#real world edition

[maximura]

Jung Wooyoung for GQ Korea (2024)

[castielsprostate]

breaking the sign in two by how hard im tapping it

[mogwaei]

Pov: ur a rat and the lads are hankering for a snack

(Don't worry, astarion is just there to watch them unleash carnage, he only drinks the finest vintages these days)

[wherestoriescomefrom]

rian johnson took all that time, put in all that effort to make glass onion a fantastic period piece to the first four months of pandemic, a prescient narrative that anticipates the stupidity of rich billionaires, and then pulled the rug from under us because the world of benoit blanc just straight up doesn't have the mona lisa anymore

[overtake]

BACK TO BACK TO BACK TO BACK

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

best BEAST!!

[novantinuum]

favorite bit in Steven Universe- the "man, I don't get cartoons these days" style fourth wall break

[unriding]

me n moze say good morning to the world !!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

art by @rabbbitseason of course <3

[dr3amfyr-e]

moon, river - c.s. ( w. 1049 )

꒰ cregan will always defends your daughter’s claim ꒱ — cregan stark x reader

୨ ⎯ period typical misogyny. implied trouble concieving children. reader is written to be very influenced by her environment, and therefor uncertain of herself and her self worth. girl dad cregan. cregan's kind of a medieval feminist. i named your daughter for you, sorry. this is very cregan pov, not many of reader's thoughts. umm maybe not canon cregan but it’s my cregan. uhh dialogue heavy. tbh i don't even know what i was writing here. fem!reader. ⎯ ୧

i advocate for creganwives who don’t want to have ten children.

Cregan wasn’t nearly as physically imposing underneath all of his armour. 

You had observed as much before — watching keenly as he unclasped his cape and slid out of the thick leather armour. It was a sight to behold, the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he fought to disrobe. 

He was much different here, in your shared chambers. Lord Stark shed with his dayware, Cregan stood in his wake. 

You had been married for years, and still, your heart fluttered like an infatuated girl when he loomed over the bed, hair damp from the bath. 

Married for years, with two children, and yet — sprawled across the bed in naught but a thin nightgown, you ogle him as he makes his way to bed. 

He's hard to wrangle; he walks the keep and checks on your daughters, among other mindless tasks, before finally getting into bed every night. It gives him ‘time to think’, and makes you senselessly anticipatory. 

Most nights are the same. He curls into you, head on your chest, to decompress. It's sweet, to see such an intimate side of him.

Tonight, in lieu of the typical mindless drivel that lulled you both to sleep, you had been quiet. Cregan could feel the tension of whatever weighed on your mind, but he had not wished to pry.

You rub aimless little circles against his back before finally speaking, “Are you content with this?”

Cregan looks up, lifting his head from your breastbone. He doesn’t speak for a moment, reading your expression, “Content?” When you don’t reply he continues, “Of course I am content. What has prompted you to ask such?”

He can see the solemn, contemplative expression written across your face; the way you gaze down, as if through him, “It is just…” You hesitate, he keeps firm in his stare, “We have been married years, and I have not given you many children. And, no boys.” 

He doesn't reply, unsure how or what to say. True, it is, that in the years you have been married there have only been two children — both daughters. 

“Do you think,” He begins, sitting up more, “That I am discontent because you have not given me a son?” 

Silence hangs heavy in the room. You look guilty; he cannot tell what it is you feel guilty for, but he wishes you did not feel guilty at all. 

Cregan says your name once, his voice low and soft. When you meet his eyes he can sense the resignation — you wish you had not brought this up.

“I just worry, that is all,” You reply, quietly.

His expression stays set. There is solace in knowing him well enough to read his microexpressions; he isn’t brooding, he is concerned. 

He speaks, “What is it that you worry about – my discontentment?”

“Perhaps I have not performed by duty,” You shrug, as if to pass the comment off as nonchalant. Maybe it is; ladies raised to believe their self-worth lies in their good stock and ability to breed and please can talk about such matters with a level of insouciance. 

Frustration blooms in the space between his lungs. He understands the way polite society worms into young women’s brains, and how hard it is to remove that sickness once it's taken root. Still — you surely must know that your worth does not lie within your womb, he thinks.

“Your duty?” He asks, tone firmer now, “And what duty is that? To be bred like a milking cow?” 

The abruptness and near vulgarity of his words are enough to leave you taken aback, blinking at him. Cregan was certainly not one for eloquent metaphors. 

When you seem not to have a response, he begins to feel bad. This isn’t your fault. You were raised to think like this.

“I have not given you an heir,” You’re quiet, almost embarrassed. 

“You have,” He counters. 

“You have no son,” 

“I have Lyanna,” 

A log in the fireplace shifts and crackles as you sit in silence; a scullery maid shuffles by in the hallway. 

He watches you gather your composure before you speak, “And you do not mind?” You sound unsure, he hates it. 

Cregan reaches, sliding his fingers under your jaw to make you look at him fully, “Tell me — if we should have a son, would you be content to strip Lyanna of her birthright?” 

The question feels harsh. He watches guarded confusion swirl into your eyes.

