Tumgik
#anyway this movie is a miracle
ilovebeingaturtle · 1 year
Note
i am now thinking abt turtles forever and crying theyre so cute. like there are problems but. cuties
Good. Everyone should think about Turtles Forever and cry over it at least five times a day. Yes there are the problems. But beyond that it should be on your mind 24/7 and resulting in tears consistently. That should be a priority. It’s like eating and drinking. Except on a more advanced level of necessity. That being said if you fail to reach the quota I will do it for you. I cry enough about Turtles Forever with the capacity to simulate thousands upon thousands of crying men and I do it for free. I do it all myself. Statistically, “everyone on the planet cries about Turtles Forever daily” is untrue. That’s because I’m an outlier. But I should always be counted.
14 notes · View notes
sharkieboi · 1 year
Text
finally finished watching Strange World and im in love, everyone should see this movie
#shhh sharkie#i had to do it in parts cause Brain but i did finish it today and i fucking loved it#it’s so gorgeously animated and the story is incredible!!#omg the moment when Ethan is running off from Searcher and he pulls Ethan back into the skiff#and the mist just kinda coalesces around them#because the environment isn’t important it’s the conversation that’s happening#UGH YES SO MANY VERY CINEMATIC MOMENTS I LOVE IT#also there was a part of me that clocked the reveal in a good way#it was very good foreshadowing especially if you’re already familiar with the shape forms#i was like that looks like x cell or y body process#(but i also have degrees in biology so i had a leg up with that prior knowledge)#ANYWAY I LOVED IT#also the metaphor with the card game#that there is no good or bad side it’s just making a successful civilization.#the mountains don’t need to be conquered the energy plant isn’t an altruistic miracle#neither of them are maliciously bad dads they both just let their own goals overshadow their family members#UGH OKAY ANYWAY COULD TALK FOR A WHILE AND ITS DEFINITELY A MOVIE I NEED TO FORCE MY FAMILY TO WATCH#like when we had an argument with my parents (mom specifically)#and then the next family movie night we had we watched Onward#which is about family and how important family is because you never know how long you have with them#and petty bs isn’t worth it and you should appreciate the time you have together#or at least be mindful of that time and try not to let things go unsaid#etc etc etc anyway mom cried but she still didn’t apologize cause when would she ever it’s fine
10 notes · View notes
gothamsfinestdummy · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Lil doodles of a couple of my characters
#I’m designing another character at this point#I might scrap it. I’m not sure. ugh. it’s a frustrating process.#ANYWAY#Tammy looked so different before#and honestly!!! fry was such a miracle because their design was straight from my head with no changes#and they turned out great in my opinion#love Fry they’re my sweet burger beast#HOWEVER. Tammy was frustrating#a lot of thought and ideas and movie watching went into her design#lots of different skin color ideas!! I was going to make her blue. then I made her grey. white. and for some god forsaken reason I#considered pink#which that rocks when it works but. it doesn’t work for them.#I was very conflicted with her color palette. there are MANYYY concept drawings that I could show possibly? not sure. maybe.#she was white black and red at one point and then I thought that doesn’t feel at all like ‘zombie’#so I changed it again.#the two consistent themes I really wanted in her character#is that she is constantly tired and that she has a punkish or ratty/messy look#(and. maybe some Inspo pertaining to Garth from Wayne’s World)#not sure if that shows. more so just the hairstyle#BUT ANYWAY#with her skin I decided to go for a more patchy and infected look#because.. they’re a zombie#and I need patchy and infected skin zombie representation!!!#(be the change you want I suppose)#I was also hung up on if her palatte was too similar to Lord Dominator’s (blacks greens reds) but I think it works out here#slapped on a Rated R design because horror movies are typically R Rated and yup :) Tammy#I like her!! she!! was!! frustrating!! to!! make!! but hey!! not as angering as this current character I’m trying to figure out#and CERTAINLY not as easy and lucky as Fry#(ugh fry darling thank you for being so easy..)#my art
17 notes · View notes
The person writing descendants 4 or whatever the heck they’re going to call it: this is Chloe, Cinderella’s daughter :D
Me who already has a descendants OC called Chloe: :/
39 notes · View notes
khlur · 8 months
Text
i forgot to buy a snack
1 note · View note
emperorsfoot · 1 year
Text
didn't realize just how much my emotional threshold before I cry has been lowered these past 3 years until today when I just randomly remembered a scene from Volcano (1997) and almost cried at work
3 notes · View notes
slingerapen · 2 years
Text
Going to cry bc according to my research, osma pezmuerto would not have corydoras bc theyre not native to at least the cauca river.
