2005jesuschrist

[2005jesuschrist]

— a multimuse, by zawn

#reminder ive moved blogs! #unpinned my pinned post just in case too

[2005jesuschrist]

— a multimuse, by zawn

#officially moved <3 will be carrying over threads and such! and some inbox prompts

[2005jesuschrist]

might move blogs..

#it feels very messy here i change my tags every time i log in lmao #return of wrenlake? or norgodly? need a change of aesthetic i think rip blue n yellow u served me well

[2005jesuschrist]

favorite Angus Tully's quotes, The Holdovers (2023) dir. Alexander Payne

#hes my babygirl #IMG: ANGUS TULLY.

[2005jesuschrist]

Mia Goth as Gabi Bauer — INFINITY POOL (2023) dir. Brandon Cronenberg

#thinking abt chu #IMG: RÓISÍN.

[2005jesuschrist]

hi folks <3

#staying at my friends tonight and need to complete my essay plan for uni but might also write…. #still on a meme ban until i get at least a few done..

[2005jesuschrist]

HAVANA ROSE LIU Vanity Fair’s A Night for Young Hollywood 2024

#going insane actually!!!!! my girl!!!! #IMG: EMMA DUVAL

[2005jesuschrist]

in the spirit of valentine's day..i rly dont care if u forceship with me

#i throw it around loosely but like. if u see smth? talk to me abt it <3 i might see it too

[2005jesuschrist]

does this make you weak, just like tommy said?  [weak-willed, gave yourself over to the violence of your bloodline in the makings of a trap/dead brother with only you to act as the avenging angel] — not privy to the secrets traded amongst blood, left to rot in the makings of your regret as unfamiliar grief ran through frame.  whatever you do, it is never enough for the brother that you have crafted into a god;  unanswered prayers ricochet and the infection sets in.  a botched, failed creature; plucked the worst qualities of your parents, unwilling(UNABLE) to adjust to the environment you were born into. it wasn’t always like this, you remind yourself. somewhere, years ago, your existence was gentler, less gnashing teeth and metallic seeps onto tongue only through skint knees and hangnails. it’s only natural that you fashion yourself into a traitor, a wolf in sheep's clothing– the arc of betrayal is an inescapable loop that you cannot escape, how generations after you will still speak of how blood betrays blood,  that the shame that had been instilled in you seeped out of wounds and led you down this path.   the red hood was a mystery,  seen all you had needed to see in news snippets discussing his actions like heinous, unforgivable crimes—      but he acted, the streets of gotham would never be safe with territory split into pieces; kings overseeing their land now left shaken at new, immovable force.       “fuck off–”    there is that shame again, it leaked into the cavity where your heart should be.    you laugh;  it comes out strained as lungs threaten to choke against the smoke.      “it’s only fair i know who i’m working with.   you know me, i know you– a contract.”

both of them are shrouded in patrimonial disappointment, the hood thinks: the forgotten brother and the son who should have stayed dead. [he was sure he had been more likeable as a spectre whose laughter haunted the manor halls, when his phantom pace did not have the ability nor autonomy to step out of line. the projection of pining was always better than the thing itself after all.] in death, a person becomes pious, the product of the living's affections that manufactures false sainthoods as every ill inflicted dissipates from vivid memory: they pray to a god for their son back and the devil obliges, stringing him up from hell by his marionette strings and planting enough rage inside to weapon an army. everything you asked for but nothing you wanted. jason had unintentionally found a like-mind in finn, toeing the precipice between bad and good and actions that oscillated between either, each move made manufactured by the divinity they each designed in place of the few male figures god deigned to give them. [there was love and there was worship: knees bloody with orison, he served his as though bruce alone could be the one to pull him from damnation. never again.] “why? the anticipation already gettin' to you?” temporary gauche dissipates as the red visor warms to his skin, diverting curious blues from the abject nature of scrutiny. [the healed split that bisects his top lip, the remnant of a ruptured skull atop his eyebrow, the j that singes still. would finn still harbour intrigue if he saw what lurked beneath? the matter of breaking and mending slapped haphazardly against his face.] “rest assured, i'm exactly as good looking as you think i am.”

