Three Goblin Art
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Not today Justin
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor
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AnasAbdin
izzy's playlists!
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pixel skylines
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
i don't do bad sauce passes
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Kaledo Art
DEAR READER
Cosimo Galluzzi
roma★
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@scriose
‘ is that a... fixed... expression? ’ he isn’t playing --- he really doesn’t know what’s inspired such a look from summer. does he owe an apology for something? has he made a fool of himself and failed to notice? ‘ growing concerned. i’ll be honest. ’
@multiplist!
presses a kiss to his boy’s temple. you know who.
chris is more a man of action than speech, so in lieu of a ‘thank you,’ a ‘hello you,’ or a ‘christ, i like you,’ he leans into it. smiles with a closed mouth, finds hopper’s cheek with his palm, and lives in the warmth as long as it’ll last.
‘ miss me, eh? ’
shit. blame @multiplist
Fuck the small talk. Let’s buy some guns, eh?
Free Fire (2016) Dir. Ben Wheatley
warmst.
‘ my only crime was that i was down to clown. ’
he doesn’t know what the fuck that means, but --- ‘ that can’t have been it. ’
they’re riding the high that only jobs-well-done can provide: adrenaline still pumping and enough amplified mutual respect to drive the conversation. reagan and chris’ chairs needn’t be so close now they’ve mostly gotten work-talk out of their systems, but he finds he doesn’t mind the way they bump knees every once in a while.
and it means that he can steal bites of her appetizer even under the weight of a disapproving stare.
‘ --- nuh. ’ he jerks his hand away, fork suddenly beyond her reach. ‘ i earned this. ’
@tireburnt.
smellyourintention.
“by birth americans,” they amend, giving a tiny shrug as they do. “i live here too. sort of. i live here currently.”
lacking the interest he needs to do so with grace, he’s slow to proceed. his eyebrow quirks of its own accord. ‘ we all ‘live here currently,’ don’t we? is that not how it’s, eh... defined? ’
rekant.
The dog is interested, Jack is not. She attempts to pull him away from Chris, but the dog’s stronger than she is, and is set on getting a pat. That’d be right. Jack makes a mental note not to give it a treat for a week, for committing the terrible crime of forcing her into a social situation. Without looking him in the eyes, she gives permission to pat the dog, who eagerly awaits. ‘ Go ahead. ’
chris doesn’t have to hear a word to understand the predicament fully; he’s been here, jerked out of his comfort zone and into a chat, by pets and children and friends alike. he will admit he’s grateful for a barrier, and particularly one canine, as he gives him a hearty scratch behind the ears. ‘ got a name? ’
mediaeyed.
“you’re right. also it’s a rat king. a bunch of rats are frozen and dead and tied together by their tails now. probably because of poop.”
“do you wanna see.”
‘ --- no. ’ but he sits and waits to be shown.
|REACTION MEME| Bruised and Broken Version
“Woah, when did you get that?”
“Who did this to you?”
“How many time have I told you to be more careful?”
“You’re saying this was an accident?”
“What a shiner!”
“If you look like this, I’d hate to see the other guy.”
“I’m not buying it, you don’t walk into a door and get a bruise like that!”
“Does it hurt when I touch it?”
“Let me kiss it better.”
“If you don’t rest, you won’t heal.”
“Another fight?”
“What happened to your face?”
“I don’t think your arm is meant to bend like that…”
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“Why are you so calm about this?”
“You’re bleeding!”
“What are friends for, ey?”
“So, instead of helping you, they ran off the moment they saw what was happening?”
“You need to look where you’re going.”
“I’m not accusing anyone, I’m just saying it looks suspicious.”
“Do you want to tell me what really happened?”
“Don’t move! You’ll faint!”
“I’ve got some bandages, wait a sec.”
“You’re the clumsiest person I know.”
“I won’t let you be on your own, not when you’re like this.”
“How could you be so careless?”
“I can’t even look at you, you promised not to get into any more fights!”
“H-how many of them were there?”
smellyourintention.
“oi! irish man! solidarity!”
“we have to stand together against the americans.”
‘ --- i live here. ’ he’s not sure how to respond, given the off-putting difference in energy levels between them. ‘ i am an american by definition. ’
i swear to god, you’re a waste of fucking skin. (from llewyn)
free fire.
he takes it in stride, as he does; as he’s learned to do over the years and through the abuse. you don’t pick up a skill as unforgiving as sharpshooting and expect to be treated with respect at every any turn. although it’s primarily been from the mouths of individuals he’s had designs on killing, chris has heard far worse.
llewyn gets a quirked brow and a slow reply. smoking takes precedence.
‘ bit harsh, ’ he drawls. ‘ don’t you think, lou? ’
polymths.
a small look of disagreement ; soft but doubtful, “ there’s more of a need than you’d think. not a lot of people like a clever girl, think that i’m being a smart arse or something. “ she shrugs and looks to her fingers, picking at the skin around her thumbnail, chewing her lip as she contemplates this, “ plus latin is for losers. sorry to subject you to it. “
a less inhibited man might scoff or laugh or recoil with exaggerated disgust, while chris simply sets his shoulders and knits his brow. ‘ that’s utter shite-talk. you should be taking pride, girl. ’
if you’re ever having a hard time imagining chris’ accent (or delivery, or volume; or beard, or graying hair), you oughta give this a watch. i mean, it’s worth watching no matter what, but i wanted to make sure folks know it’s character-relevant! thanks for coming to my ted (hughes) talk
deepwcb.
❛ Why did I just count twelve AR-15s in our basement? ❜ she wasn’t aware he was doing business WITHOUT her! @scriose sc
despite his being in the business of lying, chris never fails to falter when the trust of a loved one is on the line. he’d feel dirty otherwise, so he offers yulya the truth. ‘ they’ll be gone by the weekend. it’s all cut and dried. ’
unend.
@scriose gets a boyfriend.
jane is with mike and the rest of their — what did they call it? the company? the company. jesus. anyway. that’s where she is for the night. chris and hopper are huddled up nearly knee-to-knee, asses set firm on the low, brick wall serving as their impromptu bench. everyone around is bundled up in thick jackets to ward off the winter chill, hawkins’ the two of them included.
conversation is hushed. there’s a countdown. an uproarious applause.
someone is singing auld lang syne off-key as hopper tugs chris in for a kiss.
chris can’t imagine having ever been anything but embarrassingly weak in the knees for jim hopper. tucked away in the back of his mind, sure, he knows that there was a time when they weren’t attached at the hip, but christ --- what was he doing every other new year’s? this already feels like ages-old tradition.
it might be the self-reflection or happy stomach swooping that delays him in realizing they’ve kissed for a crowd. hey. hop’s done it. he’s happy. why waste time fretting?
‘ we made it, ’ he mumbles, smiling off-kilter and speaking like it means a great deal less than it does. ‘ happy new year. ’
BUT I FEEL AS IF I’VE DONE THIS ALL BEFORE. © / by meaghan.