4 notes · View notes
star-ocean-peahen · 6 months
Text
After watching Cinderella (the original animated movie, which was my favorite as a child), it strikes me how it solves many common problems people have with this fairy tale. Like:
Why did they try to identify the mystery girl using her shoe size? Because the bullheaded king's only clue to her identity was the shoe the Grand Duke picked up off the steps.
Why didn't the prince recognize her by her face? Because his father wouldn't involve him in the process at all, and wasn't the one going around trying to find her.
Why did the prince want to marry a lady he only met that night? Because his father was going to force him to marry someone, and he genuinely liked this woman.
Why did Cinderella want to marry a man she only met that night? Because marriage was her best and most secure way to freedom. Fucked up, but you can't say it's unrealistic for the setting of a fairy tale. She also genuinely liked him.
If they're using the slipper to find her, wouldn't it be more sensible to search for the person with the other slipper? Yes. The King is purposefully nonsensical and the Duke is purposefully terrified enough of him to carry out his orders to the letter. Furthermore, they end up doing that in the end anyway, because the Duke's glass slipper is shattered, and Cinderella brings out the one she has to prove her identity.
Why didn't the stepmother and stepsisters recognize Cinderella at the ball? Because they were dancing too far away, and then left the party to dance in private, which was possible because the King wanted very badly for his son to hit it off with someone and tried to arrange the best conditions for that to happen.
Why didn't Cinderella save herself? Because in real life, abuse victims should not have to shoulder that responsibility, and usually can't. In real life, you need and deserve an external support system. Asking for help, in this kind of situation, is very important. She is saved by others because she is loved. Because she is not alone. Because she has friends who love her, and want her to be happy and safe and free. Because in real life, people who want to help someone who is suffering are like the mice. We can't pull out miracle solutions, but we can provide companionship and if we're in the right place at the right time, we can help the person find a better life.
Why didn't the fairy godmother save Cinderella from her abusive household, or try to help her sooner? Because she's magic, and magic can't solve your problems. Quote: "Like all dreams, well, I'm afraid it can't last forever." This (and Cinderella's dream of going to the ball) is a metaphor for pleasurable things in bad circumstances. An ice cream won't get rid of your depression, but it will provide you with momentary happiness to bolster you, as well as the reminder that happiness in general is still possible for you. Cinderella doesn't want to go to the ball so she can get away from her stepmother and stepsisters, or so she can meet someone to marry and leave with. She wants to go to the ball to remind herself that she can still have things she wants. That her desires matter. This is important because the movie does a very good job of illustrating Lady Tremaine's subtle abuse tactics, all of which invisibly press the message that Cinderella doesn't matter. While going to the ball and fulfilling her dreams may not be a victory in the material sense, it is still a victory against Lady Tremaine's efforts.
Why is Cinderella's choice to be kind and obedient framed as a good thing, when you are not obligated to be kind to your abuser? This one walks a very fine line, but I think the movie still makes it make sense. Lady Tremaine never acknowledges her cruelty. She always frames her punishments of Cinderella as Cinderella's fault. Cinderella is interrupting, Cinderella is shirking her duties, Cinderella is playing vicious practical jokes. Cinderella is still a member of the family, of course she can go to the ball, provided she meet these impossible conditions. Lady Tremaine's tactics are designed to make Cinderella feel like she must always be in the wrong and her stepmother must always be in the right. If Cinderella calls her stepmother out on her cruelty, or attempts to fight back, Lady Tremaine can frame that as Cinderella being ungrateful, cruel, broken, evil, etc. If Cinderella responds to her stepmother's cruelty defiantly (in the way she's justified to), she's not taking control out of Lady Tremaine's hands. Disobedience can be spun back into her stepmother's control. She wants Cinderella to be angry and sad and show how much she's hurting. So since Cinderella is adapting to her situation, she chooses to be kind. Not only because she naturally wants to be and it's part of her personality, but because it is a form of defiance in its own way, and it allows her to keep a reminder of her agency and value. Her choice to be kind is her chance to keep her own narrative alive: she is not obeying because her stepmother wants her to and she has to do what her stepmother does, but because she wants to. It's a small distinction, but one that makes all the difference in terms of keeping her hope and identity. (Fuck, I wrote a whole paragraph about how this doesn't mean you can't be angry at people who hurt you or that you need to be kind to deserve help, and then deleted it by accident. Uh. Try again.) Expressing anger and pain is an important part of regaining autonomy and healing. Although it is commendable to be kind while you are suffering, it is NOT required for you to get help or be worthy of help. If Cinderella's recovery was explored beyond "happily ever after" she would need to let herself be angry and sad to heal. Cinderella is not only kind because it comes naturally to her, but because it's her defense against the abuse she's suffering. Everyone's story and experiences are different, and one does not invalidate the other.
