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#absolutely none
uhbasicallyjustmilex · 3 months
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alex + looking at miles
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Erica: Boyd's out of town for the week. Derek, tell me I'm pretty.
Derek: ...
Derek: Were I not already mated, I would take you in manly fashion.
Erica: Because I'm pretty?
Derek: Because you're pretty.
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This is the funniest way of depicting Speedster Speedster Sense™ ever
(Speedster Speedster Sense™: a Speedster's innate ability to track and locate other Speedsters, especially when the tracked Speedster is using their powers)
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They're like bloodhounds after a squirrel lmao
Normally, this kinda thing is depicted as a speedster just kinda knowing where someone is (see, below)
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Like these panels where Barry just knows where Max and Wally are. There are tons and tons of instances of Speedsters vaguely feeling another Speedster nearby or, like Barry, just knowing their exact coordinates but seeing an energy trail? That's fun. I like that so much better.
It isn't the first time we've seen something like this. Wally tracked down a time manipulator for Dick one time exactly like Ace and Avery. But it's just so fun. I'm glad to see it back.
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khruschevshoe · 3 months
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Sometimes I just glance at the Supernatural tag and see some quote or line from the show or gif that makes me go "oh, y’all got BAITED queerbaited, didn't you?" Like the level of psychic damage is somehow above and beyond the queerbaiting in Sherlock, which I didn't think was POSSIBLE
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totally-not-kawaii · 5 months
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can we talk about that last shot of loki and mobius standing together, alone, at the end of it all? at the end of time? can we talk about that?
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might as well show some wips seeing as i’ve made progress with literally none of them 
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kindahoping4forever · 5 months
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📸: Yising Kao
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mikaikaika · 10 months
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POV you are a QSMP Wiki update admin updating about yesterday ".....Foolish then proceeded to use tweezers to retrieve the device from Maxo's ass however upon loosing them he then decided to use his hands. Cellbit put forth the suggestion that Foolish should use his mouth however the suggestion was promptly shut down....."
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httpiastri · 6 months
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i'm having several thoughts rn 😵‍💫😵‍💫
this picture 🫠🫠🫠🫠 ahaaaaaaa i’m totally fine
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shu-of-the-wind · 8 months
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ling, the instant he and lan fan are separated for more than 20 minutes:
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juney-blues · 1 month
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watching the live action netflix avatar the last airbender thing
and wow
would you believe it if the insistence that live action media is the only valid form of storytelling, that all other mediums must aspire to, is bad for things that were made with the strengths of another medium in mind?
would you believe it if a children's cartoon doesn't adapt very gracefully into a pg-13 live action drama? would you believe that?
also aside from the inherent problems of trying to make animation into live action, lot of clunky writing stuff
like conversations will happen and then 2 minutes later another conversation will happen that just repeats half of the things the previous conversation said.
like yeah guys we get it the avatar is the only one who can bend all four elements, i caught it the first 3 times you said it and i was paying attention during the (much worse) opening monologue.
also
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hey guys have you heard of this thing called "show don't tell"
gdfjkghfdjkghd idk maybe it gets better after the first episode but somehow i doubt it lmao
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pyrchance · 9 months
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Untitled Fuck It We Ball
Hi. Ao3 is down and this is the closest i have to a finished fic in my drafts. I was gonna write more. I was also thinking last week of just throwing it up as is. I think I started this fic like 2 years ago?? Idk never finished it really. Sort of it. Here. Have it.
The working title in my drafts Bondage so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Fic under the cut
Patrick should have paid more attention while playing Clue. Then, at least, he would know where to stuff Pete’s body when he finally kills him.
Right now the many, many corn fields they’ve passed today are looking promising. Patrick is little, but so is Pete. He’s sure if he is pissed enough he’ll be able to drag the corpse he’s about to make out of Pete if the fucker doesn’t stop touching him.
“Stop it,” snaps Patrick, slapping Pete’s fingers away from his headphones. He’s not even sure what Pete’s goal is here, other than to annoy Patrick to murder. There’s an entire middle seat sitting empty because Pete got bored and flung himself over it to bother Patrick in the back. Patrick, who has been trying to overcome his jitters about tonight’s show in a new (larger) venue by cramming as much loud, busy 80s pop into his ears, does not appreciate the company.
Pete makes a face at him. It’s his exaggerated who me? expression that never fails to drive Patrick up the wall. Pete is as restless as Patrick. Not for any obvious reason. Maybe just because he’s a bastard that feeds off of Patrick’s energy. The point is, the way he’s smirking can only spell trouble. He says something Patrick can’t hear over the electric drum beats in his ears and leans over with his hands out stretched.
Patrick bats away those hands again, pulls his feet off the floor, and kicks out, shoving Pete to the other side of the van. Pete’s face flashes with delighted surprise, which is even more annoying. He says something else, probably something dirty with the way he’s smirking, and Patrick decides he’s had enough.
He sits up, grabs Pete by the shoulders, and shoves him back into the middle seat. At least that’s what he means to do. What actually happens is Pete takes the movement as an invitation to clobber Patrick, which results in the both of them wrestling for dominion over the backseat. It is, by far, the most comfortable seat, what with the lack of annoying seatbelts sticking out of the middle and making it impossible to lay down without getting jabbed. Patrick isn’t giving it up without a fight.
Pete might be scrappy, but Patrick is pissed. He shoves a knee into Pete’s gut, pushes him with all his weight, and Pete finally goes tumbling off the seat into the gap below. He lands face first, probably getting a nose full of whatever funky gas station burrito wrappers the floor has eaten.
Patrick grins to himself, settles back in the middle of the seat, and plants his both feet down on Pete’s spine, grinding him to the floor. If one of them has to suffer, it such as hell won’t be Patrick.
He smiles up at Joe, who has turned from the front seat to check out all the commotion, and who rolls his eyes when he sees what the two of them have done.
Patrick loves winning. He’s still smiling to himself as he feels Pete shift underneath his feet. Patrick waits for the inevitable explosion of Pete pushing himself up off the floor…and then just keeps on waiting. After a full minute he looks down to find Pete absolutely still beneath his feet. Patrick is worried for a moment that he’s actually hurt—Pete is just lying there, not moving at all—but then he sees Pete’s face. It’s turned to the side, cheek flat against the disgusting van upholstery. His expression isn’t disgusted or in pain though. His mouth is relaxed and open slightly. His eyes are closed but not tightly. He’s not making any move to get up or get away. In fact, he almost looks like he’s sleeping.
It freaks Patrick right the fuck out.
He picks his feet off of Pete carefully, waiting for the fake out where Pete will no doubt jump up and get him, but all that happens is Pete’s eyes gradually open. He blinks a few times while staring off into space. Then he looks up at Patrick with an expression Patrick doesn’t recognize, and pushes himself off the floor and quietly climbs into the middle seat.
Pete pulls his hood up and rests his head against the window and doesn’t move or bother anyone for the rest of the trip.
Patrick settles back into his hard won back seat and wonders what the fuck just happened.
They’re back in Chicago the next time it happens. Back in their terrible apartment which still smells like pee thanks to a stunt Patrick sorely wants to forget. Patrick has never claimed not to be petty. He has siblings. He knows how this works.
The thing about sharing an apartment with the same people he also sometimes lives out of a van with is Patrick has to get very, very clear about boundaries. Sometimes, that means labeling every leftover box with a sharpie. Sometimes, that means marking his territory the old fashion way. Most often, however, it comes down to not being afraid to fight dirty.
So when Patrick comes home to Pete Wentz spread out on his bed mattress, snoring soundly and clad only in boxers, Patrick takes one sniff of the air and declares war. He slams the bedroom door shut, watches with glee as Pete’s eyes spring open, and then marches forward and yanking the pillow out from Pete’s head and smacking him with it.
Pete’s eyes blink blearily up at him. His mouth is hanging loose the way it sometimes does when he forgets to smile, making him look young and lost in a way that Patrick sort of wants to beat out of him.
He whacks Pete again with the pillow.
“Dude, what the fuck?” groans Pete, rolling over and burying his face in Patrick’s mattress. He’s not under the covers, thank god, but still. They have their own beds for a reason.
“If my sheets are nasty you’re the one going to the laundry mat,” Patrick declares.
“I was asleep,” Pete moans.
“Yeah, in my bed.”
“It doesn’t matter. We share one, like, all the time.”
“On the road!” says Patrick. “Not—You know what? No. I’m tired. Just get the fuck out, Pete.”
Pete smacks his lips loudly and very pointedly closes his eyes. Patrick takes the only logical step next and sits on him. Well, he pulls off the blankets first, then tries pushing him, but Pete just gives a loud pretend-snore and doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. So Patrick sits on him.
It’s what always worked on his brothers, okay? Patrick doesn’t know.
He’s tired. He’s had a long day.
He climbs on top of Pete Wentz and settles on his back criss-cross apple-sauce, arms crossed against his chest. Beneath him, Pete’s breath squeezes out of him. His eyes are open now. Wide open.
“Patrick,” Pete wheezes.
“Try sleeping now, asshole.”
He’ll have to roll to dislodge Patrick. Patrick’s made it easy for him and everything, what with his arms folded and his knees off the bed. All Pete has to do is move, and Patrick would fall right off of him, letting him escape and catch his breath.
Except…
Except once again that’s not what happens. Pete’s eyes are wide, wide open and his mouth is still parted, but his hands lay flat and still against the mattress and his legs don’t move. He must be struggling to breathe—Patrick can hear him struggling to breathe—but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even complain.
It goes on long enough that Patrick realizes he’s bent down, closer to Pete’s face where he can hear Pete’s lungs struggling to inhale. Pete’s face is still, almost like he’s sleeping, except his eyes are open and there’s this look on his face like…
Like this is a really bad idea.
Patrick scrambles off of Pete. Pete takes in a huge, gasping breath, then starts coughing. Coughing in a way that has Patrick hurrying over to pat him on the back, suddenly terrified that he has just seriously hurt his friend.
“Pete? Hey, Pete. Come on,” Patrick says, once the coughing fit subsides. Pete lets Patrick pull him up to a sitting position, eyes fixed down on the blankets. “Shit. I am so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Peachy.” There’s a gruffness to Pete’s voice that wasn’t there before. Patrick hovers as Pete slowly pushes himself up off the mattress. That’s about as long as it takes for Patrick get angry.
“Why the fuck didn’t you push me off, idiot?” Patrick demands, shoving at Pete’s shoulder.
Pete shrugs. “I was comfortable. I didn’t feel like moving.”
“You couldn’t breathe!”
“Yeah.” Pete’s eyes are cagey. He doesn’t look at Patrick as he grunts,
“I know.”
The ire Patrick felt upon walking in has faded, but he still feels worked up. Sort of antsy under his skin, with a desire he grab Pete by the shoulders and shake him until all the answers came out. They sit for just a moment more in silence, before Pete sighs and drags himself off the bed. He’s walking slowly, bent over almost like he’s hurt, but something bars the apology from Patrick’s lips.
It’s only as Pete’s edging his way out the door that Patrick realizes it wasn’t an injury Pete was hiding at all. It was his dick.
Ending on the reblog. Tumblr doesn't like things too long apparently.
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jamie-zegras · 1 year
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No thoughts in that head what so ever
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liomels · 11 months
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Rodri and Leo 🤍
Julian 😂🤘🏻
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photmath · 1 year
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for feral @swaggypsyduck purposes — scroll along 😀
credits to @freddlesun on tiktok
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tiddie-taylor · 5 months
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There is not a single thought behind those big ol eyes
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