#to contend with. such as they are. and then there’s just the way that I feel on the inside most of the time

[starastrologyy]

Solar Return Observations 5

If you would like to know what you can expect to occur in your life from one birthday to the next, I offer full & mini solar return readings! The link is in my bio for those interested! 🤍

A “4th house heavy” solar return chart can contend that family/home related matters will be of importance in that year. I had a client who had a family member become ill when her solar return ascendant was the same sign as her natal 4th house cusp (I experienced a similar thing in my own life), she also had a stellium in her solar return 4th house. She spend a lot of time at home, taking care of the sick family member (as did the rest of her family), they all relied on each other for emotional support in that year. Please note that I am not saying that someone will become sick if you have planets in the SR 4th house etc.. this is just one of the many ways a 4th house heavy solar return year can unfold.

If you want to see what you can expect when it comes to your finances & personal resources in the upcoming year, look to your solar return 2nd, 8th, and 11th houses! Uranus in the solar return 2nd house can indicate financial instability throughout the year. However, if Uranus received trines & sextiles from the other planets you may see a positive (yet unexpected) change to your finances.

You are likely to be very busy in the years when your solar return chart has a 3rd or 6th house emphasis. This is especially true when it comes to planets in the solar return 3rd house, as your day day life is likely to pick up speed. You may find yourself having to go on many short trips(Mercury/Jupiter in the solar return 3rd house ). You may also find that a lot of your time & energy will go towards communication, learning and socializing with siblings, neighbors & the people in your immediate environment.

Interestingly, the Moon in the Solar Return 8th house is actually a common pregnancy indication! (5th house placements too). This is because the 8th house is associated with deep, transformative experiences. The 8th house also highlights the psychological, emotional, and physical changes one is apt to experience as they take on the responsibility of motherhood. As we know, the moon in astrology represents our emotions, nurturing instincts, maternal figures, our actual mothers etc… Thus, this placement can be relevant to pregnancy for these reasons. I would also say Jupiter in the Solar Return 4th or 5th house + the Moon in the SR 5th house are also strong contenders.

When you have your Solar Return Pluto in the 6th house, you may see a significant change in relation to your work environment. For example, you may go from working from home to working in an office (vise versa).

Venus in the solar return 10th house can indicate a potential promotion at work in the coming year. It could also just mean that you will see an improvement to your reputation or it may be that you will gain some kind of positive public recognition. For example, you may perform a kind act that gains public attention & receives positive feedback.

Please do not repost anything I write on other social media platforms (even if you credit me!) I only have a TikTok & a Tumblr!🖤🖤

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

Dhdbrhrhrhrb thanks so much i love the wwdts reference

I will contend that its the facial hair thats making him look old. I did do my best to make him look 19, albeit kinda tired and stressed out. the beard just ages him by 10 years

bonus liu bang, who was only 4 years younger than qin shi huang and living a vastly different type of life

^future emperor han gaozu (age 15) sweet-talking his way out of being arrested for a eat-and-run

got away with it 👍

if i was directing a movie about a chinese emperor i would have a really heavyhanded shot where his crown casts noir prison bar shadows on his face

[scoobydoodean]

Hi, scoobydoodean! Are you of the opinion that Cas' confession parallels John's private speech to Dean before he went to take Azazel's deal which killed him. Like, they're both deals to save Dean. And they only decided to say things left unsaid about how much they loved Dean and were proud of who he was, right before they knew they were going to die. I don't know if that's a stretch, and if it's not, what does it say about Cas and Dean if it does parallel John? I don't know.

You know—I could have sworn I've mentioned that very thing before, but probably just in passing, because I can't find it in my archive. Cas and John have some interesting parallels, and I don't doubt Dean notices (and occasionally chafes) at their similarities (because their similarities tend to dig into some of Dean's biggest issues with his dad). It isn't just that Cas and John both sacrifice themselves for Dean, giving him a deathbed speech about what a good person he is (one that is touching and heartfelt but still comes with painful consequences for Dean that they don't foresee).

John and Cas have also both been known to do the following:

Ignore phone calls for weeks at a time.

Disappear without anyone knowing where they are for long periods, leaving their loved ones worrying.

Try to handle The Mission alone and ice others out of it to "protect" them.

Die leaving Dean to care for, protect, and then (if necessary) kill their sons—sons who are being pursued by powerful forces who want to manipulate and use them—sons who are not actually children.

Trade out a car for a truck, funnily enough.

John and Cas are also both soldiers, and Cas understands the soldier's mentality: The Mission comes before everything (this is what Sam and Dean ultimately clash with John over at the end of season 1). Cas has admired John's handwriting (8.08), and I think is probably a little interested in John as a model of the failed protector, though he knows Dean considers John a deadbeat (5.17). Cas has his own issues with his own father to contend with, and I think because Chuck is the absent father but not the protector father (except very specifically with Cas in a few early moments—bringing him back to life 2-3 times)... Maybe one could argue that Cas wishes god was more like John—that his absences weren't always for lack of love but were somehow mission-oriented. Chuck bringing Cas back a few times gives Cas hope that maybe his father is out there watching and caring about him and ready to help him despite his absence and silence. Even as late as season 14, Cas goes off alone to find a way to reach out to his father for help with Jack. Perhaps we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that Cas going off alone in search of help from an absent father instead of communicating with his family is part of what leads into Dean and Cas's "divorce arc". Perhaps we should consider more carefully if something underlying Dean and Cas's conflicts is how they perceive their fathers.

Maybe to an extent, quite unconsciously, Cas wants to prove that he can be absent from his family and still love and protect them from a distance... because if Cas can do that successfully, it means maybe god loves him from a distance too? Maybe he thinks it can make sense of Chuck's behavior—bringing Cas back several times but still so silent. It isn't until AU Michael tells Cas that Chuck is a writer looking at failed drafts that Cas starts to catch on—and he doesn't want to catch on, is the thing. He wants to reject Michael's narrative. Having Michael in particular (in Dean's body) tell Cas this also pits Cas and Dean's perspectives on fathers against one another—Cas's hopeful belief vs. Dean's nihilism. When Dean pleads with god on behalf of his family, he does it faithlessly because he already knows you can never count on your father to help you no matter how hard you plead and cry (1.09, 5.14, 13.01).

As for what this means for Dean and Cas? Well—I've said it before and I'll say it again—fandom could stand to calm down about the "implications" of John parallels. It's often treated like some sort of condemnation to be "paralleled" with John, but... it isn't? Sam, Dean, and Cas all have parallels with John at various points, and it doesn't make any of them bad people. It makes them messy and interesting and (for lack of a better word) human. I think Cas and Dean could have some fascinating fights along this subject and I want to see more of them. Sorry but I love it when they fight it entertains me greatly.

