Latest Posts by dwoality2123 - Page 2
Stars Like Freckles
You're like the stars, did you know? Maybe you've heard it a couple dozen times, I'm sure, with your countless freckles mirroring the stars. I'm sure that you've been compared to those balls of gases more than thrice in your lifetime and, surely, it'll happen again. As long as freckles dot your skin like constellation tattoos the sky.
You shine just as brightly as the twinkling and glinting flecks in the sky. As I stare into the calm visage of night sky, my thoughts can only circle around you. I reach out my hand as if wanting to touch the stardust.
How idiotic.
As if one can merely reach the unreachable with sheer will and desire. As if anyone is worthy enough to touch the stars...especially someone so bathed in sin as I am, so covered in the filth that I cannot even distinguish where I am underneath the grime.
I stretch my hand out and tears prick the corners of my eyes. In the patterns of the stars, I see the silhouette of you. I see your ginger hair, flowing in the wind, your cloak billowing around you like some fairy tale hero.
You turn your head and I see your dazzling grin, the corners of your lips pulled taut with the joy pouring out your pores. How easy it is for you to smile as if I never see your eyes dim and darken with insecurities and doubts and fears. How easy it is for you to smile despite baring all the scars you do.
Ironically, I will claim, with all my arrogance and pride, that I know you better than those flocking to you. Maybe in another life I can be by your side as well. In another life, I can tell you that I see you and you see me. In another life, you'll direct that smile to me without snark.
But that life is not for this universe. And I will forever be stuck in a place where I can only admire you from a far. Where I can only smile as I see your smarts at play, or when I catch the fleeting whispers of your conversations. The way you blabber on and on about things and the way you'll scold your friends and be the moral compass.
Sometimes, I will watch you and be pulled out of my paradise with reminders of what this life entails. I'll watch as you turn to me, my heart will flutter for a milisecond and my hopes will soar like eagles and my life would seem brighter, and watch the way your grin drops into a sneer and your jovial eyes will narrow with hatred and anger.
You'll sneer at me and my heart will shatter into a million pieces for the millionth time and I will put it back again as I always do, with my heart gaining another crack as it holds on in all of it's cracked and chipped and broken glory.
In another universe, you'll turn to me and smile wider. My heart will flutter. Maybe I'll stutter. But you'll be happier.
In this universe, I can only stargaze.
—
WILDEST DREAM
Say you'll remember me.
Say you'll see me again,even if it's just in your wildest dream.
"Some people start dying before they learn to start living."
I think "The Console" episode from The Amazing World of Gumball is my favourite solely because of how cool it is. And the boss' design is fabulous
Wait for Me?
A presence appears on his vulnerable side. He doesn't turn to look nor does he tense nor let his breath get caught in his throat. “Hi,” he whispers into the tranquil quiet.
“Hi,” he hears barely.
He hums. “Would you mind if you transfer to my other side? It's hard to hear you when your words are this gentle and quiet....and, I want to see you.”
It was quiet but he felt his companion move to his right side. Still, he does not turn to look at the tuft of brown hair better, or the ever-so-slightly blemished warm skin. He merely looks on, admiring the astonishing view that the high vantage point gives him.
He sees hands fiddling, a rare sign of vulnerability that Zuko finds out of character—to give Zuko with trust he does not know he deserves. A long beat and Jet finally talks
“Did it ever mean anything?”
“It always did, for me. My heart has always been printed on my sleeve and I am not dishonest enough to be able to fake such authenticity.”
Silence.
“I did lie to you. I have lied about my name, and my character. I have lied about my scar, and about a lot else. But my feelings were as true as the sky is blue. Please, do not doubt that aspect of me.”
Yet another meaningful silence, a moment for his words to settle in Jet's mind.
“It hurt.”
“I know.” And he did. To find that your lover is part of a nation that you so passionately hate. To find that your lover's people were the cause of your misery, the slaughterers of your family and of your friends and of your village. That is a pain pill hard to swallow. “And I'm sorry.”
But, at the same time, Zuko was a child younger than Jet when it happened. And Zuko's only part in that act of sin was his ignorance and complacency. He does not say these things, for he knows he cannot handle Jet's wrath right now. His bellowing voice and his words.
“I hurt you too,” Jet mumbles almost too quietly for Zuko to pick up on, but he did. Mumbled with a cracking voice.
“You did.”
“I've hurt so many people.”
“You have.”
Jet bends over, forehead touching his hands from where they rest, clasped together, on the half wall before him. He takes a shaky breath and clenches his jaw. And then he straightens himself, moves his hands to grip the wall tightly instead, neck craned upwards and eyes blinking quickly. “What do I do?”
He turns to look at him—looks at the way his tanned skin glows warmly under the golden rays of the sun setting in the horizon, his straw-like hair that tells of a hardened life billowing with the gentle winds, and his brown eyes glinting with amber and hazel...yet dim and haunted.
Reluctance outlines his hands as his pale fingers glows almost white in contrast to the gaunt cheek to caresses. A miniscule twitch in Jet's hands doesn't go unnoticed, the clench of his fists and the frightful and hesitant gulp of saliva. Yet, despite it all—the fears and the doubts and the distrust, he leans his cheek into Zuko's awaiting palm.
Zuko looks at him with soft and fond eyes, the gold of his eyes glowing brighter than ever with the concentration of the sun in them. Jet looks at him from under his dark lashes for a miniscule moment before looking to the colorful sky.
Tentatively, Jet's calloused hands—and thin, thinner that it was before, thinner than it should have been, malnourishment highlighting the jutted bones of his knuckles—wraps itself around Zuko's, guiding it gently towards his chapped lips to press a kiss against his reddish knuckles that sends a message of a thousand unspoken words.
Jet lets his lips rest on the back of Zuko's hand, and in his humble ethereal glow, Zuko sees all the reasons his heart started fluttering for the man in front of him. Jet's eyes are closed and his hand squeezes his a bit tighter, as if he was daydreaming of a universe beyond their knowledge or maybe he was reminiscing of memories that feel out of reach—too good to be true but no less real.
And Zuko can only watch and ingrain the image into his brain for his mind to see and remember for all the days to come, to dream about in the star-filled nights, to feel when his memories slowly leave him in his old age—if he survives long enough to reach that.
But nothing can stay in the beautiful stasis for long, no matter how much he wishes it to, for time is never on their side and time will continue to take if he lets it. So he turns his hand in Jet's grip and watches him sadly open his eyes with a knowing and resigned glint. He holds Jet's chin and lifts it upward, commanding Jet to look at him.
Then he goes back to caressing Jet's cheek, letting the pads of his finger ink all of his wishes and desires on Jet's skin, hoping he is open enough for Jet to understand—and he does, if the shaky exhale was anything to go by. Zuko smiles affectionately.
“Let them learn, Jet, let them learn to forgive. And if they cannot, then you learn to let go, to move on and move forward, to heal.” He gently brushes away the fallen lash on Jet's cheek. “Heal, Jet. If not for yourself, then for anyone else. And if not for anyone else, then for yourself.”
Jet's eyes gained a teary sheen and he opened his mouth a bit then closed it with an exhale, pressing himself deeper into the soft touch of Zuko's. And he opens his mouth again to whisper, “I don't know how.”
He gazes into Jet's eyes, thoughts swirling behind the amber hue of his eyes. To say: you will figure it out, that is a promise and that is inevitable. Try and you will succeed. Open your mind and see yourself and see the world, see, Jet. Look and you're going to find what you seek. But for you to be able to move forward, you need to let go, Jet.
To tell him: you are not alone, not as much as you seem to think. And you will never be alone because I will always be there, at your beck and call. No matter what, I'll figure out a way to get to you.
Instead he says only, “you need to stop focusing on every bad thing and you need to start accepting the good things, or else you'll forever be miserable.”
“I don't deserve to…” Jet trails off.
And Zuko understands what was left unsaid. Because he's felt it so passionately, and believed in it for so long. And he knows it's not true.
