#sad dog films

[gabriels-golden-kazoo]

I can handle most films, I have very little reaction to them overall but the minute you whip out a dog film with the whole ‘they save the dog but really the dog saves them’ trope and I’m in tears, I am ruined.

[yrsonpurpose]

Nicholas Galitzine as Hayes Campbell The Idea of You (2024)

[sauronism]

references from celebrimbor's life ( a memory that disguise itself as a vision ) :

1. maedhros and maglor, portrayed in a depiction most commonly seen of the brothers within fanworks.

2. horses and huan. celebrimbor confront his father before curufin move forward on his hunt for the silmarillis and luthien. huan was present with celegorm.

3. miriel, celebrimbor's great grandmother. she was known for her weaving and needlework.

easter eggs aside; i truly believe in the narrative sense, that the visuals presented here belongs to celebrimbor and suppose to mirror the life he had experienced and the Feast of Reuniting. perhaps a hidden desire within him that he wishes to keep his family under a different light. not as a kinslayer but as a creator and an artists.

[canisalbus]

I hope Machete gets to welcome Vasco to heaven once he dies. Like the end of titanic lol

.

[used-s0ck]

Lovin nobody but u

[incorrect-koh-posts]

You said "which is a tragedy in its own right as far as my tastes are concerned, but I digress", but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this. I hope it's okay to ask, but what kind of fics/pairings would you like/prefer to see emerge from the fandom?

Of course it's okay to ask, dear anon!

Personally? I'd love to see more variety. One of the chief reasons why I enjoy reading fan fiction is finding new things I like - perhaps some pairing I hadn't considered before, some batshit premise or crossover that turns out to be actually brilliant, or maybe a cool genfic that explores previously unseen sides of a character or character dynamic that people don't write about very often. I'm not really the kind of person who seeks out fic based on specific tropes. Once I've read a story with a certain trope in a fandom, it's pretty unlikely that I'll go and read another one with a very similar premise, unless I really enjoy the author's writing.

So what I'd be excited about seeing in the AO3 tag would honestly just be: something new. For instance, a sapphic Sibylla/OC fic would be such a fascinating read (as would be anything at all that explores Sibylla's character a bit more). Or a Saladin-centric fic - sign me the hell up. I'd adore finding something for Godfrey or Imad, and we all know a new Tiberias fic would have me foaming at the mouth. I'd also love an interesting and/or wacky AU (and I'd write one myself if I had the time). Make it Jane Austen and let Baldwin have a gentleman suitor, while Sibylla elopes Lydia-Bennett style with Guy, and Godfrey and Raymond grump about in the Navy. Write a daemon AU (as in His Dark Materials) in the canonical universe. Or throw them all into the 21st century and let Reynald send Saladin threatening messages via fax.

I know the KoH fandom is much too small to engender the sort of variety I'd ideally like to see, and it's only reasonable for writers to sort of double down upon the fic premises and tropes that have done well in terms of hits and comments in the past and write more of the stuff the majority enjoys. As far as taste goes, I'm aware I'm the complete outlier here, and I really don't mean to antagonise anybody with this post or insult their writing or reading preferences. I'm glad your fics are doing well, folks, I truly am - it's only that I'm very likely not the target audience for them. Sometimes I just wish I weren't the only freak in the circus, lol.

(The post anon is referring to is this one btw.)

[coldmorte]

I’ll never get over how in Reservoir Dogs, it’s just a brutal massacre of all the best characters. And then it immediately goes to —

“yOU puT THe LiMe iN tHe CocOnUT”

[tamaharu]

okay thats interesting! in the SF try-outs during the song "legally blonde" she sings about how she cant be legally blonde, while in the official version AND THE DEMO she sings about letting her be legally blonde. which means that at some point they changed the lyrics around, and then changed them back! laurence o'keefe.... nell benjamin.... what occurs in your twisted minds

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[leatherbookmark]

zero:fever part 3 diary ver (scans by dearmingki @ tt)

[lifesver]

@priestbit said: what the fuck are you talkin' about? ( mmm sensing incident in the motel vibes from this one... )

cw/tw for um [checks notes] the most traumatized thought processes ever, general dusk-type verse heavier stuff, some alcohol/substance implications.

