird right? Well. Wade didn't think so. Infact Wade joined along for the extra money, yeahhh… extra money.. That's right.

Definitely not to see Logan all hot, toned and sweaty, wiping his brow and grumbling when the mower wouldn't start, cursing when fixing it and then almost content while pushing it, simply making lines as he watched.

That loud agonizing roar of the mower having nothing on the grunts that Logan was making in his head. Day dreaming of what those strong shoulders could do to him. It was hard work really.

The restraint alone took him quite a bit of mental gymnastics as he “Helped” by trimming the bushes only to end up somehow slicing it clean off. Lets just say Miss Jackson was pissed that her rose bush was just destroyed but it was worth it.

After gathering up enough for whatever he seemed to be saving for, Logan says they're going out of town for a day or two. Blind al says not to be long or else she might be dead before they get back.

“We won't Miss Anderson.”

“Who the fuck is Miss Anderson?”

“...She is..?”

“You have a last name?”

“She didn't tell you?”

“Why didn't you tell me?!”

“Because you're annoying”

“But you told him!?”

“Logan is a gentleman. I don't know how he hasn't tried to kill you by now.”

“I have.”

“Try harder.”

“Hey!! I'm right here!”

“I know”

(For those who didn't know, Blind Al's real name is Althea Winifred Anderson. And she's a savage and her main job is to humble him.)

Also thinking about Wade reading X-men comics in his suit kicking his feet on his bed. The suit makes him feel safe. Outside of it felt scary. People make fun of his skin. He didn't like when people made fun of him. No one really did.

If Logan defends him, Wade would get down on his knee right then and there. Right in the middle of new york city like the Proposal style. Heels and all.

Meanwhile, for Logan it's the opposite. Being inside his suit felt scary. Too much pressure. Too loud. Outside? In the country? With horses and fences to be fixed? Wind and trees and fields for miles? That? That felt like home. He's content in the country and because of that he takes them upstate for the weekend.

Showing him the old mansion (which was a massive mistake but Wade wouldn't stop begging, turns out that was a bad idea because the people from this timeline started sobbing and accused him of being an imposter- which he sort of was- in a sense)

Took him to stay at a little crappy inn upstate with trees and grass, fields, and just sat on the porch for hours. Staring at the clear sky, deep in thought. Wades never saw him this relaxed before, this… at home in a place before. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, really?”

“No. I'm serious.. For once in my life I'm thinking about nothing.”

“And?”

“It's great..”

“Oh..can I?”

“It's a free country, bub.”

Then they sit on the porch together, just sitting for a while until Wade gets bored and starts pointing out clouds and asks if they can pet the horses. “Sure if you want kicked in the skull.”

On the last day of their trip, he takes him to Niagara Falls for their last stop on their tiny little get away.

“There she is. Niagara River.”

He wanted to say ‘Wolvie she's beautiful! That's gonna be me tonight after my left hand is done with me.’ Or some nonsense like that. But.. that didn't feel right. Instead, he only smiled, looking at him while the glitters from the rushing falls reflected in his eyes.

“Oh, Logan.. it's beautiful.”

At that moment something in Logan's stomach felt… funny.. oh god not this again. Really? Now? His chest was warm and he could feel his ears following. “Uhm… Yeah. This is. Isn't it?”

And for a while.. The two just stand here in silence. Watching Millions of pounds of water gush over the side of a cliff. Just themselves.

In a way… it was poetic really. Like the wave of relief that both of them felt when standing so close to each other. Just them. Just Logan James Howlett and Wade Winston Wilson. No costumes, no super hero shit, just them.

(And a shitty novelty hat that said “I 🍁 Niagara Falls” except the heart was replaced with a canadian maple leaf.)

But that's besides the point. It felt right to be just them. Two guys. Content in each other's company. Well.. and their ugly dog staring at the two of them as if she knew something that they didn't..

This has to be the gayest shit i've ever written and i've written this- (NSFW warning)

“Turn around.”

“Pft what are you gonna do, peanut? Suction Cup a plunger to my hea-” he gasps, both in surprise, delighted by the bit of pain, seeing as without warning, he was mounted and there now were, quite literally, claws in his hips.

“Oooh fun! But you don’t have to tell me to hold still tw- Aah good fucking gravy, queen marys head on a stick!!” He more of moaned rather than whined, a large chunk of his neck taken between his teeth, and hard. If he bit any harder he'd start bleeding. Whatever science was behind this must have worked because he went still and stiff yet limp and relaxed all at the same time- well- not all of him was limp. No, some of him was the exact opposite. Hm... perhaps it didn't get the memo?

(AYO 2 am me is a freak Ig)