[thedissonantverses]

Cute headcanon for you to angst - Lucanis and Bellara taste test new recipes together when Bellara is up late working and Lucanis is being Lucanis. It's Lucanis' way of giving her a friend's company without understanding anything about what she's doing, and Bellara's happy to have his input on both her work and her recipes.

Alright I think this is the last one I have of these(But if people want to send me more I never put time limits on my writing challenges and these are really fun for me thanks for playing! I decided to write this one from Bellara's pov since I haven't tried doing that yet(And I'm sorry? But not really?):

Bellara thought she'd put Cyrian to rest. She'd worked so hard the first time. She'd thrown herself into work. She'd let him go. She carried those golden memories she had as a light, holding them close when she was lost in the trees for weeks at a time. She'd been alone. Even surrounded by other Veil Jumpers. But her little brother had helped her get this far, and she would carry him and their people sitll father. She could do that, for him. For both of them. She'd been at peace.

So why couldn't she let his ghost go this time? Why was it so hard, when she'd guided him into death herself?

The others tried. Neve gave her her notes on the new chapter with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Davrin had only looked at her and opened up his arms with a smile, hugging her as long as she'd needed. Even then, she hadn't been able to talk, though she sense he was willing. Taash and Harding had tried talking to her into going for a walk but she just so....tired. Emmrich attempted to entice her with a new treatise on areas the Fade could be provably shown to be thinning but also thickening around Arlathan. Normally she'd have run with the implications but now there was only this gray haze to contend with.

It got to where she didn't get off her cot. She tried. But her heart was heavy and her head hurt and she just couldn't. Even when Rook came to check on her, she just turned away to stare blankly at the wall. She didn't understand this. She hadn't had an episode like this since long before Cyrian had died the first time.

It was, of all things, the squash that did it. The scent of the spices her grandmother had used wafted through from the kitchen, through her open window. She closed her eyes and thought of the harvest days, when she'd fall into bed exhausted but full and happy, her and Cryian having eaten their weight in stuffed squash and their mother had tucked them in, safe and sound from the dangers of the world outside. Lucanis' doing. He'd remembered.

The tears fell then. Hot and heavy. The grey evaporated, replaced by pain so raw it threatened to split her apart entirely. But she'd take, it over the nothing.

[dnickels]

John Irving Poem Playlist

I love the hype around Davechella and wanted to do something a little different- a mixtape of poems, with commentary (desperate self-justification) and bonus poems below the cut

I.

The Lamb, William Blake

The Pilgrim, Sophie Jewett

Self-Dependence, Matthew Arnold

The Light of Stars, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Wanderer, Unknown, trans. Roy M. Liuzza

Up-Hill, Christina Rosetti

Sir Galahad, Alfred Tennyson

II.

They Could Not Tell Me Who Should Be My Lord, Edwin Muir

God gave a Loaf to every Bird, Emily Dickinson

Ancient Text, Louise Glück

I Find no Peace, Thomas Wyatt

A Secret Told, Emily Dickinson

Mary Magdalen, James Elroy Flecker

Because I Liked You Better, AE Housman

III.

A Better Resurrection, Christina Rossetti

The Temptation of Saint Anthony, Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Leonard Cottrell OR trans. Len Krisak

Batter my heart, three-personed God, John Donne

At Least to Pray, Is Left, Is Left, Emily Dickinson

'Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend", Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, (LXXXIV- LXXXVI) trans. Edward FitzGerald

I Shall Know why- when Time is over, Emily Dickinson

IV.

Sudden Hymn in Winter, Joseph Fasano

Fable and Decade, Louise Glück

Love (III), George Herbert

Of Molluscs, Mary Sarton

Dark Night of Soul, Juan de la Cruz, trans. E Allison Peers

He Touched Me, So I Live to Know, Emily Dickinson

The Finder Found, Edwin Muir

V.

The Plate, Anthony Hecht

Prospice, Robert Browning

Pietà, Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Jessie Lemont

DEATH THE COPPERPLATE PRINTER, Anthony Hecht

The Gold Lily, Louise Glück

Futility, Wilfred Owen

Flock, Billy Collins

"What, no Wild Geese?" spiritually Wild Geese is here, tucked in section IV, which might a well be subtitled "The soft animal gets a treat", same with Song of Songs and so many psalms I couldn't pick one. I wanted to try to play with poems that were either new to me or a little further off the beaten track (although there are still some obvious picks but come on was I not going to get some Donne in there?). Frankly, this entire list could have been Emily Dickinson start to finish, it's not yet accepted historical fact that she was an inexplicable psychic witness to the sufferings of the Franklin Expedition but I am submitting my findings to journals as we speak

(sorry Jirv for all the Catholics and extremely suspect Anglicans!!)

I. SEEKING

Whenever I invoke "The Lamb" please know I am reading it with the same menace and sense of foreboding as Patti Smith. Given the vibe I'm trying to cultivate you'd think there would be more Blake, but I think Jirv has such a profoundly different experience with Church Authority and his own conversion experience that he and Blake hardly seem like they share the same faith. Even in a scenario where he managed to unclench, I can't see him espousing a sentiment like The Garden of Love. Maybe if he survived to reflect on his encounter with Koveyook he might groove more with "[Christ] is the only God ... and so am I and so are you."

The only section that has at least a few poets I think Jirv would actually read, namely Matthew Arnold-- the only poem on here that I think isn't very good, I'm sorry to Mr. Arnold but there we are, they were right to light your ass up in Punch. He's here however because I think his work captures a very clear and immediately accessible sense of the early Victorian man striving to be himself, in the sense that he can flower fully into the model of upstanding sober bourgeois middle-class manhood which isn't always attainable for later birth-order sons in a navy overcrowded with officers. The real life Irving's letters touched me very much in that he is both looking for a deeper connection with God, a better version for himself, and in the material world, a way to make enough money to establish himself as capital-R Respectable in a way that swashbuckling at sea or derring-do in the colonies doesn't really allow him. I actually don't know if the years line up for him to have read Longfellow but this stanza:

O fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know erelong, Know how sublime a thing it is  To suffer and be strong.

Is such a classic mid 19th century "making yourself miserable for ideological reasons" motto. Shades of "Invictus" (which for some reason I don't know if Jirv would vibe with, maybe more of a Crozier poem).