“You don't need to deserve happiness, you just need to be. You've done awful things, yes, so make amends. You can't take it all back, but you can't swallow in despair forever.”
Jet looks at him, trying so hard to keep the tears at bay. He understands, just as he understood all of the messages sent in Longshot's language, all the words spelled out in Jet's eyes.
He presses a passionate kiss to Jet's other cheek and answers, “I will wait. For however long it will take you. For however long it takes you to find yourself and then find me.”
“And if I don't show up?”
He was silent, tasting words and sentences in his tongue, turning them on all sides to formulate something of an answer. “I’ll still love you.”
Jet hiccups and his breath hitch and tears fall down and he sniffles.
“But I’ll learn to move on, even though I’ll never stop loving you or learn how to. I’ll move on. And maybe we both would find someone else, but you will still be someone I have loved and I will love.”
“Even if I'm like this?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry.”
He presses a kiss to Jet's cheeks.
“I know, and I have never held it against you, but I have long since forgiven you.”
He presses their foreheads together.
“Say it and I will, Jet.”
Jet remains quiet but soon—”Wait for me, please....Zuko?”
He smiles as he feels Jet's breath against his lips.
“Okay.”
thinking about how focused and intelligent and in-control Monoma had to be to not only keep dozens of warp gates of all sizes open at the same time but ALSO remember the exact coordinates for ALL the planned combat areas to move everyone to the correct places
An Atrocity of a Piece
In the silence of the night,
With all the stars shining bright,
The silken sheets encirling my pale skin,
Fiery ginger hair was all that was to be seen.
I close my eyes to dream,
And see your bright blue eyes gleam;
Your haunting makes me frown,
The sunlight behind you like a crown.
I despise the way you beleaguer me,
Holding me in captivity;
With unrealistic fantasies,
Of what could-be's .
It makes me despise you,
The way I want it so badly to be true;
But alas, it is one of the many could-be-nots,
And I will weep in my head full of thoughts.
Thoughts, and fantasies, and imaginations,
Of us and our destinations,
Of domestic bliss
Sealed with a passionate kiss.
Yes, I despise you,
None else could be as true.
For in you, I see a fanatical future,
For you, I become a delusional creature.
Almost driven to madness like my aunt,
While you glower and frown and taunt
At all my sneers and jeers and leers,
My affections become clear to I through the years.
I can only wish that to you, it is as clear,
Yet the fact it is not shall abate my fear,
As knowing will surely be a recipe for grief,
For who, I do not know and it is a relief.
For I despise you,
And I love you.
And such is forbidden for us two,
So I can only dream of your eyes so blue.
"Draco would be a bad husband, he would be abusive"
Draco:
where is the boothill ace content
Reblog if you didn’t write My Immortal
We’re going to find the author by process of elimination.
I ship Sneglus (Severus Snape x Regulus Black). And I wonder if someone ever asked Regulus "why?". Why does he continue to chase and pine over a man whose heart was given to someone else already? And I wonder if Regulus ever answered with an "I don't know either". And if he ever said "some things are just never meant to happen or last. No matter how much we long for it to."
And I wonder if, in another universe, Severus has obsessed with the idea of Lily being his only and true love when his heart began to beat for someone else.
If things would be so much different in a universe different from the one we happened upon where Severus loved another as truly as he loved Lily and Regulus lived.
What if Draco Malfoy cast obliviate on his friends because they were willing to help Draco but he didn't want to put them at risk so he made them forget him? Or maybe he just pushed them all away.
Honestly, I imagine his friend group to be pretty big. Astoria and Daphne Greengrass, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Millicent Bulstrode. Maybe even add Lorenzo Berkshire and Mattheo. But, personally, I feel like Blaise and Draco started off with not liking each other before they became frenemies out of obligation and started to warm up to each other.
I know Sabo was a retcon and Ace's tattoo was originally just a misspelling of his name but retroactively turning it into a memorial tattoo for his brother actually hits so much harder specifically because it looks like an incorrect version of Ace's own name.
Ace's name, Ace's identity, the very essence of who Ace is, and he not only chose to physically insert Sabo's initial into that name in the first place -- thus representing just how much he viewed Sabo as a fundamental part of himself -- he then chose to cross that initial out, creating the illusion that Ace's own name was spelled wrong. It re-frames Sabo's death as a sort of amputation; that the removal of Sabo from Ace permanently mangled what was left behind into a clumsy and misshapen facsimile of itself.
There's also the fact that the crossed-out S looks like Sabo's Jolly Roger; an S with crossbones. The flag Sabo died trying to sail under. With that context, it almost turns the tattoo into a sort of skin graft; Ace marking himself with Sabo's dream, implanting it deep under his skin where he can carry it with him and keep it safe.
What if your character was an avid reader who's slowly going blind? So a character (a lover, a friend, family) who's insecure about their voice or reading out-loud ability takes it upon themselves to read to blind!character so they can still live in the stories like they used to?
1920s Baroque Works 🥂
Always wanted to do a movie poster redraw of the Great Gatsby so here they are!!
aw, i actually feel really bad for flash.
he’s in a really bad place right now, both literally (because he’s in fucking hell) and metaphorically, because he’s just been broken down and called out for his worst insecurities. he thinks he’s nothing without the symbiote. and that’s obviously not true, but in this situation, there’s really not much he can do to prove that.
ideally, flash would use this low point as a learning experience. he would mope around and cry for a bit, but then ultimately start walking on his own two feet (i swear to god pun not intended) and doing stuff on his own exclusively as flash thompson, to prove to himself that he is a person with worth, and that he’s more than capable even without the symbiote.
but he doesn’t get that luxury. in this awful situation, where he literally has to fight against the forces of hell, he has no choice but to rebond with the symbiote. he has no choice but to do something that only serves to reinforce what the priest was saying about him. that flash thompson is a worthless man who can’t do anything on his own.
just look at his face in the bottom right, he looks so sad and defeated. he doesn’t even hesitate to rebond with the symbiote. he just sticks his hand out with an empty look on his face, like he doesn’t care anymore, completely accepting every terrible thing that’s just been said about him. it really is torture.
Rewatched Saltburn and I'm obsessed with Farleigh and Oliver's tutoring scene. The essay specifically. For those who don't remember: Oliver did his homework and all his assignments and genuinely gave a well thought out essay for their summer assignments. Farleigh shows up hungover and late and didn't even read the books. But the teacher immediately loves Farleigh and is chatting him up with an interest he barely tried to show Oliver. Even after Oliver gives his presentation and shows that he's clearly a much better student than Farleigh. Obviously this is the real start of their rivalry. But it's also such a beautiful look into their characters and how they mirror eachother. Farleigh understands Oliver's essay, I believe. But like the teacher he's bored by it. The knowledge and work is there, but the presentation of it is boring and strange. Academic and correct, but lacking the appeal to the audience. (Which, can we talk about the fact Farleigh was genuinely listening at all? The teacher zoned out and switched channels, but Farleigh was interested and paying enough attention to know the exact number of times Oliver used the word "thus" in his essay. They respect each other truly even if they despise eachother at this point, and refuse to acknowledge the grudging respect.) So Farleigh does what he does best, he gloats over Oliver. He picks apart the style of the essay and it's presentation rather than addressing the central argument or topic. This delights the teacher and frustrates Oliver who is like, "so you're going to critique the style of my essay rather than it's substance? Seems a bit lazy" and that's the core component of these two characters.
Farleigh is ALL about presentation. He knows how fragile his pedistal is placed up and in view for everyone to see. He's a charity project, just like every other rando of the month. Sure he has some familiar connection, and that's given him a leg up in this world. But it's still shakey at best. He always has to give the correct performance, say the right words, keep his audience on HIS side. Unless he wants to get knocked down with the rest of the common rabal that he knows he's belongs with, but can't stand the idea of. So yes, of course he picks apart the one thing he knows Oliver is failing at. He takes his one advantage over Oliver and uses it mercilessly to both entertain and secure his audience on his side. (I wonder if the positions had been different some how, if Farleigh would have had anything to say about the substance of the essay itself. He was paying attention to it, did he want to have a real academic conversation? Did he possibly want to try and connect to Oliver in that way? A real and non performative way with someone who's so similar to him?)
As for Oliver, obviously his character is intelligent. He does the readings. He does the research. He puts the time and effort in to *learn* in the way Farleigh never does. And it must infuriate him that his essay is so easily pushed to the side for a cheep critique that doesn't even address the central argument of his essay. Of course he would hate Farleigh from the start for that. It's such a quick negation of all that Oliver has to offer and give just because it's not wrapped up in a pretty bow. And that's just his character. The substance is there, the intelligence is there. But it's not enough. It will never be enough. Because Oliver doesn't know how to translate it to his audience in a way they'll care about. He learns and tries to mimic, but it always falls short because he just can't seem to figure out the way to blend in and present himself so seamlessly as Farleigh.
And that's why they're such perfect mirrors of each other. They're both intelligent and clever. But they've found different ways of getting what they want and proving themselves. Farleigh is the face and the presentation, Oliver is the substance and body. In another world imagine what these two could have done and been if they hadn't been pitted against each other for the same prize. And the fact Oliver definitely deliberately shoved Farleigh out at the perfect time so he wouldn't get hurt and killed? Oliver and Farleigh respect and admire the other. But their tragedy is they can never be on the same page or team because the world they're in says there is only room for one. And they'd both do anything to get that title.
I haven't abandoned this story. I just put it on the back burner for now. The story is just on a small vacation. It is currently out of office. It can't come to the phone right now. It just fell under my bed to sleep with the monsters. It never left my head. It is everywhere - except on paper.
being poor is traumatic. even if you’re not homeless or starving. never being able to get anything nice for yourself, never being able to go out to eat without feeling guilty, never being able to do anything fun that isn’t free, making you housebound in bad weather because you can’t afford to go to a cafe or a movie. it takes a toll. being poor under capitalism makes your life a waking nightmare. this post must be reblogged by everyone.
THEY KILLED HIM!?!?! THEY KILLED LAWRENCE!!! AFTER THEY MURDERED AMBER
特級呪物
Wanderer
suddenly struck with thoughts about the devastating concept of Jason Todd
because he was good. because he had a bleeding heart despite every reason not to. he loved school and was good at it. he was the first to be adopted, with little pretense of guardianship. he did everything he could to be a perfect Robin and live up to an impossible ideal. he only ever wanted Bruce and Dick to like him.
because he met Bruce in the same place and on the same day that Bruce's parents died--the single defining moment of Batman's existence. and he made Batman laugh. he hit the Dark Knight, Terror of Gotham, with a tire iron. he wasn't afraid of the man who turned fear into a weapon.
because he couldn't save his mother from herself, but he tried. because he was too good not to try and save the woman who gave him up. too good to play the Joker's game. the crowbar didn't kill him, the bomb did. he died knowing he wouldn't make it and tried anyway. he died a hero.
because other Robins have died, but none of them put an irrevocable tear in the mythos of Batman. because Jason Todd always dies, in every universe. he dies for the sins of his father. he was put to death by popular vote, sacrificed by the crowd. doomed by the narrative and doomed by the audience. the boy who only ever tried to prove he was good enough--wasn't good enough.
because he has every reason to be angry. because he didn't ask to be murdered, didn't ask to be brought back, and when he did everyone acted like he was better off dead. Bruce tried to kill him and nearly succeeded. he's blamed for his own death and blamed for his resurrection. he can never come home because the house is haunted by his own ghost.
because he's been the hero, the victim, and the villain. because his family and his writers and his universe don't know what to make of him. they don't know how to look his tragedy in the eye. and how can you?
it hurts to look at the hero who cannot be good enough, the victim who will only ever be angry, the villain who can sometimes be right. the audience hates to feel complicit and, in this exceptional case, they are.
Something dark clings to me—has always lived in me. You brought it to light, Jhin.
No thoughts, just Death Eater Draco. 🫠
My therapist just told me my problem is that I need to write more fanfiction.