Bonus round for answers that aren't part of the movie:
Why didn't Cinderella run away? Where would she go? Genuinely, in hundreds-of-years-ago France, where would she go if she snuck out of the window with a change of clothes? With her step-family, she's miserable and abused, but she's fed, clothed, and in no danger of dying or being taken advantage of by anyone other than her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if she escapes and manages to find financial security, her stepmother might be able to find her and get her back.
Why didn't Cinderella burn the house down with them inside it/slit their throats in the night/poison their food/etc.? Because that's a revenge fantasy, and this story is a fantasy about being saved. There's nothing wrong with making Cinderella into a revenge fantasy. That's perfectly fine, as long as you acknowledge that the other type of fantasy is also a valid interpretation. (I mean, the original fairy tale features the stepsisters getting their feet mutilated and all three of them getting their eyes pecked out, so go for it.)
Why isn't Cinderella more proactive in general? Because she's a child who has been abused for the back half of her life, who has had to be focused on survival because. you know. she's an abused kid.
How did she dance in glass slippers? Gotta agree with you there man, that's weird.
21K notes · View notes
arcmonkeys · 3 months
Text
hey guys did u know if u catch a movie at the cinema 17.30 u can watch another one after at home? just found out
0 notes
readymades2002 · 1 year
Text
It Is Not A Crush You Are Just Lonely It Is Not A Crush You Are Just Lonely It Is Not A Crush You Are Just L
0 notes
gayshitinfinite · 1 year
Note
for the ask game.... 3, 4, 10 and 13 <3
(for me it's 3. tvpm, 4. tamil, 10. would love to be born in italy/france, 13. the handmaiden and eeaao)
❤️❤️❤️.
3. favourite Indian city?
pondicherry. ik it's not a city but I'm adjusting the question.
4. A Indian language you don't speak but would like to learn?
Tamil and kannada and Bengali too
10. If you weren't born in desi countries which country would have been born in?
idk somewhere with better queer rights.
why Italy and France for you?
13. favourite film from any language
Ohm Shanti Oshana(Malayalam), 3 idiots (Tamil), anandham(Malayalam)
1 note · View note
steddie-as-they-come · 5 months
Text
Eddie's hanging out in Family Video during Steve and Robin's shift, just being a general nuisance, when it begins.
The other two are talking in low voices in the back corner, discussing something Eddie can't hear. Normally he'd get up and go over there, insert himself into the conversation, command their attention, but he's too busy judgmentally rifling through Family Video's paltry horror movie supply to care that much.
He sneaks a glance over, and then he sees it.
Steve presses a kiss to Robin's forehead.
Eddie has to drop the tape he's holding before he does something stupid like break it out of jealousy.
And he knows, okay, he's heard it no less than eight million times, they're platonic with a capital P. That doesn't stop the little green monster in his chest from rearing its head.
It doesn't stop there, either. Eddie starts to see Steve kiss the rest of the Party. Simple little forehead kisses and temple kisses and kisses on the crowns of their heads, like he's their parent, which, well, he is. He does it when Dustin needs comfort. He slings an arm around Lucas and pulls him close for a kiss on the temple when Lucas makes a particularly good shot for basketball. He does it to Max, on one of her bad days. He even does it to Mike absentmindedly, who makes a feral screech like an angry cat before everyone starts to laugh at him. And of course, he and Robin are always all over each other.
But he won't kiss Eddie.
It's stupid that he expects it. They don't know each other. Steve's been with this group, been saving them from monsters and scientists and torturers for forever.
Eddie still wants in on it. If only to indulge his pathetic little crush on the former King of Hawkins High.
One night, Steve hosts a movie night, and Dustin invites Eddie along. He goes, because of course he does, and takes a seat on the end of the couch as Steve puts in the tape.
Eddie immediately forgets what the movie is, because Steve sits down next to him. His entire brain is a fuzzy kind of static that only intensifies when Steve scoots closer.
"Sorry," is the first word Eddie registers out of Steve's mouth, and he hastily tries to collect his thoughts. Steve moves closer, which doesn't help.
He peers around Steve and sees the kids all trying to squish onto the couch. "Scoot over, Eddie!" Mike shouts, and Eddie moves as close as he can to the arm of the couch. Steve follows, arm around him and thighs pressed close together.
Okay, then. Eddie can die happily tonight, apparently.
Something jumps at the screen, and Steve flinches.
Eddie learns a new thing about Steve that night. Apparently, when Steve gets frightened, he pulls everyone within reach towards him, like he's trying to shield them with his body. Eddie finds himself hugged to Steve's chest and has to employ breathing exercises to get rid of his new little...problem.
He somehow makes it through the movie without spontaneously combusting, a feat nothing short of a miracle. The kids run to the kitchen and Eddie can hear Dustin pick up the phone and say, "Hello, Paulie's Pizza?"
Steve sighs and gets up. "I did not say they could order pizza," he grumbles. He extends his hand to Eddie, and after a second of bewildered staring, Eddie manages to grab it and pull himself to standing.
Robin's sitting on the couch still (she had been on the other side of Steve), and she watches this interaction with an unreadable expression on her face.
Well, unreadable to Eddie, anyway. Steve and Robin proceed to have an entire conversation with just facial expressions, and Eddie is left in the dark about it.
Steve finally rolls his eyes and stalks into the kitchen. He distracts Dustin with a kiss on the top of his head, then steals the phone. "Hi, yeah," he says, and Eddie recognizes that voice as his King-Steve-takes-what-he-wants voice. "No, that's right. Two medium pepperoni pizzas and a side of garlic knots, yep."
He listens, then says, "I'll be over to pick it up," then places the phone back on the receiver with a click.
"I'm going to get the food." he announces to the room at large. "Eddie, you coming?"
"Sure?" Eddie slings his leather jacket from the back of one of the kitchen table chairs and slides his sneakers on.
The drive is quiet. Multiple times, it looks like Steve wants to say something, but he never does. When the two of them walk in to get the pizza, Steve grabs both boxes. "Can you get the door, Eds?"
Eddie wants to tease him about the new nickname, but he chooses not to, opting instead to nod and say, "Sure thing, Stevie." He pulls open the glass door and says, with a mock bow and a grand gesture, "Your majesty."
Steve rolls his eyes. "Thanks." He (finally!!) goes to kiss Eddie.
However, Eddie is not as short as the kids (and Robin) who Steve normally does this to. Eddie's pretty sure the kiss is supposed to land on his forehead.
It lands on his mouth.
Pretty shoddy kiss, as it were. Mostly, Steve kisses the corner of Eddie's mouth.
Both of their faces burn red. If not for Steve's sports-playing, monster-killing reflexes, the pizzas would be on the ground right now.
"Sorry!" Steve says, hurrying out to his car and tossing the food in the backseat. "Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking."
Eddie slides into the passenger seat. "Finally!" he says.
"What?"
Eddie rolls his eyes. "Steve, I've been the only one who you haven't been bestowing kisses upon for weeks now. Sorry if I'm excited to be included in the group."
Steve starts the car. "But...those are all platonic kisses."
Eddie scoffs. "What, and kissing me wouldn't be?"
Steve is silent.
"REALLY?" Eddie yells. "Wait, wait-" He leans over the center console. "Steve Harrington, if you wanted a kiss, a romantic kiss, you could have told me before cuddling with me all night!"
Steve sighs. "Fine. Eddie Munson, I'm going to kiss you romantically."
And he leans in.
Eddie's obsessed with the curve and dip of Steve's mouth against his. He greedily cups his hand against Steve's face, his other hand propped up against the center console. Steve tastes like the soda he was drinking earlier, mixed with something richer and deeper that's wholly, entirely Steve.
They break apart at a small crackle from Steve's inner pocket.
"Henderson," Steve says exasperatedly. "That kid is so damn impatient."
"Steve!" Dustin's voice comes from the walkie Steve pulls out. "Have you gotten the pizza yet?"
"Yes, you little shit, we're coming back now." Steve sighs. "Oh! Henderson, find Robin. Tell her it happened."
Eddie shoots Steve a confused look, but Steve just holds up a placating hand, a slight smile on his face.
"OH MY GOD STEVE!" comes Robin's voice on the walkie. "HELL YEAH!"
Steve cackles and leans back in to kiss Eddie, who happily accepts.
3K notes · View notes
forlix · 3 months
Text
‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.
— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
words・6.4k
pairing・han jisung x female reader
genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn
warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut
playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han
Tumblr media
a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡
Tumblr media
smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare
Tumblr media
Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.
It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.
So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.
Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?
Why can’t I follow?
Then he wakes up.
No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.
Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.
Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.
Tumblr media
You see him.
Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 
Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.
He hopes you like horror movies.
Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.
Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.
“Lix, hey!”
“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”
“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”
“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”
This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.
“Eventful night, huh?”
He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.
“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”
“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”
Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.
A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.
“I’d like that.”
He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.
Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.
Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.
You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.
It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.
You turn towards it. 
In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”
A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.
“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”
Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.
You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.
“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.
The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.
Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.
He wants to remember everything about you.
It’s not often he wants to remember anything.
Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.
He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.
“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”
You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.
Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”
Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.
You do the stupid thing for him.
You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 
The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”
“Gimme your lemonade.”
The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 
You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.
The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.
“Open,” you murmur.
His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.
You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.
He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.
He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.
The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.
“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.
“You’re a monster,” he croaks.
You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.
“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”
One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.
“...and you still remember my address…”
A suckle to the lobe of his ear.
“...you can kiss me, for real.”
A trembling breath.
“And then some.”
Jisung moans, loudly.
Thankfully, he remembers a few things.
He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.
Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.
The back in his dreams keeps walking.
Tumblr media
Jisung has never liked winter.
He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.
He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 
And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.
This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.
When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.
His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.
Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.
“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”
“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”
“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”
Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”
“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.
“My bad,” he sighs.
“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.
“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”
The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.
“We’re waiting on one more person.”
He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.
“Who?”
Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.
“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”
Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.
In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.
This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.
But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.
“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”
You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”
“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”
“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”
Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.
“Hi,” he offers.
“Hey,” you reply.
Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”
Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.
It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.
He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.
Jisung: do you have plans after this?
Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.
He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.
Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.
Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…
He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.
Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛
With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.
He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.
Or both.
He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.
Jisung: me too <3
When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.
As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.
He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.
“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.
“What did you realize?”
“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”
Jisung has broken hearts before.
There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.
He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 
There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.
Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.
“Sure,” he answers.
He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.
Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.
“I like when we don’t talk, though.”
It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.
Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.
The glass fogs up anyways.
“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”
You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.
Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”
The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.
“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”
Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.
It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.
His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.
“W-why’d—where’d you go?”
He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.
“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 
He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.
“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”
You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.
You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.
“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.
“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”
“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”
“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”
“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”
“R-really?”
“Really.”
“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”
He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.
“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”
“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.
And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.
He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.
Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.
He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.
Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.
“You squirted,” he says.
“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.
He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.
Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.
He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 
There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.
His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.
Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.
After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.
Tumblr media
Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 
This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 
The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”
He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.
Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 
When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.
You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.
He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”
The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.
“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.
The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.
Only then do you notice the blizzard.
You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.
Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.
“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.
“When did that happen?”
“I have no idea.”
You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.
“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.
He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.
Your ribcage fucking throbs.
“You don’t seem excited,” you say.
He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.
“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.
“You don’t like snow?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.
“It’s a long story.”
Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 
You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.
“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”
“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.
A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.
“You’re not driving right now.”
He breaks eye contact.
“Right?”
That was the plan, you read in his expression.
You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.
You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.
And you won’t.
“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”
“Stay.”
You’re not asking.
Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.
Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.
“You can stay, Jisung.”
He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.
It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.
In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
The inevitable question follows.
“Can I save the story for another time?”
“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”
“We should.”
Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.
You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.
In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.
You wake to a black hole.
For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.
Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.
Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.
The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.
The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.
Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.
You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 
But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 
At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.
You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.
Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.
And you recognize him for the first time ever.
You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.
“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.
Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.
He’s been having this nightmare.
It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.
Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.
Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 
Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.
This time, though, the snow tastes like something.
After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.
His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.
He wakes up.
“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”
You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.
“That’s—”
My shampoo.
A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.
“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
“I don’t want you to cry for me.”
“You died.”
“And I would do it again.”
This response comes without an shred of hesitation.
You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.
Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 
Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.
He saves you the trouble.
“Honestly?”
Your confession stills. 
“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.
“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”
You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.
“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”
You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.
“Don’t go,” he exhales.
You kiss him.
It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.
The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.
Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.
“I love you too,” you breathe.
The night comes and goes.
The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.
Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.
You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 
Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”
Tumblr media
🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten
Tumblr media
© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!
1K notes · View notes
chaoticladyfire · 10 months
Text
Things I screamed about in ATSV (spoilers)
-Got to rewatch the film so I’m just going to add the colours changing to warmer tones when Gwen hugs her father. Not even ten minutes in and I was already crying.
-Realised that we missed the Gwen-Vulture fight BUT got to see Jessica Drew enter the scene like a bad ass in her bad ass bike and hearing the audience collectively say ‘me too’ when Gwen asked if Jessica could adopt her. 
-Screaming OSCAR ISAAC when Miguel spoke
-Lyla. Just Lyla.
- ‘Do you say anything other than no?’ ‘No-YES!’ more of miguel and jessica pls
-The Spot’s introduction. I didn’t see any promotional stuff, teasers or even trailers before watching this film so I had no idea who or what the The Spot was which was great because he really went from villain of the week to villain of the movie. And they clearly had a great time choreographing the fight scenes with him
-Miles’ heating up the beef patty while the spot and the convenience store man argue
-Miles patting the spot’s with a ‘good cow’ text
-Gwen and Miles both having to deepen their voices to avoid being recognised by their respective cop dads
-Miles saying that he can get two cakes when the counsellor says you can’t have your cake and eat it too and then bringing two cakes for his father’s party and neither of them saying what he wanted to convey. 
-Rio and Jeff scolding an annoyed miles but instantly smiling when a relative hugs them what an universal experience 
-Gwen teasing Miles for drawing her in his notebook almost obsessively but also breaking the biggest rule to spend time with him knowing the consequences. 
-As they went to talk, my friend leaned over and said ‘yeah I bet they will talk’ and when they only talked he groaned very loudly at which point I had to remind him Miles was only 15 
-Watching Jeff talk to Spiderman about his son not knowing his son is spiderman
-The DJ increasing the volume when Miles’ parents started scolding him in the middle of the party (the real mvp of the movie actually) 
-JK Simmons cameo that no one seems to be talking about??? Embarrassingly enough I had to literally scream into my friend’s ear for most of the people to realise it was indeed JK Simmons
-Just the entire Mumbattan scene. It was so exciting to see my city be represented like that, still a bit cliched in my opinion but not like Slumdog so obviously they have updated their views. Everything from the traffic gag to Pav’s rant about chai tea had the theatre howling. Also the detail of the thought boxes (?) and sounds being written in Hindi 
-Screaming DANIEL KALUUYA
-My friend and I are huge fans of the UK punk scene (her for the ideologies and myself for the music and fashion) so Hobie was a dream come true. He was already super cool with his guitar and mohawk costume but when he revealed his face it was just so amazing
-Gayatri is every indian’s dream girl with her modern shirt-flannel and jeans combo mixed with bangles and piercings I really wish we get to see more of her in the next movie. Anyway there was a lot of wolf-whistling and hooting for her and Pav
-Also Pavitr literally means pure I don’t know if they did that on purpose or not but I love it
-His pet name being Pav cured my soul
-’This is the most emotional I have seen him’ and Captain Singh has no emotions at all
-I want to see how they came up with so many spider designs because each was so unique and immediately endearing. My friend who is also a big dinosaur fan screamed DINOSAUR 
-Kind of obsessed with how detailed Ben Reilly’s arms are they did not need to go that hard with it
-Tom Holland’s Spider-Man being referred to as ‘the little nerd’ by Miguel
-When everyone was making puns about the Spot my friend leaned over and said ‘i wonder which hole the spot prefers’ it is a miracle we are still friends actually
-The Donald Grover cameo!!!
-Peter B Parker having a cute little baby with the love of his life is what he deserves
-Miguel O Hara is one step away from becoming a Batman-Spiderman 
-Hobie’s admiration for Mayday being the avatar of chaos Spider-baby
-Screaming ANDY SAMBERG
-I think they saw the appreciation for the art style in the previous film and then trebled it for this film and I cannot thank them enough for it
-Peter complaining about how Miguel breaks the Spiderman tradition of being funny and witty and Miguel being the first anomaly 
-Every scene with the Spot is very unnerving because as I said, you watch him transform from this joker to a literal void of vengeance and it is every bit of terrifying
-Miguel is a man suffering from the destruction of an entire universe because of his selfish actions and forcing that anomaly narrative on a fifteen year old boy who became a spiderman on accident and doesn’t want his father to die because of that. Unlike the Spot, who isn’t even human anymore, Miguel is drowning in grief and guilt and trying to ignore it by holding the weight of the spider-verse on his shoulder. I hated him so much for making a boy go through that but then I just couldn’t in the end. 
-Andrew Garfield and Tobey Maguire cameo!!! Hopefully we’ll get a fun Tom Holland one too in the next movie.
-’Let me guess, he died?’ being a therapist for Spider Men must be a fairly boring job after a few patients.
-I just loved the absolute of wrongness of the scene where Miles returns ‘home’. The rain and darkness. I didn’t really think about Rio asking Miles what happened to his hair because I thought she was referring to the rain (although of course she wouldn’t ask him why his hair was wet when it was obviously raining outside) but realised something was wrong when he didn’t know about comic con but she did because in the first film there’s a joke about Peter B Parker explaining the concept to Miles. 
- This movie is not good for my father related issues
-The glaring neon welcome sign when the gang end up in Earth 42
-How did Uncle Aaron get even scarier? 
-Miles being the Prowler is honestly a great twist I saw it coming but still felt the shock of the reveal
-Prowler Miles having an accented voice meaning his father probably died when he was young and he only had his mom growing up
-Can’t wait for the original spider team to return for the third film seeing as they brought back Spider-Man Noir and Spider Ham and Peni Parker
-Screaming WHAT when the ‘to be continued’ appeared because that cliffhanger is absolutely destructive. All that adrenaline and excitement just popped. I’m still oscillating between being impressed and being disappointed. 
I probably skipped over a lot of other scenes because these were the most memorable and I only watched the film once (unfortunate) but I can’t wait for the movie to hit streaming services and watch it again and again for all the other details I missed. Ill probably keep adding things as I remember
2K notes · View notes
aastrobliss · 1 month
Text
✶ 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘 / OKKOTSU YUTA
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
. 𝓟airing ─ okkotsu yuta × reader
. 𝓖enre ─ angst, established relationship, curseless au
. 𝓢ynopsis ─ you wait for yuta to show up to your date
. 𝓘ndex ─ masterlist, yuji version, toge version
. 𝓣aglist ─ @we-loveebony
. 𝓝ote ─ got a lil carried away w this one
❛ 𝓖irl , i can take you where you wanna 𝗴𝗼
𝓘f you wanna 𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 ❜
yuta had fucked up. big time.
he wasn't sure how he managed to forget about the date you two had been planning for the past week, but either way, he blamed it on his teachers for giving him too many assignments.
to be frank, it was a miracle he was still standing after having one exam in the morning and another in the afternoon, (which forced him to sacrifice half of his meal to study), and a study session for his group project with maki, toge, and todo—all that on maybe six hours of sleep.
so, it was no surprise that the only thing on his mind as he reached his house was taking a shower, eating, and sleeping.
you, on the other hand, had rushed home immediately after school to get ready. pure excitement pumped through your veins at the idea of finally spending time with your boyfriend.
the plan was to try that new restaurant that opened near his house, watch this one movie you'd been waiting to come out for ages, and finally go grab those french pastries you'd been craving the whole week.
the two of you went to different schools, which made it hard to meet up and make plans considering you also live twenty-five minutes away from one another. not to mention, you too were drowning in schoolwork, and you hadn't had much time to hang out with anyone at all.
considering you last saw yuta a week and a half prior, you wanted everything to be perfect. your outfit had been carefully picked the evening prior and was only waiting to be worn. you even styled your hair differently than usual and took your sweet time doing your makeup.
while you struggled to put on your shoe, your free hand texted your boyfriend, informing him that you'd be about ten minutes late (adding a teary face and heart at the end).
you agreed to meet up in front of the restaurant and so a sigh of relief escaped your glossy lips when you didn't see him at the spot. you'd rather wait for him than have him waiting, anyway.