--

it should have been like every other hunt.

it should have been simple enough — the drunk crowd from some heavy metal concert next door, pouring out into the bar left plenty of easy targets. it could have been anyone else. but he had slipped up. gotten too comfortable, too close. a drink too-many. should have been clear-headed.

he can’t remember much more of what had happened, after that — a blur of laughter, warmth, the neon blink of the motel sign. and that was terrifying. beyond risky. leland's head pulses. the sliver of morning light through the blinds cuts across their bodies, hurts his eyes. he'd fucked up. he'd faltered, and now —

you can't fix this. you can’t fucking fix this.

pinned beneath his hips — beneath the cold edge of his pocket knife — is donnie watts. staring, wide eyed back up at him. staring like he’s seen a ghost. ( and aren’t you? or are you something worse? )

donnie hadn’t been the mark. it should have never been donnie. it should have been some too-tough guy, who was too handsy, or too rough, or picked a fight. someone he wouldn’t feel bad gutting, when the motel curtain closed, or in the dark of an alley, or in some empty field somewhere. someone he could justify to himself. he’d done this before. he knew what he was supposed to do, who to look for. he brought them home, to the property. dead, or alive. but he didn't fuck around with them. he didn't ever let them close enough to risk that. risk himself. risk how johnny might react.

but the universe was cruel, wasn’t it?

how was it that last night, he had been nothing but a handsome stranger. charming, sweet-talking — the drummer in a band, that had played the venue nearby that night. leland remembers smiling to him across the bar. always waited for them to come to him. laurel was the name he gave, the one he thought would work.

‘ so, you’re like, a rockstar? ’ leland remembers asking, with low lids and a lazy grin. it didn't matter the mark, really — leland had learned the art of what people wanted to hear, from the best. lots of people were lonely. lots of people trusted too easily.

what felt impossibly worse, maybe, was that donnie must not have recognized him, either. and wasn’t that worth begging the question — what the hell remained of you, anyway? how many years did it take to become a shell of something familiar? a ghost? how long since you'd last thought about your friends? how long since they'd last thought of you?

it's an onslaught of feelings, then. in pieces, he remembers this face. these sage-green eyes. how breath, hot between their lips, felt a little like something holy. ( but you always thought that about donnie, didn't you? who wouldn't? ) and how his hands had been gentle. gentler than you’re used to. he had been so sweet to you. and you had fallen. like you always do, when someone touches you kindly.

wasn’t that pathetic? pathetic ��� how he never should have put himself in this situation. and how he had, so easily. leland's head screams; look at him. look at how he had moved on, while you had rotted into something unrecognizable. how he had gotten away from this place, and now — now you're supposed to slit his throat. now you're supposed to kill him.

❝ donnie.❞ he whispers, broken from his spell. nearly incredulous. nearly angry. but he’s not sure how much of that feeling was just overwhelming, ground-shaking terror, instead. the urge to run, to get away from how horrified donnie looked. ❝ what... are you doing here? why — why would you ever — ❞ come back here. close enough to newt. close enough to the house. the carved hilt of his knife trembles in his hand, where it presses down close to donnie's throat. where a glint of gold chain catches his eye.

donnie is wearing his cross. leland remembers, now. how he had given it to him that night. he remembered you. he remembers you. you remember him — and donnie is talking to him, low, careful — like he knows he's dealing with a scared animal; ' lee, baby — ' he tries, and to leland, that feels like a shot point-blank in the chest. his reaction is a sharp, hard flinch. what right does he have? what fucking right —

❝ don’t. don’t call me that. ❞ leland bites out, fiercely. ❝ it wasn't — it wasn't supposed to be you. last night. ❞

donnie looks a little hurt by that, but he agrees — he won't call him baby — so minutely. placates him, so gently. and he's carefully bringing his hands up to curl at leland's forearms. not forcefully, but enough to make him jolt back instinctively. ❝ let go of me, ❞ he trembles out, all wild eyes, still keeping that blade to donnie's neck. feeling less sure by the second.

❝ — you don't get it. if i don’t... if i don't — he will. ❞ he doesn’t know how much worse it will be. donnie would beg for the death leland would give him. you could make it easier for donnie, make it quick. just because johnny wasn’t over his shoulder now, didn’t mean he wasn’t close. didn’t mean he didn’t know, already. doesn't mean you won't get put back in that fucking basement again, if you dare to lie to him.

' what the fuck are you talkin' about? lee — who will? '

it's like he barely hears donnie. too distraught, being swallowed by his own fear, his own panic. what the hell would you tell him, anyway? he wouldn't believe you. no one would. leland keeps rambling, stumbling on his words; he can't control how fast his heart rabbits, how jagged his breath becomes.

❝ you never — you never came back. you just accepted — ❞ he tries to be angry. but his tears land, and keep landing, against donnie’s skin. betray him for what he really is; terrified, and weak. this is all your fault. why didn't you know? why couldn't you remember? why was your head full of dark, blank spaces?

he thinks of the family. he thinks of johnny, leaning over his shoulder. if you kill donnie now, you can salvage this, can't you?

but donnie doesn't think you'll kill him — because his hands are tentatively, gently taking leland’s wrists. and leland doesn't dare abandon his knife. but he doesn't fight him, either. mollified, he lets donnie slowly sit upright with him. to steer leland's badly shaking hands away from his throat, while dark, brimming eyes watch him with distrust.

there's another voice, screaming in the back of his skull. don’t come back empty-handed. he’ll know, he always knows. when something happens, when something goes wrong. when you falter, or fail. terrified, he felt like he was drowning. he wished johnny had been there, last night, maybe this wouldn't have happened. he was afraid of what johnny was going to do, how he was going to react — finding out he’d lost his nerve. let one get away.

