#these chars are NOT MINE!!!!!

[salamifuposey]

don’t mind me, these two also popped in, that might explain the interference whomp  not much but just a lil something for @ne0nwithazero of Host (tv head) and Mike (small microphone duuuude) while I'm at it <3

[insporp]

(c)

[wendychristensens]

Shawnee Smith as Amanda Young in Saw III (2006)

[crunchycrystals]

this makes me want to cry

[zacksnydered]

HENRY CAVILL as GERALT OF RIVIA Netflix’s The Witcher ‧ Shaerrawedd

[commanderogerss]

dogmeat found something

[megamyceted]

ANIMATION SWAP: HEISENBERG > DIMITRESCU resident evil village, 2021

[petrichorium]

it’s hardly subtle.

satoru doesn’t ease you into it; he isn’t coy. he all but storms into your chambers, after dark but before you’ve snuffed the candles keeping the room light enough for your reading.

he doesn’t bother to tell you why, but you know—instinctively, because you know him and you know his advisors and you’re well used to his moods when they’ve been particularly nagging about his duties as king—what’s set him off. the indication that it’s worse than typical is that he keeps that odd eye jewelry perched upon his nose, chain gleaming yellow in the light of the flames as he stalks over to your lounging form upon the bed.

his arm finds your legs over the nightclothes you wear, wraps around them firmly to move them just enough for him to perch on the edge of your mattress. they don’t leave, even as you set aside your book—you expect him to lay his head on it, anticipating the typical song and dance of his pouting and whining as you push him away only to relent and let him hold you as you both drift off into slumber.

instead he hovers. even sitting he looms over you, hand tightening on your thigh and thumb rubbing soft, meaningless patterns through the fabric of your dressing gown that soothe the nerves set on edge by your inability to see the look in his eyes.

a beat passes. you wonder if he’s calmed.

but when he speaks it’s terse, low, with the kind of simmering rage he keeps close to his chest for only those pitiable few he despises utterly, and he dips his head to look over the frames of those onyx lenses and regard you with irises dark with something terrible.

“i will not give you a child.”

the statement bowls you over. your breath hitches, if only because of the way he stares—deadly serious, royal blue eyes glowing in the candlelight.

“wh—what?”

“i will not allow you to bear my children. i might be amenable to a ward, if you so desire. but i will not seed you,” his grip tightens on your thigh, “and it should go without saying that once we marry neither will any other.”

you haven’t a clue how to respond to such a thing.

he speaks as if it’s a confession; as if he’s betrayed you somehow. he holds you like you’ll disappear, or flee—and perhaps, had he told you this months ago when you’d been flighty and diffident with his affections, your rigidity might have led you to. but it is now, and you haven’t fled yet, and your beloved is nothing if not unconventional and shameless in his eccentricity.

you ponder on that too long.

“say something,” he demands, sounding almost small.

“why?” spills from your lips without thought; not petulant, or angry, but confused. not just by him—by you. you ought to be devastated, no? you ought to be angry. you assuredly are not.

“my bloodline is a scourge,” he tells you readily. “i will do everything within my power to wipe it out. therefore, i cannot have an heir. not even one.”

not even one. not a single child. the thought washes over you like the temperate water of the lake on your grounds back home, the very one you’d once played in regularly as a child. the very one your mother had once mentioned taking your own children to, someday; children who you never fantasized about, children who never had faces or names, children for whom you never set aside letters or dresses or trinkets.

not even in those teenage years spent with your current betrothed, the only man you’d ever thought of kissing and caressing you, had you once envisioned a life with children. they’d only appeared once you’d been brutally introduced to reality, and had to accept the promise of a life with a rich man who doesn’t love you.

a life which your king has gallantly shattered, and replaced with something far brighter.

“i will bear the burden of prevention,” he tells you soothingly, as if your silence has been about the effort of this request. “you needn’t worry that pretty mind over it. over any of this, my queen—“

“i am not yet your queen,” you interrupt, instinct bidding you to speak where your mind remains miles away.

“my bride,” he amends, ”look at me.”

you do.

“i want you,” he says, as if it’s some known truth of the universe, written in the stars. “i want you fervently, ardently. i won’t have another. but i will not give you my children. if you cannot take that slight, then so be it.”

the emotion that has been welling within you since the first words he'd spoken has become so intense it’s impossible to listen properly. you cannot name it without ruminating; you lay beneath him, eyes widening, not quite seeing—or hearing the words he continues to say—as you let it all sink in.

but when his hands fly to cradle your face, you’re snapped from the daze, attention suddenly brought back to the man before you.