#IC: FINN SHELBY #greatfailure #finns undertones r so. gay #i know what u are finn shelby

[2005jesuschrist]

it’s like you’ve got some fucking sign on your back that says ‘save me’. first chuckie, then the professor, the fucking shrinks that speak to you as if you were some case study in how not to raise a kid. now fiona; except you’ve known her long enough to know that it’ll be some benefit to her as opposed to just keeping you off the street.   “chuckie’s got this construction gig, always looking for some fuck to lay bricks.”   fifteen, twenty years: would you regret it? you’ve never expected life to be greater than it was, content in solitary life repeating the same menial tasks over and over again. never looked for a different result—   you shrug off help as if you’re undeserving of it, as if this life as all that you were worthy of.    “how come? ‘cause if you’re starting some fucking– babysitting business?”   you laugh between draws, shaking your head.   “i don’t think i’d be your first choice.”    you arrive years early to experiences, too stunted to fully recognise them for what they were. your mind is in a constant battle with itself for what it wants, twisted threads of thoughts about the future that you believed would be you dead in a ditch,  or making a home out of four grey walls;  never stepping foot outside of the south side.  [why would you? you’ve never let yourself aspire to something more]    and you think fiona understands that—  the heavy weight of upbringings of absence,   the rattle of the lock on the door that brings fear over who is behind it than the comfort of paternal figure returning home.    the babysitting angle was funny when you consider it,  weaved in and out of fiona’s life too aware of the presence of younger bodies depending on someone not much older than themselves.   supposed you were lucky that way,  not to be bound by blood to responsibilities that outweigh your capabilities.

couldn’t imagine the reactions–   ex-con come genius educating the poor kid’s of chicago's elite desperate to shrug off their own responsibilities as a parent in favour of someone willing to accept minimum wage and leftovers from a private chef labelled inside the refrigerator. you didn’t even know what fiona was doing now–  so caught up in your own shit that it didn’t even occur to you to ask before this;  two silent participants standing in the eye of separate hurricanes.    “you’d be breaking my heart if you tell me everyone else you know’s already turned it down and i'm your last choice.”    you were sure whatever it was would beat the hour sessions assigned to you– some excuse to be late, let the silence sit over the final forty five minutes before you could catch the yellow line home.     “c’mon, what’s the gig and what’s in it for you? i got some downtime to give back to society or some shit.”

the system has him jumping through hoops. could it get any more southside than that? she can't bite back the laugh bubbling up her through, but fiona manages to stifle it. it's quieter than what it would've been. leaning back against the cool, plastic of the chair, her arms cross over her chest. the glow from the tip of his cigarette casts a penumbra that flickers across will's face, accentuating the weary lines etched around his eyes. she's seen that look before, mirrored in the faces of too many southside occupants, including her own reflection. a resignation mixed with a spark— a silent challenge to the hand of cards they've been dealt. she doesn't comment on it. it's not her place. instead, she'll laugh at the faux offer he makes & keep the conversation flowing. [who knows if he won't end up smacking the shrink first thing tomorrow, his face plastered on the morning news as will's hauled back off to jail.] ❛❛ could put in a good word for me. you could tell them about how monica had me while she & frank were in their pcp phase. i'm sure that'd make them squirm. ❜❜ or possibly want to dissect her fucking brain. see how much damage is actually there. [she'll spare the details of her other siblings, but they all have their individual counterparts: cocaine, acid, shrooms, skunk weed, & oxy.] a chuckle escapes her, the sound more bitter than sweet. the brunette can only envision what the shrink says; the way she's probably heard it all before. the promises of a way out, the allure of a better life just beyond a couple of street signs. yet here they are, still standing amidst the rubble of their choices. [the weight of the gallagher world still pressing down on her shoulders.] in another universe, maybe she does escape beyond this tiny section of chicago. a high school & college graduate, olympic gold medalist for the 100 meter— call that a fucking pipe dream. but in this one, she's still planted in the backyard of her aunt's home & that would have to suffice for now. [possibly forever.]

❛❛ it could be worse. you still could be locked up, for starters. ❜❜ she throws back at him, index finger pointing in his direction. talking to a shrink versus rotting in a jail cell? fiona didn't know the answer to that question— yet. but in her opinion, the answer was as clear & bright as headlights. she'd rather see the blue skies & blooming spring trees than the bland, gray walls of a four-by-four. ❛❛ got plans for once you don't have to see 'em anymore? might actually have a job of my mine for you. ❜❜ her hands lower, sneaking underneath her thighs before her fingers cross. [call it childish, but if she can find another person to get hired for housekeeping for the motel on sixth street — she gets a five hundred dollar bonus.]