let someone from your past touch you like he still knows you, knows what you are —

and what do you think happens now? someone like donnie can't ever love something like you. did he ever? don't you remember? no one had never come to look for your body. no one came to save you. you screamed under the floorboards of that house and nobody ever —

— but donnie is still trying to comfort him, talk him down, like he isn't a ticking time-bomb. soft, too trusting, gently rubbing his arms, trying to catch his flighty gaze. leland can only tremble, frozen with the frustration of it; why aren't you scared of me? go back to looking scared. go back to that. that was easier to take.

donnie reminds him of other things, too. things he didn't think about anymore. he had looked at donnie so starry-eyed, once, some years ago. it's easy to be lulled and quieted, by his hands, his voice. with some coaxing, leland finally parts with his weapon. it sits on the bedsheets next to them, as donnie brings his arms around leland, folds him in closer, protective. carefully moves the mussed hair from his face while he cries. lets leland tuck himself smaller into his chest. it unravels him completely.

❝ i wasn't — i wasn't dead. i. ❞ his jagged, stilted words keep spilling, hiccupping, between panicked breath. he can't breathe. he can't speak, he can't say what he wants to say. what he had wished he could say, a million times before. all that time he spent alone. fucking alone. wishing he would save you. or that you were strong enough to save yourself. or that you were worth being saved.

his mind screams it; i was alive! i was alive down there!

leland can only tremble out choked sobs, devolved into gasped strings of i'm-sorry's, as he presses his cheek against donnie’s chest. he knows this is selfish. selfish. cruel. and he's sorry. he's sorry. he wants to stay wrapped up in this feeling of being protected. no one’s held him like this in a long time. and donnie is saying ' listen to me. come with me. it’ll be okay. i’ll protect you. whatever is going on, just come with me, lee, please — ' go where? how?

leland blinks, quickly, snapped from his daze at once. he can't. he can't. there's a cold hand gripping the back of his neck that says you can't! you can't ever leave! the only one protecting him, the only one that cared — was out looking for him now. would be here soon. leland knows he can’t afford himself any more of this. already too much. already have to explain why you smell like him, why there's no body, why —

leland twists away from donnie abruptly, pulls himself out from his arms. he feels unfathomably cold again, the moment he does. donnie’s hands hover, but don’t try to keep him. and donnie begins to speak again, to calm him, maybe. but leland cuts him off;

❝ listen to me. don’t — follow me. don't... look for me. it’s not. safe. ❞ one hand strays, hovers by that gold chain around donnie's neck. and he looks like he wants to say something more. palm rests on his chest, and eyes flick up to fix on donnie's. hand comes up to cradle the curve of donnie's jaw, gently. for just a moment, and then his hand retreats. leland's expression shutters again. you have to go.

he retreats from donnie further. all too-sharp movements, all tense lines, as he starts to distractedly gather his things from the floor of the room. eyes never leave donnie for more than a few seconds, never trust him quite enough.

❝ don’t come back. don't ever come back. i’m serious, donnie.❞ he mutters, throwing on the rest of his clothes from the night before. he’s not sure if telling the truth, or lying will be worse. he just needs to get out of this room. needs to get back to johnny. he grabs the knife up again, steps backward. doesn't let donnie get close again. he needs donnie to understand. he needs donnie to run from him. ❝ just. stay away. he’ll fucking kill you. ❞ a beat, a pause. the sickness in the pit of his stomach is only worsening. he'll kill you, he thinks. or i will.

he looks at donnie one more time, from the open doorway. takes in his eyes, his face. his freckles, his golden halo-hair.

you didn't mean to hurt him, again.

❝ i'm sorry. ❞ he says, softly, and he means it. and then he's gone.

[m1ssrenee]

The way Victor misses his dog 🥺

[somelazyassartist]

Love watching old movies from my childhood that are so average but I hold in my heart so fondly. Like I just rewatched The Seventh Brother and it's so painfully average but it had so much potential and it was one of my favorites growing up, there's a part of me that wants to make my own adaptation just to make it actually good. Not saying I could make it GREAT, I don't know if I have that much talent lmao, but I could definitely make it good lmao. It's so close to being something worth watching and then it just isn't lol.

[frienta1997-2023]

...

[mossdeep]

going through old computer files reminds me that sadly, there are not many pictures or videos of my mom. not many of us together once i was a teenager, at least. it is so important to me that my future kids have physical photos of us, not saved in a cloud, but hard copies of memories. my mom just hated having her picture and video taken, but i would give anything to hear her voice more or see her smile more. it's not something you think about, really, but keep your photos and videos, even the silly ones. there is someone who loves you and would love to remember those moments.

[cryptidliker]

Just heard about Sonic 3 sorry for my loss