#well thats up to you to decide

[ashmp3]

people dont know im wearing a canadian tuxedo underneath my huge coat but this was my way of celebrating 18 degree weather today

[koobiie]

i just know sanji would go crazy for ratatouille i know this 100% for a fact

bonus sanji singing la festin :-]

[witchering10123]

hakoda: you need to stay here and protect your sister

13 year old sokka, whose only point of reference for "protecting his sister" is literally his mother sacrificing herself in katara's place: ok 😃

[xxplastic-cubexx]

me Omw to annoy you about more Francesca content 😼😼

you and my entire inbox my friend strap in everyone this is gonna be The Francesca Mega Collection. part one The Bed Collection ft You HAVE To Click/Tap To Read Anything ESPECIALLY The Asks

thank you for joining me for the Francesca Bed Collection im going to pass out

[formosusiniquis]

When Mike Wheeler, red faced and still faintly tear stained, asks him how he knew he liked both Steve doesn’t know how to tell him it was his sister.

Before Nancy Wheeler it had only been boys. Before Nancy Wheeler Steve had been sure he was gay and knew well enough to keep it to himself; dating around enough to earn himself a protective reputation. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Marcus Summers, from the baseball team, during freshman year. Steve had gone to every game, and had been forced to make up excuses about schoolwork and his other commitments when asked why he hadn’t tried out for himself. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Tommy Hagan. The summer between seventh and eighth grade had been very kind to Tommy, he was sunkissed and boy next door sweet, Steve had wanted to hold his hand and count the freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been his first love, a boy who only visited one summer, the year Steve turned ten. His name had changed every time they hung out but he’d favored E’s. Eli, Emmett, Elliott, Eric, Excalibur, Excelsior, and once for about an hour Wayne. His hair brushed his chin in pretty brown curls and his big brown eyes were always bright with excitement. He always got storm off mad when any of the other boys they’d played with that summer said he was acting like a girl, E would run off to the woods and Steve would always follow. E always came up with the best games anyway, he didn’t like playing soccer or HORSE or anything else with rules that couldn’t be bent; he preferred imagination games where they were knights or wizards. He didn’t laugh when Steve said he always liked playing house, but never wanted to be the dad because why would he want to be someone who never wanted to spend any time with his kids. E who, while insisting on being called Samwise all day, was his first kiss.

Cause he knows what Mike wants to hear. He’s seen the way Mike and Will have danced around each other since the last portal closed. He’s heard the things Mike has said to and about Will. He’s heard all about the week that Will was in the Upside Down. He’s heard all about the summer of ‘85. He’s heard all about the final off again that seems to officially mark the end of Mike and El romantically. He knows that Mike wants him to say that he’d never even thought about boys before he met Eddie. That there’s just something special about Eddie that makes him want to give up his lady killing ways. That Eddie was different. That it was okay that he was having these scary new thoughts, maybe Will was just an exception.

And Steve doesn’t know how to have that conversation. When he realized he liked both it was a relief, that maybe he could have something normal and wouldn't have to spend his life lying or hiding. 

But Eddie was different. Eddie was special. Eddie was probably it for Steve which is scary in a different way that he’s not ready to touch yet -- not when it’s only been three months.

There’s never been another girl since Nancy Wheeler, not really

There will never be another boy after Eddie Munson.

So he tries to help, as best he can. It’s easier with Eddie there, not quite dozing against his shoulder -- the kid’s emergencies always seem to come so late at night these days. “When I was ten, there was a boy whose name kept changing who decided prince charming should get to kiss his faithful knight. And when I was sixteen, your sister-”

Mike’s goodwill diminishes quickly as his sister gets introduced to the conversation.

“Stevie,” Eddie says. It’s not an admonishment for bringing up Nancy. It’s awestruck and watery. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember the first boy I ever loved," that word catches up with him a second later. Remember. 

Cause there's Eddie with his riot of brown curls and his Bambi eyes. Eddie, who has explained why soft feminine words chafe against his skin leaving him itchy and anxious. Eddie, who has an Uncle in Hawkins. Eddie who moved to town the summer before he entered high school with a buzzed head and his mother's last name. Eddie who finally settled into an E he liked best.

"Wheeler, here's a tip from me to you," Eddie says, his advice is always better received than Steve's anyway, "if you have to ask you probably already know."

"Straight people don't really spend much time wondering if they aren't really straight," Steve agrees.

They don't rush Mike out the door, a crisis is a crisis and even in the wake of new discoveries Mike deserves to be heard out. Deserves a chance to cry and rage and feel those emotions someplace safe from his Reaganite father -- just as much as Will deserves to have someone who knows what they want come to him, deserves better than experimentation.

They cross the bridge from late into early by the time Mike sets off. The sun is creeping up over the horizon and Mike looks solid, certain; the dawn hints at the man he is growing up to be. Though every instinct of Steve's begs him to drive the kid home, Eddie's soft hand lingering at his hip holds him fast. They wave instead, encouraging Mike to go home and to bed before he does anything; knowing his front bike tire is already pointed toward the Byers-Hopper place.

"The first boy you ever loved, huh, Stevie?" Eddie teases before the door has even managed to click shut.

"And the last, I'm hoping, if I play my cards right."

"You were always pretty good at that. You were the only person that summer who called me by my name, except Wayne."

"It was your name." He knows that's too simple. Knows how hard Eddie has had it, continues to have it. But that summer it had been that simple, Eddie trying on names like shirts each one fitting until they didn't. "For what it's worth, I like Eddie a lot more than Excalibur."

"Oh fuck off, I was going through a fantasy knight phase. Which I know you remember."

"Right a phase, and how much longer is this fantasy 'phase' going to last?"

They're the kind of tired that makes you feel drunk, when Eddie tackles Steve and sends them both to the floor and to giggles. Eddie might not have been his bi awakening, but Steve is pretty fine with him being his everything else.

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[valtsv]

terror codependency chart

[kacievvbbbb]

I think it’s interesting how as time goes on Zoro kind of becomes more and more like mihawk in some ways whether that’s just because if you spend time with someone for 2 years you’re bound to pick up their habits or a deliberate attempt to emulate him is a conversation for another time. And Mihawk and Zoro where already pretty similar at the start so it’s a little hard to notice now.

But yeah whether unconsciously or consciously Zoro is becoming a bit more like Mihawk and it’s interesting to think that while this means maturing in some ways (he’s swordsmanship for one but he’s also just quieter much more assured of himself) it also means deaging in some others.

Despite their significant age gap and general dispositions, when it comes down to it Zoro is just a lot more emotionally mature and developed than Mihawk is. And a big part of why is because he found something larger than himself to devote his life too, hell Mihawk himself even kind of acknowledges this when he agrees to take Zoro on as a student when Zoro begs for the sake of his captain and crew. He acknowledges that putting aside his own ego and dreams for the sake of someone else isn’t something he can do and sees it as a fault in himself and a strength in Zoro.

Mihawk may be outwardly mature and his skills defiently did not stagnant but I’d wager that Mentally Mihawk is still stuck at the same age he was when he took over the title of world’s strongest swordsman. Honestly maybe even younger. And it isn’t until training Zoro, letting Perona stay with him, for probably the first time in his life taking charge of lives outside his own did he finally unarrest his development.

If Zoro is purposely trying to emulate Hawkeyes, which it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was that’s who he’s trying to be Afterall, then it would honestly set him back emotionally because fundamentally as he is now Mihawk’s attitude doesn’t work in a crew. It’s too singular, too abrasive. And while that abrasiveness can be useful in Zoro’s role as Luffy’s first mate sometimes it makes him a little too callous a little too apathetic, like with his disregard for Luffy’s sadness over vegapunk.

But Zoro has his crew to temper that, they are honestly just too ridiculous to ever stay serious around. And try as he might to hide it Zoro is also just a silly dude who likes to be horrifically petty with his opponents. And zoro still has so much fire in him, so much he has too prove and so much he wants to protect to ever really fall into Mihawk’s apathy. Zoro has Luffy who even after they reach their dreams will probably still continue to turn the world upside down forever keeping Zoro in some kind of trouble and his life interesting.

Zoro can’t be Mihawk because even Mihawk can’t be Mihawk anymore. Being with crossguild and crossing with the Red hair pirates and the strawhats is going to change him, it has too. if Mihawk is going to live after losing his title he’s probably gonna have to become a little bit more like Zoro.

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

pov you do ur gay little run cycle into the war room unexpectedly insp this painting and remembering this screenshot/post as well

[poliodeuces]

時間がない

doppo should go dancing it will be so good for him.

three years ago i thought "i should draw doppo like this" and didn't start until july 2023 💀 and now finished on december...

[moeblob]

Look, I just think it's VERY funny and on brand that I thought of an entire premise of colorful characters for half the cast and immediately drew the only one void of color.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

If I could be arsed to learn how to edit videos and had some kind of mic, I would 110% make a two part video essay series on the politics of Jurassic World because MY GOD, there's so much to dissect.

The first part would be about how the park is the epitome of neoliberal futurism for techbros, including the way the park so easily falls apart though I doubt that aspect is purposeful. Everything is aesthetic first and function second, and we can't possibly use any of the reliable infrastructure we've already come up with because a train is not gonna get us to Mars, but a monorail might.

And the second would be about the buckwild terrible gender politics going on. The movie is deeply unsympathetic to Claire seemingly because she's a woman who prioritised her career as it's both centre to her character arc and also an inciting event of one of the plots. Not to mention the whole Zara thing or the Owen and Claire thing or the stupid "him, I meant him, line. The movie is rife with misogyny, but it feels like that specific misogyny was isekaied over from backlash to second wave feminism.

I could talk about it all for so long because in a way, it feels like a perfect time capsule for 2015. Back when people took Claire running in heels to be this feminist statement to be made fun of and not just a deeply misogynistic movie trying to sell you feminism. And back when Elon Musk managed to get away with his "I'm the real life Iron Man" shit, and people believed he was smart and all his plans would come to fruition. 2015 was a great time to be a tech bro in Silicon Valley with people just throwing money at all your fake promises.

Yeah. See. This is what I mean when I say I could talk about it forever.

[triglycercule]

ok imagine nightmare sans. now imagine those minecraft villager trading halls where all the villagers are stuck in the little cell blocks to get ideal trades. now that but replace the villagers with the murder time trio and ideal trades with negativity. he's maxxing out the negativity output for every square foot i guess,,,,,,,

there's absolutely NO space for movement it's practically a little closet. only thing is like basic necessities like food and water distributed by a killer (because he wouldn't get attatched to any of them when there's so many,,,, perhaps a different cell warden for a killer only section to avoid a killer meeting another killer and then having to deal with the mindboggle they'd face and then UGH!!!) these little negativity farms cost so little effort to make!!! all nightmare has to do is keep as many (living) sanses (IN FACT NOT EVEN THE TRIO!! but also the trio since they're easy to break down) in as little space as possible and he's practically got like. + 100k negativity every hour with just 6 of these farms. how efficient!

what do you mean it violates the genevarsal convention. DREAM STOP CONDUCTING PRISON BREAKS

(a little birdie told me u wanted 2 be tagged,,, @qin-qin16)

[thebirdandhersong]

Lol

[leviiackrman]

Might as well have the salt before the sweet; so here is Rin's Finished Timeline!

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @carrionsflower @statichvm @risingsh0t @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @kanos @confidentandgood @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraeshh @faerune @tekehu @jackiesarch @minaharkers @sergeiravenov @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @greenecreek @queennymeria @heroofpenamstan @tethrras @jamessunderlandgf @d-esmond @solasan @bigbywlf @delzinrowe @fenharel @imogenkol

[girlbossblackbeard]

you know what im just gonna say it. i want to see still pissed, tension-filled, not-yet-reunited/made-up ed intimidatingly stare down stede directly in the eyes and make the demand "kiss me"