Of course, you would not wish for your daughter to have her title taken from her. But so many others, men in Cregan’s council, mocked the idea. They rued Lyanna’s power, the status she already held above them as a girl of all but five. So it would be no shock if someone insisted she be stripped of her title as heir to Winterfell, and it was frightening. Frightening to imagine someone stealing your daughter’s future and freedom. 

“If it is what you wished,” You answer, resignation thinly veiled. 

“I asked you a question,” He’s firm but gentle. 

You gape for a moment, before answering, “No, never. I could not imagine doing that to her.” 

“And do you think I would?” 

“No,” 

He nods, sliding his hand up to cradle your face. You look ashamed, he tries to soothe it away with his thumb over your cheekbone. 

“Do you think you’ve disappointed me, pet?” He doesn’t wish to subject you to the humiliation of answering such a vulnerable question, so he continues, “You need not worry so much. I do not need a boy; I am more than pleased with things just how they are,” He strokes his thumb slowly, “Do not agonize over something so trivial.” 

He catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

When you speak your voice is quiet, “You are so good,” And then, “Many lords do not care much for their daughters.”

The thought makes his chest burn; to not care for his daughters? Unthinkable, “Do not praise me for loving my children. Those girls are my world, as are you.” He feels lighter when he sees the edge of your mouth tick up, so he speaks again, “I care not that I have daughters in place of sons — I have, and for that I am lucky.”

He has and he is lucky.

[red-moon-at-night]

okay the whole vase is great but something about Helen sitting on Aphrodite's lap as she wraps one arm around her shoulder and brushes her leg with her hand, staring into her eyes like that... as she is persuading Helen to go with Paris (while Peitho aka persuasion stands behind them) is so incredibly iconic.

and gay. toxic yuri, if you will.

[inkskinned]

so one time i got bit by a brown recluse which is one of the only types of spider in my area that's actually dangerous and at first i didn't know what had happened to me, only that it was nasty. the swelling wasn't going down and the wound started to get ugly. i don't want to like get into the details because that's gross but it got to the point 2 weeks later that i was worried enough to go to the doctor, which i hate doing.

i am not afraid of spiders but other people are so i'd been covering it with this big ole square bandage (i needed more landscape coverage than a simple bandaid) and sat in the university medical waiting room, kicking my heels and playing BOTW. the nurse who admitted me was like, oh, we have got to get Tom to cover this one. she wrote spider bite under my ticket.

i waited in the near-empty building for like an hour and then nurse tom shows up in spiderman scrubs, out of breath. "sorry," he says, "i saw - your slip - and I had," he heaves in a breath, "to run home and. get. these scrubs. i literally. ran. felt like a job. for. spiderman."

i laugh. he puts his hands on his knees, thumbs-ups at me. fishes a pamphlet out from under his clipboard that basically says spiders can be scary but you don't need to be scared, there's very few dangerous spiders in new england. "honestly," he wheezes, "we probably don't need to get you into an exam room. just..." he waves his hand at the pamphlet, "read that."

i look down at my arm. then back at him in his scrubs. and then down at my arm. i like that he made an effort to make a joke, but now it does not feel like a good joke, because they are mistaking my calm for a lack of injury. "can i. like. at least show you the bite?"

he gives me kind of a weird look, which is fair, but then says. "if. i mean, if you have to."

i peel the bandage off. his face goes green.

"oh," he says.

"yeah, man."

"a... spider bit you?" his voice is high and tight and trembling. he backs up a few steps.

"i think a brown recluse," i offer. "i know it's nasty, sorry."

"excuse me for a moment." he looks over to the administering nurse on the other side of the small room. "i need to find someone else to take care of you."

the administering nurse smiles over to us with a degree of pleasure that is almost salivating. for a moment, like a window opening, i am briefly aware of what must be a psychic message floating amongst the in-between. her jaguar teeth all say this is like a party for me and i know exactly what i'm doing.

"oh no, tom," she says, grinning. "i gave her to you specifically."

[cascadeoceanwave]

EVERY DAY IN BARBIE LAND IS NEARLY PERFECT anon requested: barbie + locations (insp)

[childrenofcain-if]

I know W's net worth is in the millions but why do they dress up like a grandpa/grandma 😭

net worth ≠ the amount of money they have in their bank account.

W is just using the existing trust fund to get through four years of university and produce-direct an indie movie during or after graduation. after that, they’re gonna donate the rest to homeless shelters and set up a scholarship program as well for aspiring film & media students.

i suppose you can say they grew up pretty thrifty because they didn’t really have access to the trust fund until they turned 18. their uncle and aunt usually just gave W the hand-me-downs to wear and use, not that they minded it much anyway. W also has their very old storm rider denim jacket that they’ve worn since 15 after earning enough money to buy it from a thrift store.

don’t hate on the grandpa/grandma sweaters tho, they’re very comfy and have never steered W wrong 😔

[5-pp-man]

no you don't get it. i literally love stories where they dive into people's hearts/minds (literally or figuratively) sm it's my favourite type of storytelling.

[thefrsers]

ANGELA BASSETT

-DOLCE & GABBANA ALTA MODA (PHOTO. BY BRANDON ALMENGO)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.