if someone ever tries to tell you that a story couldn’t have been any better than it was because ‘you can’t possibly balance four independent character arcs, each involving their own secondary character, while intertwining the plots of those arcs into the overall plot which effects all of them and have enough well-paced time for each arc to have an enjoyable inciting incident, a profound emotional middle, and a fulfilling ending’ then punch them in the face and tell them they are WRONG because Guardians of the Galaxy 2 did in in 2 and a half hours
things that are beautiful:
• brown eyes
• dark brown eyes
• light brown eyes
• brown eyes with a lil bit of a different color mixed in
• brown eyes that are the same shade throughout
• eyes that change to different shades of brown
• brown eyes so dark they blend with the pupil how COOL is THAT
• when the sun shines on brown eyes in that certain way so they kinda glow
• brown eyes the same shade as the person’s hair and/or glasses
• brown eyes
• eyes that are brown
• BROWN EYES
Part two of my trc/tfc crossover extravaganza as requested by about 16 humans, this is going to be a trio, so wait for chapter 3 buddds
There’s a knock on the door two seconds before Ronan slits through the doorway shoulder first. Adam feels like the contents of a cardboard box, sliced and opened.
“I fucking hate this,” Ronan says, his whole presence bunched at the entrance, coiled. “Why do I feel like they have more secrets than we do?”
Adam shuffles his feet so he’s contained to one cushion, and Ronan sits down instantly, close enough that his waves eat Adam’s ripples.
“You wanted this.”
“I wanted to play exy.”
“You wanted all of us with you,” Adam adds. “You wanted to not be the most difficult person on a team. You wanted college to be easy and the games to be hard.”
Ronan looks at him closely, then kicks backward onto the couch, head on the far armrest, legs pushing at Adam’s so that they have to occupy some of the same space.
“I don’t need another gang of thugs to tell me what I have to be.”
“Kavinsky’s crew was—“
“I’m not talking about him,” Ronan says viciously. Adam eyes him, then looks at their legs, at Ronan’s hand, lax near his thigh.
“I think,” Adam says slowly, “that it’s too soon to tell.”
Ronan’s eyes are slitted blue when Adam looks down, peering past his own knees to meet his gaze.
“Yeah okay, diplomat. Tell me what you really think.”
Adam rolls his head back, flexing his hands to hear them crack, thinking of the way Neil and Andrew paired off and put their heads together, dark and light, speaking with gestures first, silences second, words last.
“I think that we’re trying to put two plugs together, and we don’t have any sockets.”
“Pretty,” Ronan snarks. Adam ignores him.
“They don’t trust us.”
“I don’t trust them,” Ronan replies easily, and takes Adam’s hand so he’ll stop cracking and wringing.
“I don’t think any of us would qualify for the foxes if we were—“
“Easy to understand,” Adam continues. “I’ve watched the tapes, Ronan. They’re still fractured at the best of times.”
“We’re stronger,” Ronan says quietly, playing with Adam’s fingers.
“We’re good together,” Adam agrees, and Ronan pulls him down on top of him. Adam falls, and enjoys the falling quite a lot, the way Ronan’s mouth changes when he’s close. “We haven’t always been.”
“That’s Gansey’s fault. He doesn’t know how to introduce people.”
“Meanwhile you made a great case for yourself,” Adam says sarcastically, grinning when Ronan does. “So personable.”
“Hey,” Ronan says, cupping Adam’s face with both hands and squeezing. “You wanna go see what we can do on this shit campus?”
“I want to get ahead on my readings, actually. My grades have to be better than my status, because PSU has zero prestige.”
Ronan rolls him into the back of the couch and kisses him fast, rubs a thumb over the sting on Adam’s lips. “No, you want to break into the court.”
“We have the keys.”
“You want to legally enter the court,” Ronan amends, pinching Adam’s side so that his ribcage cants up.
“Yeah,” Adam says after a moment. He thinks about the burnished wood of the court and the killing heft of a racquet. He pictures Ronan and Gansey next to him, crowing victory, the sweat and rush and pitch of the finite game, the deadline he can see and count on. Exy decks him and he hits back.
“Good,” Ronan says. “I want to put a dent in their fucking foxhole.”
The lights are on when they get to the court at midnight, and Ronan lets the door fall closed hard behind them. There’s no movement, just miles of clean hallway and the hollow, lived-in feeling of a place that should be full.
They exchange looks, and walk steadily towards the heart of the building. They gear up quickly in the chill of the changing rooms, laughing at each other in their fiery oranges. Ronan musses the bandana from Adam’s hair.
They poke their way towards the court, and when they’re close enough, the screech and hammer of activity haunts the hallway.
“My bet’s on Day. He looks like he doesn’t sleep,” Ronan says, kicking the door open and catching it before it can swing back.
“That’s a pretty ironic insult, coming from you,” Adam says pointedly, and Ronan grumbles something about involuntary insomnia, but they’re already spilling out into the central court.
He regrets making it this far. He feels so blatantly redundant, a meal that’s mistakenly been delivered to a table of people who’ve already eaten.
Y’ALL… ARE WEAK FOR SMOLDERING SMIRKS AND FLIRTY LOOKS HUH AND I LOVE TO DRAW THOSE THE MOST
ALRIGHT FAIR POINT… The Announcer pretty much would enjoy dinner and drink offers. If you can catch him with some free time or off-shift in the first place. The Casino’s surveillance ain’t gonna run by itself, ya’know.
and @gunfireandagility thank you very much! I’m flattered you love his design, and I like how you think, bc buy that man some drinks and talk to him first!!!
I don’t care about transphobes dying, idc about racists dying, I don’t care about homophobes dying, I don’t give a single shit if Nazis or “white isolationist” die, rapists, pedophiles, maps!!!! good golly all of u can fucking choke I have no empathy!!!
a psychopath walks into a bar,
but all the people are made out of knives-
a psychopath walks into a bar
and all of the drinks are made out of people,
all of the knives are made of Freudian Logic,
all of the opinions are taps on the counter
pouring out unwanted thoughts and
the psychopath isn’t really crazy,
there is just a lost of noise
and every glance from unknown eyes
hurts like a slice to skin,
skin skin skin
there is so much of it, too much of it
buttcracks on barstools
and cleavage on counters
and all those sharp eyes,
those people who are standing
in the butcher’s block
not knowing that they are going to be used
a psychopath walks into a bar
and she is the sharpest in the room,
every person a weapon to be used
if she can get all the sound
to finally shut down and maybe
all of the drinks aren’t propositions,
the people aren’t knives and their opinions don’t hurt
when unflattering, when tapping the psychopath's ass
as she walks to the bathroom
to try and get away from everyone else’s issues
but any girl is crazy
to turn away from A Guy Like That
a girl walks out of the bar and she is the crazy one || O.L.
👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit