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#like tell me i'm not wrong
inkskinned · 10 months
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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audhd-nightwing · 2 months
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things in DC canon i’ll literally never get over
1. dick finds out batman replaced him as robin (without asking him) from the NEWSPAPER and simultaneously finds out bruce adopted a new kid without telling him (to make things worse: bruce didn’t even adopt dick)
2. dick finds out jason died from the newspaper (AGAIN? REALLY BRUCE?) and bruce had the fucking funeral WITHOUT HIM while he was still in space
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carlyraejepsans · 2 years
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cringe gaymers hanging out. don’t know why but sans always seemed like a rhythm games fan
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vcrnons · 25 days
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WE ARE LIKE FLOWERS THAT BLOOM IN MAY. RAINDROP ON ME, ON ME.
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introspectivememories · 2 months
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too many of you guys think nico is the loser and not lewis for letting the divorce go on for so long. like they're both losers about each other. emotionally constipated idiots who can't talk about their toxic homoerotic friendship that imploded on itself like 8 years ago and are now making it everyone else's problem. yeah nico's on television or in beer gardens talking about lewis all the time but like every other month some reporter is like "lewis, what's your favorite moment in your career?" and lewis no hesitation is like "oh man, karting, y'know? everything was simpler then" and then spends another six months skirting around nico's name. like this whole thing they're doing in the media isn't some kinda extended foreplay for them. they're both still pressing on the bruise to make sure it's still there!!! every few months, they're literally just asking on public television, does it still hurt for you like it does for me? and like clockwork, someone will release new information about them or one of them will say something about each other (in my heart, he's still my best friend/yes... and teammate) and the answer will remain the same, yes, of course, always.
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minty364 · 3 months
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DPXDC Prompt#148 Part 2
Danny feels himself grow bright red and the two stare into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. 
“I- Uh… I’m Danny” He finally managed to mutter. 
“Damian Wayne, its a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Danny's blush grew even brighter as the next moment Damian kissed his hand, Danny couldn’t help but feel flustered. 
After a moment  Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and stuttered out, “It’s nice, to meet you too” He could tell how happy Damian was to meet him and he felt a little bad for feeling nervous in the first place. Danny thought Damian was cute and he decided then that he wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better. First they had to get through the rest of the gala, and soon as he thought about the gala something clicked. 
He realized Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne who at the moment was talking to his own parents. He couldn’t help but stare as he let the information sink in. 
“Ah yes it looks like Father is talking to some of the scientists that were invited.” Ancients, Danny knew his parents couldn’t help being themselves and unfortunately that meant things like accidentally spilling fudge right onto Mr. Wayne's suite. They watched as Mr. Wayne told his parents it wasn’t a problem and then walked out of the room. 
Danny couldn’t help but sigh, “Sorry about them, my parents are a little eccentric. Don’t even get me started on their obsession with ghosts, my dad will not shut up sometimes.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck nervously again as he realized he was rambling a little bit. 
“Don’t worry it looks like Father handled the situation well, although I am curious what kind of inventions two scientists obsessed with ghosts create. That’s what this gala is about, we want to support scientists in untapped fields of study.” Danny listened as his soulmate explained things to him. 
Danny looked over to see Vlad talking to a thin scientist in the corner of the room. He was definitely up to something, a ball like this had Vlad scheming something with a mad scientist written all over it. 
He was brought out from his thoughts as a loud crash could be heard as the wall across the room burst open and none other than the Joker walked through.
Danny tried to make his way to the other side of the gala, strangely Damian had disappeared but Danny didn’t have the time to look for him.  
However when he got to the door staying low to the ground the door burst through and more of Joker's goons looked straight at him and he found himself tied up right in front of the Joker. 
“What do we have here? A new Wayne?” Joker said as he cupped Danny's face in his hand. Danny couldn’t do anything about the situation and he was getting a little scared considering he didn’t have a proper way to go ghost or protect his soulmate at the moment. 
The Joker circled around the tied up hostages laughing, “Of course now the fun begins”
The Joker continued to circle around the hostages thinking for a moment before he grabbed Danny.
He held Danny by the back of the shirt like a small kitten. His obsession was making him wonder if his soulmate was safe living in Gotham. Joker chuckled as he continued to hold Danny.
“This kid will be an example for the rest of you, I don’t want any outbursts like that again, especially when Batman gets here. Do you think Batman will like what I’ve done with the place?” He asked as he gestured around the ruined room. All of the tables and chairs had either been broken or knocked over and all of the food from the dessert and appetizer tables. It was quite the mess. Before Joker could do much else with the teen he had dangling in his grasp something flew out and smacked Joker right in the back of the head causing him to drop Danny.
Danny took that opportunity to get away, his hands may have been tied but his feet were sure free. He stumbled away as Batman dropped down and a fight between him and the Joker commenced. 
Danny ran towards the door and as he got there Robin and Nightwing were there ushering some of the other hostages out of the room. 
“Right this way citizens!” Nightwing said brightly at them but he seemed to brighten up a bit more when he saw Danny weirdly. 
“Have either of you seen Damian Wayne?” Danny asked, he at least wanted to get his number, especially when he was headed back to Amity soon.
They seemed to share a look before looking back at him, “Damian left, he’s headed safely back to Wayne manor.” Robin said but he held out a piece of paper. On it was Damians signature and his phone number. Danny sighed a little annoyed he had left but he guessed it was common to head back home after a rogue attack in Gotham. 
“Danny!!” the booming voice of Jack Fenton was suddenly heard and Danny felt himself getting pulled into a very familiar bear hug. 
“Did you have fun at the gala? Your father and I saw you talking to Mr. Wayne's son,” His mother said after his feet were back on the ground. 
“Yeah, actually can we talk about that after we’re back in our room?” He wanted to tell his parents he found his soulmate but saying that outloud when Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne sounded like a bad idea. 
They headed back to the hotel room and all Danny could think about was how lucky he was to have met his soulmate tonight, even if he was nervous about everything.
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gay-jesus-probably · 11 months
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Let me just preface this by saying everyone is allowed to have their own opinions, TOTK is a really fun game, and I'm glad that other people have been able to enjoy the story as well.
...But I'm being dead serious with my complaints about the narrative being 100% imperialist propaganda. And I'm getting really tired of people replying to those posts by saying it can't be imperialist propaganda, because imperialism is bad and the game says that Hyrule is the good guys.
Like, guys. That's not the argument you think it is. Yes, I am aware that the game tells us Ganondorf is a flat, one dimensional character with no ambitions, interests or motivations beyond destroying the entire world for the hell of it, and also it's totally not racist because he's green, not brown like literally every other member of his race. Unfortunately literally all of these things are kind of the entire goddamn problem.
See, the thing is, everyone trying to make these arguments is accepting the game at face value. Hyrule is the perfect and almighty nation chosen by the demigod Zonai, and whose royal family has the right to rule due to their divine heritage. The other races exist to serve the glory of Hyrule, and they're happy to do it. Ganondorf is pure evil and must be stopped at any costs.
But that's not how anything works. The story informing me that Hyrule is the ultimate good that has done nothing wrong is the whole goddamn reason why I don't trust Hyrule at all. There's always more of a reason than that. And the game fucking suggests there was more going on! Ganondorf mentions Rauru has repeatedly 'invited' the Gerudo to become Rauru's subjects, and let's be clear here, it doesn't matter how peaceful those 'invitations' were, when the guy who owns every single magical nuclear missile in the world repeatedly demands you surrender to him, there's always going to be an implied threat of 'do it or get magically nuked'. Just that power difference alone shows us exactly why Ganon would feel threatened enough to invade. It's because Rauru was holding a gun to his head, and Ganon was expected to just trust that he'd never pull the trigger.
And yes, even if it wasn't intentional Hyrule was always threatening to wipe out the other nations, considering the entire royal family walked around openly wearing their magical nukes as cute accessories. If they couldn't be safely hidden away, there wouldn't be four other secret stones sitting untouched in a vault until the last second.
But that's never acknowledged. Of course Hyrule is the only nation with the right to the secret stones; even if other races get to touch them, they can only have them if they swear eternal blind loyalty and servitude to the glory of King Rauru and Princess Zelda. Ganon wanting to have one magical nuclear bomb out of a stockpile of eight of them is proof that he's dangerous and evil. I mean my god, what if he just walked around all day wearing a magical nuke and using its power for his own benefit, that would be terrifying. It's only okay when Hylian royalty does it.
And you can't argue that Ganon betrayed his own people, considering we don't get to know fucking anything about his relationship with his people. He's shows as the leader of the Gerudo, we're told he's a hero to his people, he has soldiers that loyally follow him into battle... and then oh nevermind, they all hate him and will spend eternity trying to atone for sharing a race with him. How did the entire race do a complete 180 in the span of at most a few months? Who cares, what's important is that now they accept they exist to serve Hyrule so they get to be the good guys now and we don't need to know why they were following Ganondorf, or why they stopped following him.
Basically my point is that yeah, I fucking know how the game insists everything went down. That's the entire reason I think it's imperialist propaganda, because the entire story feels like Hylian propaganda to conceal and justify some horrific atrocities that caused all of this. I literally do not believe that I'm getting the story through reliable narrators, especially considering that the only people allowed to actually tell me the story are all the characters that have the most reasons to be heavily biased in favour of Hyrule.
When the game shows me protagonists that have a massive amount of power and control over the entire world, then says the bad guy doesn't like that system just because he's evil, and literally nothing and nobody in the game says anything to oppose that take, I have some questions about what the fuck the story isn't telling me. And I'd really appreciate it if people would stop trying to argue with me just by telling me to stop asking those questions.
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pbnmj · 1 year
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assorted sketches (personally very obsessed w petermj rn and the fact that the 2020 run of noir colored his hair/eyes as black/grey. peter parker the man that you are....)
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shotbyacowboy · 7 months
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it's 4 am so i'm not able to have proper thoughts and opinions on dragons rising right now but it slayed super hard. anyway men kissing
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judasisgayriot · 2 months
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Pole Out Boy and their missed calling in life (x) (Pete: (The new record's) definitely a lot sexier than the last one. Patrick: There's a lot more slinky outfits, and, you know, garter belts.)
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glitterslag · 17 days
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ok this is my last one of these. maybe
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inkskinned · 1 year
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oh you know it's all latestage capitalism but the thing is. how are you supposed to be a person inside of this. a person trying to be a better version of yourself.
oh, you started working young, which was kind of hard, but it's just the way stuff works sometimes. and it was 2008 and your family couldn't afford heat. but it's fine, you grow a spine and get used to the professional world and besides it was the suburbs we're talking about here, like, your life could have been actually hard, so what if your father lost his job and you can't afford to move or turn the lights back on. and once you start making money, it's good. you keep doing that. because now they're relying on you. so you have to do that.
oh you were in thousands of dollars of debt at 17 years old so that you could go to school, because you have to go to school if you want to get a "real" job. you even did it "right", you worked parttime and attended community college before you transferred to a public school. you were under so many merit scholarships.
which is fine. you pick yourself up and you say like, okay. i graduated college. i'm holding down a job. i'm doing the Adult Thing, which looks and acts like this, according to all the books i've read. you start with the shitty job and then you climb that corporate ladder.
but the shitty job doesn't cover rent and you stretch yourself too-thin so you get sick. good luck with that. the shitty job no longer pays for your meals. everyone asks why you don't just move, but there's nowhere to move to. and with what money are you going to be moving? and then the loans come back, because they were never going to forgive them, because you were 17 and trying to do the right thing, which was stupid. people are now saying you shouldn't have even gone to school.
which is fine. but because you have no other option, so you do the shitty job, and you apply every day for like 5 new ones, and despite the fact everyone says "there's no one who wants to work!" it's actually just that nobody is fucking hiring so you can either work for 13 dollars an hour in the shitty place you know (where at least you have a passingly friendly relationship with the manager) or you can start from scratch again with a different 13 dollars an hour without knowing how much abuse from the new job you'll be taking.
and if you quit you lose your insurance. if you quit you lose your housing. if you quit, you'll be another burnout kid. the lazy ones. these assholes, look at them!
and you come home to a family dinner and you hear from your father the same old thing. how he worked hard at his job and yes it sucked for a while but he was able to provide for the family and then the house and the dog and the rest of barbie's dream vacation. how the insurance did cover some of it. how you just really need to start speaking up more in manager conversations so they know you're a go-getter. you want to tell him - did you know we're actually doing more now hourly than any previous generation? - but you can't remember where you heard that statistic, and you're far too tired for the fucking argument. and then he starts in on his usual bit. where's the house? where's your kids? where's your ambition.
the same job the same money the same hours doesn't do it anymore. the same nose-to-the-grindstone now just shreds your face off. there's no such thing as upwards mobility, not really. and as far as you're aware, the money certainly is not trickling. you do the soulless stupid shit you signed up for because you fucking have to or else you literally risk your life (food, the apartment, the insurance), but it's not getting you anything. you download the stupid "save more" app and you budget and you do every right thing and then the price of eggs is 7 dollars and you say - oh great! another thing i have to fucking worry about now!
and you go to your stupid job and everyone in your father's generation just tells you to be better about being an adult. they have their homes and their savings account and their bailout and they say. well have you tried not drinking starbucks. well your generation just spends too much on clothing. well you might just be too addicted to travelling. and you - because you need the job - you bite your tongue and don't say i am being held prisoner and you're suggesting i stop pacing my cell if i don't like the scenery and you don't say what the fuck do you think i've been doing with my money and you don't say i haven't spent a cent on something nice in literally forever much less coffee you arrogant asshole. you open and close your bank app and check your loans and check your credit score and check fucking zillow and ziprecruiter and apartments.com just one time more. and still they give you that demeaning little grin and say - see, what you need is -
what you need is for your meds to stop being so fucking expensive. what you need is for the housing bubble to explode into dust. what you need is for billionaires to choke on their wealth. what you need is actual help. what you will get is more economic advice from people who are older-and-wiser.
and above you, almost in a glimmer, you can see the wedged smile of your debt getting toothier, wider.
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libraryofgage · 9 months
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Saw the Barbie movie the other day and Billie Eilish's "What Was I Made For" (click the song title to listen to it lol) hit so fuckin different good lord. Anyway, it's perfect for Steve angst with a dash of platonic Stobin and romantic Steddie fluff so ;)
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Steve is five when he learns that he was made to keep his parents together. At least, that's why his mother made him.
He learns it one night when his father is staying late at the company (before his mother started accompanying him all the time, leaving an empty house and Steve behind; Steve can confidently say his presence did, in fact, fix their relationship: it gave them something to unite against). His mother is three large glasses of red wine in, draped inelegantly on the couch and slurring her words with a glassy film covering her eyes.
"Steven, you were supposed...supposed to make him stay," she says, her fourth glass of wine dangerously close to spilling across the white rug. "An-and he's still gone! What did we do wrong?"
Despite the use of "we," Steve knows very well (even at the age of five) that his mother means "What did you do wrong?" He doesn't have an answer for her--he never will--and that seems to be just one more thing she holds against him.
Steve is seven when he learns that he was made to keep the family name strong and respected. At least, that's why his father made him.
He learns it when his father brings him to work, his stern expression and tense shoulders telling Steve to behave himself, to be seen and not heard the entire day (he did, and it worked a little too well; after falling asleep on the couch, his father had forgotten him at work, leaving him to spend the night in the locked office). His father is sitting at his desk, expensive pen in hand and phone just hung up after a tense conversation that ended with the most genuine smile Steve has ever seen from him.
"Steven, I hope you've been paying attention today," he says, placing the pen on the desk and fixing him with a suffocating gaze. "You'll be working here one day, and I expect you to make something of yourself when you do. You're to be a model man, someone I can proudly introduce to others."
When his father says proudly, Steve knows he means that he can't do that now because Steve has yet to make something of himself. Steve nods once, says a firm but not too loud, "Yes, sir," and his father goes back to work.
Steve is sixteen when he learns Nancy made him her boyfriend for...for a distraction? Because it's what was expected of her? Because she was curious? At least, that's what Nancy seems to be saying.
Honestly, Steve isn't sure she knows, either. But she definitely knows that he wasn't what she wanted, that he wasn't what she expected, that he couldn't live up to the expectations she had made for him.
Either way, he learned it over the course of their relationship, but it all hit him at the very end, when fights and names (idiot, asshole, and dick, to list a few) compounded into a breakup that left him aching, angry, empty, hurt, and desperate to know what he did wrong.
Maybe then he'd be able to save himself from making the same mistake over and over. Because it must be him, right? It must be something he's doing; if only he could figure out what that is.
Steve is seventeen when he learns that maybe he was made to be a shield. At least, that's how he understands the plan Dustin comes up with wherein he calls Steve their tank.
He learns it when they're huddled together at some point, readying to face demodogs and whatever else the Upside Down has decided to throw at them. Dustin is explaining the plan, his eyes bright as he throws around terms Steve can't recognize. "And Steve is going to be our tank," he says.
"What's a tank?" Steve asks, at least certain they don't mean the military kind of tank.
"Like a meatshield, duh," Mike tells him, the explanation short and quick and then disregarded in favor of the rest of the plan.
Maybe Steve should have felt hurt, but part of him is more excited by the fact that he could do well as a tank, a meatshield. He could, in fact, be made for that role. He's great at taking a punch, great at jumping back to his feet, great at putting himself between the kids and whatever wants to kill them.
The only way he could possibly fail at being a shield is by dying, and he doesn't plan to die just yet.
Steve is eighteen when he wonders if maybe he's made to love. At least, that's a realization he has after befriending Robin, getting tortured together, and learning he doesn't need romance to love someone. It's a realization he throws himself into wholeheartedly one day when he looks at Robin and sees her trying to drink a slushie with a Twizzler.
"I think I love you," he blurts out, unable to hold the words in and feeling bad for it when Robin subsequently chokes on Twizzler and Cherry slush.
She spits out the slushie, tosses her Twizzler into the cup, and spins around to look at Steve. "We've definitely talked about this, dingus," she says, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "You got amnesia or something?"
Steve rolls his eyes and pushes her. "Not like that. I mean, like, a friend. I love you, Robin. You mean a lot to me, and I hope we're still friends when we're 80 so we can make fun of other people in our nursing home."
Robin breaks out into a grin that she quickly suppresses. "Ugh, affection," she sneers, turning her nose up. It lasts all of three seconds before she glances at Steve from the corner of her eye and adds, "I love you, too, dingus."
Steve is nineteen when he decides that he's made for love, to give and receive and bask in its warmth. At least, that's what he decides when he's with Eddie, sprawled across his bed and listening to the mixtape he made for Steve.
They've been dancing around each other for a while up to that point: obnoxiously obvious flirtations, finding any excuse to brush against each other or share space or lean together, creating reasons to hang out with some as simple as "I'm just bored." Steve has been enjoying it; they both seem to understand what's inevitable, and they're just taking their time getting there.
And right now, listening to Eddie sing along to Metallica, Steve thinks that he wants to stop dancing around each other and dance together, instead. So, he turns onto his side, places a hand on Eddie's arm, waits until Eddie is looking at him with a bright smile and curious eyes, and says, "I was made for loving you."
Instead of the joy Steve was expecting, Eddie just looks confused. "How'd you know that was the next song?" he asks.
"What?"
"On the mix tape. I Was Made for Loving You by KISS. That's the next song," Eddie explains.
Steve blinks and frowns. He sits up, throws a leg over Eddie's hips, and settles on top of him. Eddie doesn't look surprised, since it's not the first time Steve has done this. Usually, it just means Steve wants him to pay close attention. "I didn't know it was the next song, Eds."
It takes a few moments for Eddie to fully understand what he means. And Steve gets a front-row seat to the confusion that morphs into understanding that morphs into amazement. "Oh," Eddie breathes, pushing himself up to rest on his elbows. "Could you say it again? I don't think I heard you the first time, Stevie."
Steve snorts but humors Eddie anyway. "I was made for loving you," he says, softer this time and leaning closer.
"Yeah, much clearer that time." Eddie's grin is wide and blinding before he closes the distance between them. "I was made for loving you, too, sweetheart," he whispers back, his words pressed against Steve's lips and searing into his heart.
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ranarenee · 3 months
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itspileofgoodthings · 11 months
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one of my favorite things about pride and prejudice is that in the last third of the book Elizabeth’s internal monologue about Darcy is her admitting that she’s in love with him but also putting all sorts of qualifications around that statement that kind of ...tamp down the level of emotion (the “feelings, if not as tender as Jane’s for Bingley, at least as just” line, even the whole thing about her and Darcy being well-matched objectively speaking) and as soon as she’s engaged you get the unbridled joy in the narrative about her own joy, cc: “I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh.” 
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ingravinoveritas · 3 months
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I mean...
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