#shes so real for that #parentify #IC: WILL HUNTING

[2005jesuschrist]

your life unfurls before you.  it’s bleak, unassuming. so what if you spent the next fifty years still in the southside? it’s comfortable, familiar in the way of its suffocating embrace[you don’t remember the last time you weren’t gasping for air, supposed it was the same as all things go–turn to the violence in the punch the way the men before you did, make it bearable despite the blood on your hands] —   the dick deserved it, anger that brewed over years and it was just unfortunate the cops showed up. violation of parole, assault, assault again, grand theft auto[you stand by it. thrown out too under ‘free property rights of horse and carriage 1798’], impersonating an officer, mayhem, resisting, theft.  the judge read out the charges like it’s a score card where no dumb fuck would be betting on you.   fifty grand– you didn’t have that money and you didn’t care. you’d cycle out, find something to distract wandering mind over months. except that didn’t happen, a certain visit that came with conditions:    just see a fucking shrink, will. then it all goes a-fucking-way.   that, and playing monkey for all of MIT to gawk at.  you decided not to tell fiona that part,  how they dangle knowledge over you and watched as you responded.   cigarette is lit; admiring how the tip burns against the harsh black of the night. 

“nah, it’s–   they’re making me see this fucking quack. terms of my release. something about the effects of shitty parents on the developing brain.”    it’s almost a smile wrapped around the cigarette,  smoke following as head twists to catch her.   you think if anyone could get out of here and actually make something? it’s her.     feign excitement,  as if you were on the cutting room floor.    “shit, fiona, you want in? they don’t pay for crap and i’ll tell ya– they don’t know shit. squirm under the simplest fucking thing.”   a laugh–  what you don’t want her to know is the muddied truth. do math, receive therapy. a joke in its own right, some phd graduate who thinks he knows everything because he’s read a book or two, chasing that same thrill of thinking they could cure you.      “it’s bull is what it is. but hey, i play along, and i’m home free.”

@2005jesuschrist, “you look like you've seen a ghost.”

a plump of smoke slips through her lips, ashes scattering through the night sky as she flicks the cigarette. her gaze watches as it lands in the yard, dying out a few moments after impact. it's after this when she finally steals another glance at him. fiona can't believe her eyes. point-blank, she rubs them with the knitted sleeves of her sweater, envisioning him disappearing once they reopen. he doesn't disappear. will remains perched in the lawn chair besides her & her eyebrows can't help but furrow. ❛❛ i'm still not believing my eyes, i guess. ❜❜ she mumbles, tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth. her right hand moves to clasp around the nape of her neck, kneading the area gently. this isn't necessarily a nightmare. every so often, this type of thing happens. the ex-con makes their way out of jail, stumbling back to the southside, hoping nothing has changed & usually, nothing has. [with the exception of minor gentrification.] but, in all honesty, she hadn't experienced that. not through a friend. monica certainly didn't count for that. [too many thoughts are circulating through her mind — a ping-pong bouncing back & forth in her head, everything's moving too fast. life or death.] she takes a deep breath, her lips pressing themselves together as she remains silent. she's not even sure what to say.

the southside, in many ways, is haunted. it's own version of a haunted house. the street corners bear childhood memories, the sidewalks still house the residue blood from the slips & falls throughout the years. maybe he is a ghost. they exist everywhere, after all. a beat passes, the distant sound of emergency sirens filling the void. when she finally breaks the silence, she exhales a deep breath. as if she's preparing for the worst. ❛❛ so, you're out then for good? this isn't some bullshit house call, right? ❜❜

#IC: WILL HUNTING #parentify

[2005jesuschrist]

“He pushes people away before they get a chance to leave him. It’s a defence mechanism. And for 20 years he’s been alone because of that.”

Matt Damon as Will Hunting in Good Will Hunting (1997), dir. Gus Van Sant.

#hes so important to me #IMG: WILL HUNTING

[2005jesuschrist]

You’re gonna take a little jog over to Dick’s Sporting Goods. Buy yourself a nice Louisville Slugger. Bring it right back to the quad and swing that bat as hard as you can into your nuts. Every hour, on the hour. And every time you swing, yell "Jumanji." Sound good? MADDIE PHILLIPS as CATE DUNLAPin GEN V S1 (2023)

#IMG: REBEKAH #i have no time to log onto her blog ever but i miss her sm so

[2005jesuschrist]

frankie influencing me back into a cm brainrot..

#jemily edits u r keeping menSTRONG #emily lesbian talk to the WALL

[2005jesuschrist]

jesus fuck.   it’s your first day and everyone is already staring.    the party offered an escape from identity forced upon you;  a spasm of depersonalisation on a screen/broadcast for all prying eyes wanting to see the fucking crazy new girl who decided to wield a knife at a party.  you shouldn’t be surprised–   like vultures they circle waiting for the carcass to turn to rot.    whispers and stares are nothing new/you think its been this way your whole life that it’s comfortable[yet you are awkward in the way you take up space,  all long limbs and bony elbows]    preoccupied in locker that you don’t notice her approach,  or the way the crowd parts like the sea on her arrival;  still watching,   like patrons waiting on the show.   you don’t have the time to respond,   ask her about nate— who even is he?     before eyes widen,   shifting uneasily on one foot as you turn to face her.       “they’re sneakers.   i dunno– try walmart.”   stifle a laugh,  a quick glance down towards feet –  painted by yours truly that makes riding your bike much easier—    enough wounds in your first day that you didn’t feel like adding another asphalt burn to your collection.  

“nice necklace.  what is it– a boyfriend’s initial? fucking barbaric.”     she knows who you are,   it’s left you exposed.   you act accordingly—    it’s what girls do,   size you up to place you somewhere on the hierarchical scale that means nothing outside of high school.   it’s exhausting.

@2005jesuschrist, JULES VAUGHN.

she's deep in concentration, the final layer of her fenty bomb gloss being applied to her lips. brows furrow as regina takes a step backwards, heels clicking against the school's vinyl floor, a final glance being taken in the mirror taped inside her locker. she approves with a smile, veneers showing ever the slightest. one adjustment of her r initial necklace and the locker door begins to close ( . . . ) wait, what's that in the mirror? east highland's new girl. JULES. the one who had ended up across the entirety of regina's tiktok for you page. a new, fresh, untainted fish in the ocean of starving sharks. the smile remains plastered across her face, only growing in size as her right hand slams the locker shut, not even bothering to mess with the lock. [who would be stupid enough to mess with regina george's locker? a fucking idiot. that's who.] an apex predator on the prowl, she saunters over to the blonde, every click of her heels synonymous to a ticking time-bomb. “hey you're the new girl! nice debut at nate's party... definitely unforgettable.” her body leans against the row of lockers to her left, a quick observation taken of the girl. [she's pretty. prettier than most of the girls that attend. not as pretty as her. nobody is prettier than regina in regina's eyes. but what the fuck are those shoes she's wearing?] it takes a village for her to not grimace.

“oh my god, i love your shoes! where did you get them? i have to get a pair.”

#IC: JULES VAUGHN #reghina #already so special 2 me

[2005jesuschrist]

—        “give me a call every few days so i know you're alive.”

your shrink tells you you shouldn’t expect so much from the people in your life [and @earwugs is still a stranger kept at an arms length—   he doesn’t have to see you the way your family does—   the desperation in phone calls sent straight to voicemail,   sad, crazy nellie;   you never could escape the label,   a self-fulfilling prophecy]   i promise.    the words sit in your throat,  die there as a bouquet of unsaid promises.    it’s like you can already see how this would play out,  the first,  maybe second call answered before it becomes a burden too heavy to carry.   you don’t want to show the clamouring side of you—    how fear crawls up your esophagus and leaves you living outside of your skin.   it’s become normal for you to cover it up,   how the pills mask the bruising beneath.

“shouldn’t i be saying that to you?”     except you have the tendency to stop calling back,   float back into absentia uttering insanities no one believes—    you’re not sure he does but he doesn’t call you crazy,  a kid who lived in a world of make believe.   sometimes dreams leak and cement themselves into your reality,  still your shrink thinks it’s your anxiety manifesting itself into the physical.   a neverending haunting—     if you squint,  you swear you see Her over his shoulder,    molars bite into fleshy cheek  ..  is your heart even beating?    urge yourself back before the concern can set in,  force yourself into the present as that saccharine smile is painted back onto lips.      “out there,  fighting monsters?   tougher gig than the drive back to california.”

#IC: ELEANOR CRAIN #earwugs #earwugs+spencer reid

[2005jesuschrist]

#frankie has me thinking about her #this is why i love a multi i get to rot about multiple characters easily #IC: ELEANOR CRAIN