'i'm here', you texted with a grin. the restaurant looked really nice, with warm lights illuminating the small wooden tables and the few people sitting around them.
mentally, you chose the spot in which you would sit, the one right behind you. a small counter was suspended by the wall, two tall stools facing the same window that allowed you to peek inside.
when the fifteen-minute mark passed, you texted him again to tell him you'd wait for him inside. so you did, and the stool was less comfortable than it looked.
five minutes later, you decided to call. with every bip, your tongue licked a bit more of your lipgloss off.
you didn't mind him being late, as you yourself often were, you just wished he'd notified you... but anyway, the view was nice, the food smelled delicious, and on top of that you found out you were sitting right in front of the radiator, so... that was that!
by the time the waiter asked if you were ready to order, another one already asked you the same thing ten minutes before. you shook your head, "i'm waiting for someone," you repeated, although it lacked your previous confidence and he seemed to notice.
and you kept waiting, watching people enter and exit. eventually, you had no choice but to order yourself a little something so as not to look too miserable. it was like that until people stopped coming in.
one hour and eleven minutes had passed—you kept count—and it was only you and a family sitting in the corner behind you, now.
a part of you was worried because you knew yuta would never stand you up on purpose, but you couldn't repress that tinge of hurt as you paid for your food and left.
you refused to cry though, and accordingly, the sky did it for you.
it wasn't by choice that yuta got out of his bed, but rather because of the doorbell requiring his attention. it was dark outside, making him wonder who it could be at this hour.
the remaining bits of sleep in his system prevented him from thinking clearly and he opened the door without a worry.
and it was you.
it was you and you were beautiful, despite the fact that you were completely drenched. your hair and makeup were almost flawless, he was sure they looked even better before the rain. but your eyes reflected sadness. disappointment.
that was exactly what yuta felt as he realized, his expression crumbling: disappointment, in himself.
of course, he was quick to let you in, still with his hands rubbing his eyes.
"(y/n)... i'm so sorry."
his words were slow as he made sure to emphasize each of them to let you know he was sincere. you knew that already, regardless the hurt didn't go away.
you just stood there, clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably, not uttering a word. yuta wished you'd get mad, start yelling at him and tell him how much of a jerk he is, but you didn't.
"please, say something. anything," he begged, guilt devouring him.
you had managed to remain stoic right until then, until your facade broke. it took a moment for yuta to realize the sudden gloss in your eyes wasn't due to the lighting.
"no, no, no, no!" rushing over to you, he hugged you tight. getting wet was the least of his worries and messing up your makeup was the least of yours.
it hurt. your heart ached. you were so full of emotions yet could express none. you desperately wanted to blame him, but how could you with the deep dark circles under his remorseful eyes?
"how can i make this up to you, hm?" he asked with his face buried in your hair. in response, you hit him once on the shoulder while you continued to sob quietly.
"sweets? movie? cuddles? what can i do?" he kept trying. once he felt like you'd calmed down, yuta held your shoulders to look into your eyes.
"name anything."
you frowned.
"i hate you."
he pulled back in his hold.
"i know, baby. i love you."
Tumblr media
© aastrobliss
519 notes · View notes
Text
Little things I don't know what to do with
1. Phantom: Just because you're my dad doesn't mean you get to tell me what to do!
Nightwing: *just now learning he has a clone son and is nearly hysterical* Actually, it does!
Killer croc: *still holding Phantom by the neck but is now awkward about it* Uh, is this a bad time?
2. Tim goes undercover as Alvin Draper in infiltrate this new and very successful gang thats popped up in Gotham only to start falling for the mysterious leader Danny Nightingale aka a mage going by the name Hex
3. Future 7ft tall Phantom bursts into present day Gotham City like a meteor. Curled into a ball, he desperately tries to keep his unconscious husband safe from the flames and impacts as they are thrown through several buildings before creating a crater in one of the local parks
By some miracle his hubby is safe and Danny passes out once he sees some of the local bats approaching via rooftops
4. Danny flirts with Spoiler by bringing her wierd stuff thats purple. What makes it interesting is that none of this stuff should be purple
5. Danny accidentally ends up in the DC universe via ghost zone portal after he gets injured by one of his parents failed experimental weapons and it destabilizes him. He fights Superman thinking he's possessed and hes actually creaming Superman pretty bad since Clark can't hit what isn't tangible but oh boy, it can hit him.
Anyway the other supers come out to save Superman and began ganging up on Phantom.
Danny, fully convinced they're all possessed, opens a portal and manages to get them all in using Looney Toons Trickery promising to come back and "free the hosts" once he gets a more stable portal. Danny can't go through it since he's so unstable and has to look for some way to fix himself before it becomes a (after)life-threatening issue.
Turns out Ectoplasm is somehow worse for a Kryptonian than Kryptonite and they have no powers what so ever within the Ghost Zone and everything aches.
Oh.
And they're basically living out every creepypasta/horror movie ever in this creepy hell dimension.
Fun times.
1K notes · View notes