okay but the crew stops at a planet for a diplomatic mission, but as they step off of the ship, it immediately starts to pour.
The inhabitants of the planet come running out - the rains a sign of good luck and fortune in their culture - and greet them enthusiastically. Lance tries to remember he’s a paladin. Tries to remember he has a job to do. tries to remember he has a reputation to uphold. Tries to remember that one wrong move could ruin this whole meeting.
But he can’t hold it in.
He drops to his knees in the rain, quiet sobs wracking his body as his eyes squeeze shut. Everyone around him backs up, creating their own circle far away from him, thinking that he’s happy to see the rains again. That he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after so long.
But they’re wrong.
All he can think about is his family. Sitting out on the porch with his grandmother, listening to the soft pitter-pattering of the rain while she knits or sews. Playing out in the puddles with his littlest sisters teaching them how to jump to make the biggest splash. Talking with his dad, listening to him hope that the rain doesn’t wash away the new coat of paint he just put on the house. Cooking with his mom, sharing in her hope that his siblings get home safe and sound.
But he doesn’t have that anymore.
They’re on earth. He’s on some strange planet. They’re going to school. He’s learning as he goes. They’re eating real meals. He’s eating goo. They’re together, happy. He’s alone, pretending everything’s okay. They’re living their lives, probably thinking he’s dead. Half the time he’s wishing he was.
But he has a job.
There are people who count on him. a universe that counts on him. He can’t exactly just leave them behind because the rain brings unwanted memories. No. he has to suck it up and push through.
But a hand finds it’s way to his back.
Lance doesn’t dare look up, not trusting his eyes to not allow tears to spill over, nor his ability to put on a smile and make a joke about how much of a baby he’s being. He stays still, focusing on the hand rubbing circles on his back. It’s probably Hunk. He always knows when Lance needs him, no matter how neutral his face is, or how convincing his laughter rings out.
But it’s not him.
“Take as much time as you need,” says a voice he’s become all too familiar with. A voice he’s fought with time and time again. A voice he’s dreamed about for months on end. A voice he’s longed to wake up to. A voice he’s told himself he hates just to be able to deal with the fact that its owner hates him.
But maybe he doesn’t.
Keith stays, eventually kneeling next to Lance. His hand never leaves his back. Not when Lance stops crying, nor when Lance leans onto him, eyes drooping, face void of any emotion. He stays. And Lance will hold onto that for as long as he can.
Someone recently asked me to compare two Van Gogh pieces - I’ll start a tag for this because I like the idea - here’s the first set:
Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette, 1886. Self-Portrait with Pipe, 1886.
These two pieces are from what I consider to be Van Gogh’s “first awakening” period. In 1885-1886 he finally released himself from the drab green-grey-brown Dutch palette, and started to branch-out more in to Impressionistic and even what we could consider (at least here) to be Gothic influence.
This period symbolizes his beginning steps toward becomingthe most masterful colorist of all-time, the father of expressionism, and a pioneer for bringing sacrifice, individuality and emotion in to his work.
Both of these are in fact Self-Portraits, although the first is more of an allusion or a joke of sorts - with this juxtaposition it’s easy to see that Vincent used himself as a model. The smoking in each piece likely serves a dual, and balanced purpose, first, it represents the creative fire within (life), and at the same time, it represents a certain understanding of, and resolve with death.
“Julie, she’s so good with people… not all directors are good with people, they just have a vision they want to procede. But Julie really tries to get to know us and then she tries to use techniques to get us to the place where she wants us to be (…) and then I can do the clip…truthfully. So… really big ups to Julie because she has done it all, she has made the show, she writes and directs…she’s like the brain behind it all. And I think all actors involved is doing it because of her.”
My God. There is so much stuff out there, so many filler and substandard and just for now stories, that you mostly forget what a real masterpiece is like until you walk straight into one and BAM, it shakes your very soul out of your fucking ears. Guys, I may have more coherent thoughts on this later on, but for now - just go and see Blade Runner 2049. It deserves to be seen, and it deserves to be seen in a real theater, because everything about it is plain perfect, including those elements that work so well on a larger-than-life screen - sound and light and photography and Jesus Christ, I only now realize how much I’d missed this: storytelling grabbing at what makes us human and leaving us amazed and shocked and scared shitless and, most of all, holding on for dear life. Wow. All the stars and all the kudos to everyone involved.