“oh, oh, precious girl, don’t cry.” cry? his thumbs wipe away tears from your cheeks. you hadn’t even realized they’d been falling. “don’t cry”—he almost laughs, yet his voice breaks—“you’ll break my heart.“

“no,” you gasp, “no, my king, i’m hardly sad, i’m… relieved.”

that’s it. you’re relieved. he’s removed a heavy weight from your chest and you hadn’t even known of it. you will not have to bear him children. the assurance floods through your veins like liquid joy. not ten, not five, nor two nor even one; none whatsoever.

“relieved?” he repeats, blinking in surprise.

you’d never even considered the possibility. from the moment you’d known of your place in this world you’d resigned yourself to the role of childbearing. only now do you realize how much you had been dreading such a thing. only now do you understand the fear, and the relief.

“i… don’t believe i want children either.” the statement feels so final it ought to be terrifying, but it settles into your bones with a tangible rightness.

your betrothed regards you in shock. his hands fall from your face—and then they latch to your body, one on your thigh again and the other behind your neck, pulling you up and flush against him as he kisses you harshly.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes into your mouth, unreactive yet pliant against him. “made for me, just for me, i swear—“

you kiss back, making his rambling cut off in a strangled growl as he only tugs you in closer and deepens the embrace. he’s still speaking, but it’s unintelligible; praise, certainly, muffled compliments and manic devotion. he’s relieved too, you realize. foolish to think him confident in this declaration. foolish, you’re coming to understand, to think him sane in any circumstance which might take you from him.

(if you are made for him then he is made for you, surely. this relief would be impossible for any other to give you.)

he pulls away when he realizes you’re still crying. you catch your breath, blink back the tears, let him fuss over you until your voice is solid enough to speak.

despite the relief, there is lingering hesitance; lingering fear. “you say you will bear the burden of prevention, but what of the burden of blame? they will talk, as the months go by. they will call me barren, unfit to be by your side; they will demand you take on a mistress—“

“i won’t,” your betrothed snarls, grip on your thigh almost painful with how fiercely his fingers tighten, “i would never, and i’ll cut down all those who speak ill of you.”

your laughter is disbelieving, wet with the traces of saltwater. “hardly a sound plan to run a court, my king. unless its intent is for running it to the ground.”

“for you, my heart? anything. i would raze this kingdom if it spoke your name without awe.”

that shouldn’t be comforting. it ought to be terrifying. instead you reach up to hold his cheek, and his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“kiss me again,” you command.

usurper!gojo masterlist

[gomacave]

yall i think i fw valenwind......

insp by "shadows of things that have been" by @drneverland which sold me on valenwind.......

(im not done reading yet dont spoil me!!111!!1)

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

trying so hard to balance being rightfully pissed off at how much hbo slashed the budget for s2 and my disappointment with some of the very rushed plotlines and character arcs by remembering the two month period of time where we didn’t even know if we would get a season two or if we would be left with ed crying in the window as our last ever shot of him and we would never get to see the crew reunite and ed and stede reconcile at all. just swinging back and forth and back and forth bc like

i’m so incredibly grateful for what we have

but at the same time i’m mad as hell bc this show deserves better

but i don’t want to let my anger abt how hbo is treating this show get in the way of me enjoying what we’re getting

but also i deserve to be angry about the studio treating this show like shit and i don’t want “enjoying what we’re getting” to be seen as letting hbo off the hook

this show is always going to be important to me but i think the way the budget cuts are incredibly palpable throughout the entirety of season 2 will always stand out in my memory, too. i get that in the time between season 1 and season 2 i had put this show on a hyperfixation pedestal and there was probably no way for me to be entirely 100% satisfied without a single complaint about the new episodes but so much of this season feels sloppy and rushed. season 1 was practically a masterclass in efficient storytelling but you can tell in s2 no amount of efficient writing can make up for the fact that they just didn’t have the time to do everything they needed to do, and so sacrifices were made with some of the arcs. i’m enjoying the season but i can’t help but mourn what s2 could’ve been with just two more episodes.

[harbingersecho]

Let us drink till the downfall of heaven Let us drink till the night has transformed into day Let us relish in dreams of forever Let us drink and die and drink again

[zhoufeis]

ESTHER YU as XIAO LANHUA 苍兰诀 | China, 2022 LOVE BETWEEN FAIRY AND DEVIL

[insporp]

(c)

[wendychristensens]

Kyle Gallner as Colin Gray in Jennifer's Body (2009)

[autochroma]

i keep picking up my pen, going into a trance, and lae'zel comes out at the end

[zacksnydered]

HENRY CAVILL as GERALT OF RIVIA Netflix’s The Witcher ‧ Shaerrawedd