I think you could also call the first section "Voyages", I was struck by how often the real Irving was compelled to relocated to try and make a place for himself in the world in the literal, material sense, and the few letters we have are largely his thoughts on his spiritual seeking-- I was very surprised not to find a settled and secured ticket-to-Heaven holder but someone who still considers himself a student, is still wrestling and grasping and looking for something.

Prithee, Pilgrim, go not hence; Clear thy brow, and white thy hand, What shouldst thou with penitence? Wherefore seek to Holy Land? Stern the whisper on his lip: Sin and shame are in my scrip.

It feels a little much to say 'Jirv is the Galahad of their doomed Grail quest' but frankly, given that no one succeeds, I kind of like the idea of a failed Galahad. It's slightly ahistorical to invoke but once we get into the 1860s and the mid-Victorian chivalric revival Galahad becomes a potent symbol for a kind of chaste imperial knighthood in service to God/Queen/Country. At least one young office who died in WWI was named Galahad, not just a PG Wodehouse joke christening.

II. CRISIS

Obviously there are ten thousand things that could torment the evangelical protestant mind and bedevil one's self-worth and it doesn't have to be "hopelessly in love with your best friend" but I wasn't going to miss a chance for some Housman, was i? Wyatt gives us the money couplet:

I desire to perish, and yet I ask health. I love another, and thus I hate myself.

I had included Flecker's We That Were Friends but felt it was just slightly too self-aware, ditto Rosetti's Winter: My Secret.

III. STRIFE

I think these are all pretty self-explanatory. I could have added ten more Emily Dickinson poems because she is the only one on this earth who gets it (me, the deal, the whole of existence). Hopkins I think is more concerned with the sins of the world than the real life Irving (who, based on the very limited material shared, must be the most laid-back and chill evangelical in human history? Or maybe I spent too long among the Baptists) but I can see Jirv wondering, in the God-proof bunker of his diary, why the wicked are flourishing while he is losing his everloving mind and threatening to lock up ABs for being afraid of ghosts.

Here is the excerpted Khayyam so you don't have to go looking (although you should because its wall to wall bangers) (context: the narrator is standing in a potter's shed, and listening to the vessels talk amongst themselves)

LXXXIV. Said one among them— "Surely not in vain My substance of the common Earth was ta'en And to this Figure molded, to be broke, Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again." LXXXV. Then said a Second—"Ne'er a peevish Boy Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy; And He that with his hand the Vessel made Will surely not in after Wrath destroy." LXXXVI. After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; "They sneer at me for leaning all awry: What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

"Did you make me just to smash me, God?"

Runners-up for this section included Rossetti's The Three Enemies, which only didn't make the cut because I think its slightly uneven compared to the rest of this work and this list has become pretty Rossetti-heavy. Ditto De Profundis.

IV. ACCEPTANCE

Also pretty self-explanatory. Mystical union with Christ or a very special sergeant of the marines, or both! Is it canon? No! But I like to think that even just one time...

If you read any poem on this list please read 'Love (III)' and 'The Finder Found', the latter of which is my 'Wild Geese'. It seems self-serving to say I cried when I read it but I did. Meanwhile Herbert is goated and his entire work could be listed here but hearing Love (III) read aloud made me understand what poems could do.

I cheated putting two Glück poems for one but given that they were published together in that magazine I think its ok. Here's even more cheating: The Undertaking would be in there if I could squeeze it on the same line. "The darkness lifts, imagine, in your lifetime" PLEASE

Runners-up here were Larkin's First Sight, which just doesn't quite fit but I love for the sense of spring coming to someone who doesn't know there's anything other than winter deprivation, and A Shropshire Lad XI (On your midnight pallet lying) which I LOVE but again doesn't quite jive with the theme, but I do imagine it as a bridge poem between this section and the last...

V. DOOM

A little bit of Browning, who might squeak in under the line of plausibility (though perhaps not this poem) as Jirv sets out on the death march with waning faith that is not, in fact, a death march but then his journey ends in Stabtown, population: YOU. "The Plate" in this case would be that faith and knowledge of being loved that remains even after hardship and the final lost battle, maybe even literally in the meat from his stomach. But misery and death put all the men on the rack and instead of salvation they are essentially tortured to death, often long enough to crush/squeeze out any semblance of humanity and leaving the animal capacity for violence.

"Futility" could encompass the whole sorry venture but in specific the shot of Jirv's body after all the effort to make contact with someone would could help. Was it for this? "Exposure" also a strong contender for "the long slow process of freezing to death for unclear reasons".

"Flock" of course-- God needs martyrs.

[honeyhour]

“yeah, you’re right. there was definitely a lot going on back then that i could’ve handled better. turns out newborns aren’t the easiest, especially when it’s your first and you basically have no idea what you’re doing. i knew it would be difficult, but god.” a long breath is exhaled, head shaking at the memory of countless sleepless nights and bodily changes she’d gone through. it’s the most exhausted she’s ever felt in her life and it did nothing to help her already dwindling supply of patience. “we don’t have all that stuff to contend with right now, so that’s good, i think… although, i probably could’ve used it to my advantage somehow. you have to allow a pregnant woman to win all the arguments, it’s only fair.” thankfully, no matter how strong of a competitive streak he’s able to bring out in lily, she’s not quite desperate enough to take things that far just to beat him. she’ll find other ways. “oh.” the smile she'd been trying to hold back soon wins the fight and breaks onto her face, hopeful and affectionate. she’d been so convinced that she’d sealed her fate when they first parted and while it’s still far too soon to know how it’ll end this time, she’s not going to waste the second chance. “we’re both so stupid, aren’t we? maybe we really do deserve each other.”

being in a serious pit for too long has never been a strong suit for bash, even when he knows it's good for him. it often makes his skin crawl and feel a bit itchy, like he's not meant to stay in the room to just sit down and push through it. in the past, it's directly led to conflict — she would yell, he would leave as a result so as to not hear more. he endeavors not to do that anymore if he can help it, accepting her hand and giving her palm a tender kiss. "we can all work on being better. and we will fight. and get annoyed or tired. it's not going to be perfect. but god, we know exactly what not to do now so maybe that'll help." and it's not like he was unaware the last time either but last time, he didn't realize how great of a loss it would be without her. "domesticity is why i have grey hairs," bash corrects her but the lilt in his voice is a great indication that he doesn't mind them. if aging on him looks good to lily then it certainly feels good to bash. "we'll see what you have to say about that whenever she starts eating more than just glue." the joke doesn't, for even a second, take away how meaningful those words are to him though. the pad of his thumb brushes over the backs of her knuckles and he averts his gaze, shaking his head as a tender smile finds its way onto his lips. "you're right, there's nothing to worry about. because nothing's changed in that regard on my end either."

[onlydylanobrien]

New still of Dylan O'Brien as Rocky/ Roman and James Sweeney as Dennis in "Twinless". (2025)

📷©: ew.com

First look at Dylan O’Brien’s Twinless, a Sundance contender that takes inspiration from the Olsen twins

"That visceral moment of 'you look just like me' is imprinted in my formative memories," says writer-director James Sweeney.

Nineties kids are kind of obsessed with twins. And for good reason — we grew up with the Olsen twins, the remake of The Parent Trap, and Sister, Sister.

Writer-director James Sweeney takes that obsession to the next level with Twinless, his sophomore feature that will have its world premiere on Jan. 23 at the Sundance Film Festival. Entertainment Weekly has your exclusive first look at the film, in which Sweeney costars alongside Dylan O'Brien.

"I grew up in a generation that idolized twins," Sweeney tells EW. "It was very much in my zeitgeist. It was a manifestation of the perfect best friend, somebody you could share everything with. As a military brat hopping around, that was something I really craved. When I told my stepmom about what the film was, she was like, 'Oh, you used to beg me for a twin, and I had to explain to you that I can't make that happen.'"

That early fascination is evident in Twinless, which even features a scene with a character watching the Olsen twins' film It Takes Two. "That was definitely my fantasy," Sweeney says of the 1995 film. "It's like, 'Oh, one day I'll just magically run into my identical twin.' Even though they're actually not twins, they're just lookalikes. But that visceral moment of 'You look just like me' is imprinted in my formative memories."

As for Twinless, the film tells the story of a twin, Roman (O'Brien), who loses his brother, Rocky (also O'Brien), and feels like he's lost half of himself. After Rocky dies, Roman decides to stay in Rocky's Portland, OR apartment as he navigates his grief. While attending a support group for twin loss, he befriends Dennis (Sweeney), a fellow lost soul — and the two find solace in each other, forming an unlikely bromance.

"Roman and Dennis get along so well because they're both bringing their respective baggage and grief and traumas to the table," Sweeney says. "They bond and complement each other."

Sweeney is not a twin, but he did base his script on the existence of twin bereavement support groups. Though, out of respect for all involved, he didn't attend one of their meetings. "I thought it would be too much to attend," he explains. "I did order a book from their website, because I did research and read some books written by twin psychologists. One was called Alone in the Mirror, which touches on twin loss. It was written by the co-founder of the support group, and I paid $25 and they never sent me a book."

Even without that book (he tried!), Sweeney was fascinated by the psychology of twins and how that unique bond differs from those of siblings who are not twins. "I would say being a twin isn't a monolithic experience, so there's so many variations," Sweeney notes. "It also has a lot to do with how the parents reared their children and whether or not they encouraged or discouraged individuality between the twins. But there's a lot of studies done on twins because they see them as the perfect specimen."

Explorating what it means to be (and lose) a twin first attracted O'Brien to the project. Sweeney wrote the first draft in 2015, and O'Brien has been attached since 2020. But the script grabbed the actor from the moment it popped up in his inbox alongside several others his manager sent his way.

"I'm fascinated by it in terms of it being something so unique on this earth," O'Brien says of the twin dynamic. "That is one of those things that really, unless you experience it, you can't understand. Twinless support groups exist because it is a very specific loss and trauma that you need support with — losing a connectivity that us normies can't ever quite understand. That deeply resonated with me, even though I don't have a twin. I found it to be a really compelling and heart-wrenching center to this story. This tragically poignant tale of this kid losing his other half."

That, along with his love for his character, propelled O'Brien to stick with the project these last five years while the film searched for funding and postponed production in the wake of the 2023 Hollywood strikes. "It was a gut thing for me," O'Brien reflects. "I remember falling in love with Roman immediately. I read a character, and either I have that soul in me or not. Roman's somebody I know really deep down."

Sweeney was incredibly moved by O'Brien's dedication and enthusiasm for the project, a quality that was evident from their first meeting. "When I first met Dylan over Zoom, he really took ownership over the role in a way that I had never experienced with an actor," Sweeney says. "He basically said, 'I see you. I see your voice. I understand this character and his every emotion.' That gave me a lot of confidence."

For both O'Brien and Sweeney, getting to make this movie entirely on their terms was a creative reward unto itself. "The script was so fantastic and dialed in from the time I first read it," O'Brien notes. "I authentically connected to it all. It was one of those wonderful creative experiences."

But now they get to share it with the world, beginning in the U.S. Dramatic Competition at the Sundance Film Festival. Still, Sweeney says anything from here on is a cherry on top of his twin sundae.

"This was an instance where I had optimal creative control and a wonderful team championing me to do exactly the movie I wanted to make," he concludes. "I know that's a rare gift. I'm super excited for people to see the film and to find its audience. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm already content."

[player279achlys]

The golden rabbit's legacy (Hwang In-Ho/Frontman x fem! reader!)

Il-nam's granddaughter will prove herself worthy of being the next hostess, while someone becomes her loyal shadow.

CHAPTER VIII: The end of an era and the beginning of a new one

Previous chapter: Chapter VII

Next chapter: Chapter IX

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho/Frontman x Original!female!Character

Word count: 2,3k words.

Summary: In the shadow of her grandfather’s dark empire, Melinoe, a brilliant young woman in her early twenties, steps into a world of blood, betrayal, and power she was never meant to inherit. As the granddaughter of the infamous Oh Il-Nam, creator of the deadly Squid Games, she is thrust into a brutal legacy that demands she not only survive but thrive as its new hostess. Determined to honor her family’s name and prove herself worthy of the golden rabbit mask, she designs games more cunning and lethal than any before.

But power comes at a cost. Beneath her calculated exterior lies a woman haunted by guilt, trauma, and the faces of those she has condemned to die. And at her side stands Hwang In-Ho, the enigmatic Front Man—older than her, cold, and feared by all, except for her. Since the day he learned of her existence, In-Ho has been deeply, obsessively in love with Melinoe. His devotion is as intense as it is toxic, a tangled mix of desire and protectiveness that pushes him to control every aspect of her life.