🖌Part 18 of Anything Au
Jimin and Jungkook are both solo artists. The public knows that they were both pining for each other and then suddenly Jungkook is dating a female idol when the rumors grew a little too big for his company’s liking.Needless to say Jimin isn’t happy about it and their fans know it
JUNGKOOKS MIDDLE NAME IS PETTY AND BITTER TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK THANKS
you know that phrase that goes something like “absence makes the heart idealize people and remember them to be better than they actually were.” it’s literally the exact opposite for me. people’s absence causes me to reminisce over every bad thing that they ever did until I decide that I’d be completely fine with never talking to them again in my life
I find myself wondering a lot where it stops with the wizarding world borrowing muggle technology ??? when did they decide that this specific amount of muggle technology is good. but to hell with the rest!!! bathtubs, plumbing, sinks, clocks, sure. cars???? oh man what the HECK is a car??? dear lord??? also pens????? pencils???? never heard of them. who decides what is acceptable and what’s not?? is there a council?? who decided that trains were ok but cars were Taboo???
“See?” said Damian. “I told you I heard footsteps. He didn’t go to sleep.” Which was impressive enough, honestly, given the amount of pain medication that Jason had literally seen Tim take— he should have been out for hours. But what was even more impressive was the mess he’d made of his room. Tim’s walls were papered with pictures and notes. There was barely any blank wall left, but extra pages were still spilling out of Tim’s printer. He’d run a spool of yarn through a set of thumbtacks, movie style, until it crisscrossed around the entire space in a spiderweb of connections— Jason had to duck underneath it to fit inside the door. Tim was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paper and rolls of tape. He didn’t seem to notice either one of them until Jason tapped on his corner. “Hey. Everything okay in here?” “Shut up,” Tim told him. “I’m working.” “Oh, that’s what this is,” said Jason, gesturing to the walls, “Work. You sure about that?” “Obviously.” Tim pulled a sheet of text from one of his piles and moved over to the wall, searching for a place to hang it. He settled on an empty bit of space and tacked it on— Jason was pretty sure he was leaving tiny holes in the paint. Alfred wouldn’t be happy. “I’m making a network.” Jason pointed to the center of the mess. “This is a picture of a slice of pizza.” “I was hungry.” “It’s connected to a drawing of me.” At least, Jason assumed it was a drawing of him— in reality it was a stick figure wearing an oversized red helmet, complete with tiny guns and “pew pew” written out beneath it, but Jason was willing to be generous. “I was asking you to bring me pizza.” Tim said, like it was obvious, and he looked around his room like he was hoping Jason had actually brought him one. “Oh, okay. So instead of texting me like a normal person…” Jason trailed off, waving a hand in Tim’s direction— Tim frowned at him for a few seconds, clearly concentrating, before he sighed and walked back to his desk. “You’re right. I can do that now, if I can find my phone. Where did I put my—” He started digging through his piles of notes, knocking stacks of them off the desk. After twenty seconds of silence, Damian tapped out a text on his own phone and followed the tone to Tim’s mini-fridge. He pulled open the door: an alarming selection of Red Bull products and Tim’s cell phone, laying across the shelf. He passed it over to Jason with his text still on the screen (Just when I thought you could sink no lower). “I can’t believe he’s the one that survived,” Jason told him. He was pretty sure it violated natural law. “This is embarrassing. Hey, Tim? You don’t have to text me. I’m standing right here.” Tim was busy straightening out his yarn, so he didn’t answer. “Just out of curiosity, how many of these things do you drink every day?” Jason pulled an empty can from the carpet and tossed it at Tim— it bounced off his chest and fell back to the ground. “More than one?” “One. Five. I don’t know.” “You skipped a couple of numbers there.” “Hm.” Tim dropped his voice into an imitation of a GPS. “Recalculating.” “Oh my god.” Really, Bruce? Jason thought. You replaced me with this? Whatever. Didn’t matter. “Pass me the post-it notes.” “Fine.” Jason grabbed the stack off Tim’s desk, read the top, and handed them over. “What is ‘Theseus’ supposed to mean?” “The Court of Owls has a labyrinth beneath the city.” “Why didn’t you just write that?” “Because it’s a code.” Tim stuck his post-it to the corner of the pizza slice and wandered back towards his desk. “I don’t want Damian to read my stuff.” “Okay, Damian is also standing right here.” Jason pointed behind him. “See? Try to focus. I really don’t think you want to start a fight right now.” Damian didn’t look mad— more amused than anything— but who knew how long that would last? Jason was surprised Tim could walk at this point. He definitely couldn’t defend himself. “Damian?” Tim asked. He looked shocked, like he really hadn’t seen Damian before Jason pointed him out. “Yes?” “You’re alive?” “Yes.” Damian raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction. “Really, Drake, try to— No. Drake no do NOT—” He tried to duck away, but he was too late; Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug. For the first few seconds, Damian stood frozen in shock— mouth open, arms at his sides— and Jason was frozen too. Then he remembered that he was still holding Tim’s phone, so he snapped a picture and ran, out the door and down the hall, as fast as he could. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard a thud behind him (presumably Tim hitting the floor) and Damian’s steps on the landing. “TODD!” But really, with that kind of lead, there was no way he could catch up.
for the anon that requested another round of Tim (very high) on pain meds