As Melinoe rises to prominence, she finds herself navigating not only the deadly games but also the dangerous allure of In-Ho. Their relationship is a powder keg of suppressed emotions, forbidden passion, and fraught power dynamics. He would destroy anyone who comes close to her—including a charming, younger VIP who flirts with her one too many times. Yet, while In-Ho dreams of keeping her safe in his arms, Melinoe dreams of reshaping the games into something darker and more just—her own twisted vision of justice against the world’s worst offenders.

When the 33rd Squid Games begin, everything changes. With her grandfather entering the arena as Player 001 and Gi-Hun as Player 456, the games take on unprecedented stakes. As alliances crumble and bodies fall, Melinoe must contend with the weight of her grandfather’s legacy, the manipulations of the VIPs, and the unrelenting obsession of the man who would burn the world for her.

Will Melinoe rise as the queen of the games, or will the bonds of obsession and love be the end of her?

Warnings: MDNI!!!, Afab!, angst. Sexual language. Fear of losing someone. Smut (light kinda), grumpy x sunshine, dark romance, age gap, possessive, obsessed, paranoid and dominant In-Ho, daddy issues, yandere behaviour, jealousy, violence, murder, typical squid game stuff.

English isn’t my first language, if there are any mistakes, please forgive me. :)

Melinoe found her grandfather in the medical bay of the compound, where the finest doctors in the world tended to his every need. When you have more money than cells in your body you can buy anything and anyone. He layed on a pristine white bed, his face pale but peaceful. When he saw her, his eyes lit up with a warmth that melted her composure.

“My little Melinoe,” he said, his voice weak but full of affection. “You’ve grown into a force to be reckoned with.”

She sat beside him, her hand finding his. “Don’t talk like this is goodbye.”

“It is, in a way,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But it’s not the end. You’ll carry on, stronger than I ever could.”

He gestured to a nearby guard, who stepped forward carrying a black velvet box. Inside was the golden mask of a rabbit, its intricate design shimmering under the sterile lights. The mask was exquisite, its long ears tipped with diamond accents, its surface engraved with delicate patterns that spoke of elegance and power.

“This,” Il-Nam said, “is yours now. The rabbit. A symbol of cunning and adaptability. It’s time for you to take your place as the hostess of the games.”

Melinoe stared at the mask, her breath catching in her throat. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool metal. “Grandfather…”

“You’ve earned it,” he said firmly. “No one can deny that. Not the players, not the VIPs. You’ve proven yourself to be worthy to be the finest hostess these games will ever know.”

Her chest swelled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. She lifted the mask carefully, holding it as though it might shatter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could, my sweet gentle mind*,” he said with a faint smile. “Now, go. There are people waiting to meet you.”

Melinoe stood in the VIP lounge, the golden rabbit mask perched elegantly atop her head. The luxurious room was a stark contrast to the stark brutality of the games—plush velvet furnishings, crystal chandeliers, and walls adorned with priceless art. It was a playground for the rich and powerful, a place where morality held no sway.

The VIPs were already gathered, their opulent masks hiding their identities but not their personalities. They lounged on gold-trimmed sofas, sipping champagne from crystal flutes as they watched the carnage below on massive screens.

When Melinoe entered, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faltered, heads turned, and the room fell into a charged silence. She walked with the poise of a queen, her tailored black suit accentuating her sharp features, her beauty and curves. The golden mask catching the light with every step. She was the queen of the games.

“Well, well,” drawled a man in a lion mask, his voice tinged with intrigue. “The hostess herself graces us with her presence.”

“She’s even more stunning in person,” purred a woman in a fox mask, her gaze lingering on Melinoe with open admiration. “And they say she’s the mastermind behind this year’s games.”

“She is,” In-Ho said, stepping forward. His presence was commanding, his mask and dark attire making him an imposing figure. “Every detail of this year’s games is her design.”

Melinoe inclined her head, her voice calm and measured. “The games are my family’s legacy. It’s my duty to ensure they evolve.”

“And evolve they have,” said another VIP, his bear mask gleaming as he raised his glass. “This new approach—targeting the worst of the worst—it’s bold. Visionary.”

Melinoe’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Justice can take many forms. Consider this one of them.”

The VIPs murmured their approval, their fascination with her evident in the way they leaned forward, hanging on her every word. She handled their questions with grace, her hazel-amber eyes shining with intelligence and confidence.

In-Ho stood slightly behind her, his dark gaze never leaving her. The way the VIPs looked at her, spoke to her—it made his blood boil. She was his. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, only solidified that fact in his mind.

Later, as the VIPs returned their focus to the games, In-Ho pulled Melinoe aside. His hand was firm on her arm, his voice low. “They’re drawn to you.”

“It’s their nature,” she replied, her tone dismissive. “They admire strength.”

“They want more than that,” he said, his eyes dark with jealousy. “And I won’t let them have it.”

She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to protect me from them, In-Ho. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said, his voice softening. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” he said, his voice a mix of reverence and possessiveness.

The VIPs were utterly captivated.

“So, you’re the one who designed this year’s games,” said a man wearing a wolf mask, his voice smooth and laced with admiration. “Your grandfather must be proud to have such a worthy successor.”

Melinoe inclined her head gracefully. “I hope so. These games are his legacy, and I’ve done everything in my power to honor them.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the room. The guests leaned forward in their seats, their gold-trimmed masks unable to hide their fascination. It wasn’t just her intellect that drew them in but her commanding presence—an aura that seemed to fill the room and silence any doubt about her authority.

Among the VIPs, one figure stood out. He was younger than the others, perhaps in his early thirties, with a lean frame and a voice that carried a flirtatious lilt. His lion mask gleamed under the chandelier light, the sharp contours framing his piercing eyes. He sat back lazily on a velvet sofa, a crystal flute of champagne in his hand, but his gaze was locked on Melinoe.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, his voice cutting through the room. “Not just with the games, but with… well, everything.”

Melinoe turned to him, her expression calm but curious. “Everything?”

“You,” he said, his tone low and suggestive. “The way you’ve stepped into this role, the way you carry yourself—it’s remarkable. You’re remarkable.”

A faint flush crept up her neck, but she didn’t waver. “Thank you,” she replied coolly. “But the focus should be on the players. They’re the ones in the arena.”

“Ah, but the players come and go,” he said, his lips curving into a slow smile. “You’re the one who makes it all worth watching.”

The room fell silent as the other VIPs exchanged glances, their interest piqued by the young man’s boldness. Melinoe remained composed, though she could feel the intensity of In-Ho’s gaze on her from where he stood at the edge of the room.

As the evening wore on, the lion-masked VIP found more opportunities to speak to Melinoe. He offered her champagne, complimented her insights, and leaned closer than necessary whenever they spoke. His laughter was rich and unrestrained, his charm deliberate and calculated.

“You know,” he said during a lull in the conversation, “I adore the meaning of your name”, he said in a flirtatious tone.

“The meaning?”, Melinoe asked curious. Not many people knew who that deity was… But, did he?

“Yes, Melinoe, the chthonic goddess invoked in one of the Orphic Hymns. The bringer of nightmares and madness. It is believed she was— 

“The epithet of Hekate and the Erinyes”. Melinoe interrupted the VIP with a faint smile. “Indeed. My grandfather has always had a taste for mythology”. 

“He could even have named you Themis, as you will do justice with the next games”. The lion masked VIP said, while he looked at Melinoe, trying to see if he could make some physical contact. “I’d love to hear more about your vision for the games. And about you. Perhaps over dinner? Somewhere less… crowded.”

Melinoe arched an eyebrow, her tone light but firm. “The games are not a social event. They’re a responsibility.”

“And you’ve handled it brilliantly,” he said, undeterred. “But even the best need a break now and then.”

Before Melinoe could respond, a shadow loomed behind her. In-Ho stepped forward, his tall frame imposing, his mask once again in place. His voice was cold and clipped as he said, “The hostess does not take breaks.”

The lion-masked VIP looked up, startled but not intimidated. “Ah, the infamous Frontman,” he said, his tone playful. “You must be proud of her. She’s… extraordinary.”

“She is,” In-Ho replied, his voice a low growl. “And she doesn’t need distractions.”

The tension between them was palpable, the room growing uncomfortably quiet as the other VIPs watched the exchange with thinly veiled interest. Melinoe placed a hand on In-Ho’s arm, her touch light but grounding.

“Thank you, In-Ho,” she said softly. “I can handle this.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides, before stepping back with a stiff nod. But his eyes never left the lion-masked VIP, and the air around him crackled with barely contained fury.

Later that night, In-Ho found himself pacing the halls of the compound, his mind a tempest of jealousy and rage. Every word the VIP had spoken, every smile he had directed at Melinoe, replayed in his mind like a broken record. The thought of anyone looking at her, touching her, claiming even a fraction of her attention—it was unbearable.

When he finally entered the control room, he slammed his fists against the console, the sharp sound echoing through the empty space. His breathing was ragged, his gloves creaking as he clenched his hands into tight fists.

“She’s mine,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking with anger. “Mine.”

Melinoe found him in the control room, the door closing softly behind her as she stepped inside. She took one look at him, the tension radiating from his body, and sighed. “In-Ho.”

He didn’t turn, his shoulders rigid. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“He was harmless,” she said, her tone measured.

“Harmless?” he snapped, spinning to face her. His mask was off now, his dark eyes blazing. “He was flirting with you. In front of everyone.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “And I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t have to deal with people like him. You shouldn’t—”

“In-Ho,” she interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. “It’s my job to handle people like him. It’s part of the role.”

“I don’t care about the role,” he said, his voice breaking. “I care about you.”

Her breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. She looked up at him, her hazel-amber eyes meeting his. “I’m here, In-Ho. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled sharply, his hands coming up to cradle her face. “You don’t understand how much I need you. How much I—”

“I understand,” she said softly, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “But you have to trust me. You have to let me handle things my way.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly. “I’ll try. For you.”

The 33rd games continued, their brutality escalating with each new round. The remaining players fought desperately to survive, their numbers dwindling in a crescendo of chaos and despair. In the VIP lounge, the elite spectators reveled in the carnage, their laughter and wagers a stark contrast to the suffering below.

Melinoe navigated the crowd with ease, her golden rabbit mask catching the light as she answered questions and fielded compliments. Her poise was unshakable, her calm demeanor hiding the storm of thoughts swirling within her. The lion-masked VIP, however, was relentless in his pursuit, his flirtations growing bolder with every passing moment.

“You’re an enigma, Melinoe,” he said as he approached her once again, a glass of champagne in hand. His eyes, sharp and calculating, studied her with an intensity that bordered on predatory. “Beauty, intelligence, and power—all in one package. Tell me, where have you been hiding all this time?”

Melinoe smiled politely, her tone measured. “I’ve been where I was needed.”

“And now you’re here,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Perhaps it’s fate.”

“Or coincidence,” she countered smoothly, her hazel-amber eyes meeting his with unwavering confidence. “Fate tends to be overrated.”

The lion-masked VIP chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge. “I like you, Melinoe. You’re… different. Unique. I’d love the chance to get to know you better. Outside of all this.”

Her polite smile didn’t falter, but her patience was wearing thin. “My focus is on the games.”

“And yet you’re here, mingling with us,” he said, his tone playful. “Surely you can spare a moment for a little… fun.”

Before Melinoe could respond, a familiar figure stepped into view. In-Ho, his dark suit immaculate and his geometric mask firmly in place, approached with a presence that commanded attention. The lion-masked VIP straightened slightly, though his smirk remained.

“Frontman,” he said, inclining his head. “Always so serious. Relax. We were just talking.”

“Talking,” In-Ho echoed, his voice cold and sharp. “You seem to be doing a lot of that.”

Melinoe placed a hand on In-Ho’s arm, her touch gentle but firm. “It’s fine, In-Ho.”

He turned to her, his gaze burning beneath the mask. “Is it?”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “I can handle this.”

The lion-masked VIP chuckled, clearly amused by the tension. “She’s quite capable, isn’t she? A true marvel.”

“She is,” In-Ho said, his voice low and dangerous. “Which is why she deserves respect.”

Okay, this is almost the end...

Will we see the Frontman acting on his anger towards the VIP???

AAAAA I'm so obsessed with this man aaaaa

Loves you, Achlys.

Taglist: @futuristicdefendorfart

[jane-newby]

I just finished reading a well written fanfic but with a "Caitlyn deserves to be punished" plot line and usually I roll my eyes and stop reading, but this fanfic had an interesting POV on the Council which ironically revealed the problem with the "Caitlyn deserves consequences" hype train.

Because if Caitlyn is the ONLY city leader who suffers the consequences from the war while the rest of the Council and Piltover leaders essentially gets away free, it screams corruption and making Cait a Scapegoat for their own cowardice and self motivated actions. They have been on the council for YEARS seemingly allowing gangs and Shimmer to run Zaun. It is disingenuous for them to let Cait suffer while they get to keep their money and titles. It also gives "getting rid of the competition" aka a powerful house like the Kiramman's.

It's what Cait wants. In the show Cait says "No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes," as she's racked by guilt and contemplating Jinx's own crimes. However Cait spends the last episode fighting tooth and nail to defeat Ambessa. There are many ways to interpret her actions, but one things for sure--Cait is not hiding in a underground bunker or on a ship to Ionia. Based on previous actions and dialogue Cait is very much the person who would throw herself into the riskiest situation to help. Even before Maddie's betrayal, Cait lead the Enforcers into a battle by her own example. If the consequence was execution I believe Cait would have accepted it as she seeks atonement for her mistakes. The fact that she would be eager to take on punishment feels like a bit of Martyr complex especially since...

There would definitely be Piltover citizens and Enforcers who would worship her. Some fans seem to conviently ignore the fact that she was doing this to capture Jinx, a known terrorist in Piltover, and she heroically fought along side other Enforcers and defeated Ambessa (the silent looks between her and Steb convey a level of trust that I am sure is a sentiment that has spread since her commander role) . Word would get around. And I find it hard to believe that their would not be a few who view her as a hero. How do you contend with that? I could even imagine she gain a few Zaun/Ekko followers/ who mention at least she tried to help.

How in the world does this help Zaun? Sure she could have all her wealth offered up to the common good of Zaun but how does jailing, banishing, executing, a young person who is pro-Zaun and in a relationship with a Zaunite help in a corrupt government system? The decision to get rid of her is what a corrupt or incompetent system would do. No reform just performative actions. Of course some would fall for it, but others would be distrustful. You punish one person to cover up your crimes? A better solution would include a statement from Cait and her heavily using the Kiramman name to push reform and invest in Zaunite Community initiatives and people.

If Jinx had lived, would she get the same treatment by fans? Realistically the Piltover and Council would want her head. Damn restoration or Cait's forgiveness. Honestly if Jinx were known to be alive you can bet it would be a sticky situation between Zaun and Piltover.

In conclusion, the who "Cait deserves Consequences" is a merely that--an almost sadistic fantasy that doesn't bear real world application beyond the continued corruption of a system. In punishing Cait, you're putting a tiny bandaid on a gushing wound.

End of rant. If you can't tell, I just finished teaching Malcolm X vs MLK, hence a lot of talk of oppresses systems and ways of protesting.

[rabidlittlestrawberry]

OKAY SO.

this inspired me. I made a lil jegulus photographer microfic. I have not read this over but ENJOY

1,308 words, cw - brief mention of workplace harassment but other than that it's fun

Click, click, click

Goosebumps rise on James bare skin, as he does his best to focus, to breathe. 

Click. Breathe in. Click. Breathe out. Click. 

“Look up for me?” 

Shit. 

James looks right down the lens of the camera, trying to keep his mind on the job. To remind himself that this is his job. And he’s good at it. That’s the worst thing. He’s been modelling for years, been in all kinds of compromising positions in front of the eyes of others. And none of it has ever phased him. 

Until now. 

The man behind the camera is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He’s currently staring intently into the camera, eye pressed right up against the lens. His black hair curls over his forehead, falling into the eye not pressed against the camera. James clenches his fist in an attempt to keep himself from leaning in and brushing it away. Then he remembers that he’s supposed to look relaxed, and unclenches his fingers. 

The photographer had walked in like he owned the place, barely glancing at James as he’d set up his equipment. James had felt heat rise in his face watching him work. Nimble fingers tightening screws and assembling tripods. 

Then that attention had turned to James, gaze as cold and analytical as when he’d been setting up. And that. That does something to James, something he hadn’t expected. 

And to make matters worse, this is an underwear shoot. It’s not a new experience for James, who hasn’t felt a drop of self-consciousness in years. But with Regulus’ eyes on him, sizing him up, analysing, calculating, he suddenly feels like his skin is on fire. Every inch of him burning up under the detached scrutiny of this beautiful man. 

“Can you turn to the left, arm up?” Comes that soft voice, and James’ brain short circuits. He hesitates for enough time that Regulus raises his eyebrow in silent question, undoubtedly wondering if James has forgotten his left and, right, or maybe is temporarily unable to locate his own arm. 

When he comes back to himself, he scrambles to comply, his limbs feeling heavy and clumsy as he moves. The camera clicks away, and shit. James once again tries to breathe through his nose, to steady himself. Because he’s suddenly very aware of how exposed he is, of how inconvenient it would be for him to get hard in his ridiculously expensive underwear right now.  

It isn’t something he’d ever had to contend with before, no matter how attractive the photographer. In fact, he’d laughed when people asked him about it. He didn’t think of his work as inherently sexual. But this? Regulus directing him with soft words and hard eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. 

Yeah. He’s fucked. 

He mustn’t have got the pose right, because he hears Regulus huff, before reluctantly making his way out from behind the camera. Every cell in James’ body tenses in anticipation as Regulus moves closer. 

“Put your hand right…there,” Regulus mutters, more to himself than James. He reaches his hand forward, but stops just short of actually touching him, fingers hovering an inch from his skin. 

Some base part of James is screaming: touch me, touch me, touch me, while his rational brain grateful that Regulus understands professional boundaries. And James does too. He does he does he does. 

He’d started modelling at eighteen, been in various states of undress around strangers, and he’d had his fair share of photographers who were keen to push boundaries in a variety of ways. Over the years, he’s learned how to hold his ground, but not before he let people poke and prod and move him in ways he’d never stand for these days.

Click, click, click. 

It’s fascinating and frustrating, the brick wall of the photographer’s expression, his stony demeanour. Because surely, it can’t be all in James’ mind. Sure, he’s attracted to Regulus, but that alone wouldn’t cause this. Wouldn’t make the air crackle and spark between them. So thick with tension that James can barely drag it down into his lungs. 

As time ticks on, James slides into a dreamy state, following each direction Regulus gives him without much thought, letting the soft words and the click of the camera lull him into a trance. 

“Can I… I’m going to get a close up,” Regulus says, bringing James back to the present. It’s the first time Regulus falters, and James’ breath catches in his throat. His eyes flick up to the other man, noticing a flush of pink rising in his cheeks. 

Oh. Well that’s interesting. 

He grins, letting the cocky energy overtake him. Now that he can see Regulus isn’t immune to him, he suddenly remembers who he is. What he looks like. The effect he knows he has on people, when he puts the work in. 

“Go ahead,” he says, swallowing down any other comments that might be trying to rise to the surface. Apparently his change in tone was enough, because Regulus coughs awkwardly, his blush noticeably deepening. 

“This okay?” James asks, smirking slightly as he thrusts his hips towards the camera. He knows he looks good, but he wants to hear Regulus say it. 

There’s a pause, and a few more clicks until Regulus nods, with nothing more than a quick “Mhm.” 

James feels his smirk deepen. Regulus’ grey eyes meet his briefly, before he looks quickly away. James takes the opportunity to study his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw, the freckles on his nose, the blush which has, impossibly, deepened in the last few seconds. 

After what feels like a lifetime, Regulus takes a step back, announcing that he has everything he needs. James has to admit, as uncomfortable as it was, he’s disappointed that it’s over. As he starts to dress himself, he finds his mouth moving before he has a chance to think it through. 

“If you need another model, you have my number…” he says, relieved that it wasn’t something worse. 

Regulus freezes, and rakes his eyes over James’ half-dressed form, making him feel completely naked. Finally, he nods, and James feels his whole body relax. 

Being given an inch, James naturally takes a mile. He grins impossibly wider, picking his trousers up slowly, never taking his eyes off Regulus, who is determinedly avoiding meeting his eye. 

“What are you dong tonight?”

That, at least, makes him look up. “I — what?”

“Listen, that was…” he blows out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Intense.” Regulus flinches slightly, and James rushes to backtrack. “No, not… not bad. I just. I do this a lot. And it doesn’t usually feel like that. And so I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink. With me.” James clarifies uselessly, back to wondering if he’d read the signs all wrong, and if he’s just lost himself a future job. It might be okay if he has, because James isn’t sure he can go through that again if Regulus were to turn him down. Being photographed by him after that would be nothing short of torture. 

Regulus stares at him for what feels like a long time. As the seconds tick by, James feels himself falter, trying not to visibly squirm in the thick silence. 

“I have your number. I’ll call you,” Regulus says, words as clipped an efficient as his photography. Then, before James can begin to feel pleased, Regulus is turning around and heading out the door, leaving James feeling dizzy and flustered and wound up. He wants to kiss Regulus senseless, wants him under his hands, wants to make him laugh, and take him apart. 

But Regulus has put the power in his own hands, so for now James will have to wait. Which is not a skill he has yet managed to master. 

Fuck. 

James Potter as an underwear model and Regulus Black as his photographer

Give regulus a chance to let him stare avidly

Regulus ‘can I take a close up please’ Black

James ‘do you want me to just take them off for you it might be easier’ Potter

am I right or am I right folks

[romanceyourdemons]

austin powers: international man of mystery (1997) is so transparent in its intentions that it would be pointless for me to dissect it. it’s a james bond parody in the most straightforward way possible, shot through with classic late 90s misogynistic humor. dick joke, tit joke, british joke, honk honk honk. what is interesting about the film is its place in the tradition of post-cold war film. released contemporary with mission: impossible (1996) and mars attacks! (1996), the film follows their lead in examining what exactly we do with the many film genres built up around the cold war now that the cold war is over. a fairly intuitive phenomenon, but more interesting is that between these films, a clear dichotomy begins to form. films like this one, like mars attacks! (1996), charlie’s angels (2000), and even mission: impossible ii (2000) contend that the real heart these cold war film, the thing that keeps people coming back, is the melodrama, the chivalry, the fantasy, the gadgets, the sexuality. the cold war was just an excuse to dial everything up to 11. by contrast, mission: impossible (1996) argues that all of that is just so much stuff. even without the escapades and the hypervirility, even without the good vs evil, even in a gritty and realistic setting without an ounce of crushed velvet to be seen, the thing that kept people coming back to these cold war films is the sense of global unease, the fear that someone is out to get us, and that we are living on the brink of not cartoonish but of very real destruction. i personally am a greater fan of the former paradigm. however, time seems to have proven otherwise: over twenty years, austin powers and his ilk have become nostalgia pieces just like the films they parodied, while mission: impossible (1996)’s model has expanded to become the industry standard in virtually all action-adventure genres, including not just espionage films but superhero and street racing franchises. after decades the self-parodying, shark-jumping whimsy has regrown and become a fixture as well, but unfortunately it can never be proudly baseless whimsy for whimsy’s sake like austin powers: international man of mystery (1997) proudly promotes

[ghosted-jazz]

A supermoon occurs when the full moon coincides with the moon's closest approach to Earth in its orbit. Supermoons make the moon appear a little brighter and bigger than normal

[tardxsblues]

say what you will about steven moffat, but nothing emotionally terrorizes me quite like an episode of doctor who written by that man

[eizagcnzalez]

Eiza: Fowler or Rocky? Both are such strong contenders, but I have to say, calling him Foghorn Leghorn after Liz’s nickname for you? It would be iconic. You’ve officially unlocked a new level of farm life goals, my friend. And naming your girls after Chicken Run characters? Perfection. I’m picturing you out there, living your best farm life, with Sweet Bill hauling firewood and Fowler/Rocky/Foghorn rounding up the hens. It’s basically a Netflix original waiting to happen. Let me know when the rooster arrives, I’ll need photo updates ASAP. Eiza: You shoved my girl??? I’m scandalized. I’ll just have to watch it now so I can judge Oscar accordingly (and forgive you). But knowing you, I’m sure you made it as dignified as possible. Honestly, it’s sweet that you still feel bad about it, it just shows what a good guy you are. She really is one of a kind. I still can’t believe someone like her even sees me the way she does. She’s like this regal, ethereal force of nature, and somehow, she’s chosen me. Eiza: Isn't it crazy how life works? Who would've known we'd be here after everything? I always have your back too, bub.

Jason: Isn't it? I can't wait to get him. A rooster too; The ladies are pretty good layers, but I read that they'll be even more relaxed with an alpha protecting the flock and they'll lay more, and if there are any predators around, the rooster will hear them first and round up the hens to get them in the coop, and we do live in the mountains. Yeah it's wild, the chickens are organized. I have named all my girls after Chicken Run chickens so I just have to decide if I'm going to call my boy Fowler or Rocky. I thought about calling him Foghorn Leghorn because that's what Liz calls me... but that's my name. Jason: I had to shove her ☹️ it was difficult, I'll always feel bad. What I will say, is Oscar got what he deserved in the end and I'm glad he did. I think it's queen now. I'm so happy for you love, you need someone who can give you all of that, you DESERVE someone who can give you all of that. Long may it reign. Jason: Our friendship didn't stop when we stopped. I've always got your back.

[autismsupersoldier]

[date of origin: 2023/06/04]

the world hates to see silly girls thrive!!!

[front-facing-pokemon]