#a confession

[thevulturesquadron]

'She can't say it, but I can. I love you Logan. Stay with me." [X-Men '97: S1:E10 - Tolerance is Extinction Part 3] - This scene ripped my heart out of my chest.

[loaconfessions]

You know I really don’t think we give the crew enough credit for their vocal range.

like the same person who plays Marius Renathyr plays Torbek (Andy)

the same person who plays Barnabos the dread plays Chuckles the clown (Mikey)

the same person who plays Yorgrim plays Tishen (Mace)

the same person who plays Kremy also plays Grumley the pug (Richie)

the same person who plays Victoria also plays Ferryn (Kelsey)

and no one can forget the same person who plays Queenie plays Iris (Nikki)

I could go on about DMs and their NPCs as well but that’s its own talk (I haven’t seen all the campaigns yet so forgive me if I missed anyone else)

.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

A Confession (TV Mini Series 2019) S1.E1 'Episode 1' (2019) - David Nellist

David has that sweet and innocent looking face that makes me feel a little bad that want to put my dick in his mouth and fuck his ass.

Kinda. Also, I might be developing a boner for Martin Freeman.

On A Side Note: John Thomson, Martyn Ellis, Ian Puleston-Davies, Peter Wight, and Imelda Staunton can all get courtesy dick.

Why Imelda Staunton you ask? My thing for Dolores Umbridge and Jim Carter has been in that.

[sunshinevettel]

Chris Coghill as Alan in A Confession.

[inkcoveredpoet]

Mood board for Ranger :(

All images are from Pinterest and the character/ listener character ‘Ranger’ is from ‘Castle Audios’ on YouTube!

[pizzatowerconfessions]

I confess that I sbbwb ahhdgdhhshs eknenwnw fkfjenndbdbfb wknwnaloa ansbbwbqbabhahahgdgsgwgeeww oouhrhghe

So sad anon walked straight into an electrical fence while writing this...

[miseryofanangel]

The last day – F.D Jarvis

11:51 AM.

The clock confesses it aloud.

The minute presses its thumb into my chest.

Light leaks through the blinds like it regrets arriving,

and the walls hold their breath

as if they already know.

I wake inside a sanctuary of quiet,

my heart reciting names it no longer answers to.

Your absence sits beside me, patient,

like a guest who has overstayed

and learned the layout of my ribs.

I make coffee I barely taste.

I pass mirrors that refuse to argue with me.

Every object feels ceremonial.

Every movement feels rehearsed.

I take my dog out beneath colourless skies.

She pulls forward, believing in sidewalks,

believing in smells, believing in next moments.

I let her linger where she wants.

I tell her she’s a good girl

like this is something sacred.

I memorize the way her ears tilt toward hope.

I walk slower than usual.

Somewhere in another room of the world,

my gaming buddy laughs through a screen.

We talk about nothing.

Updates. Characters. Maybe later.

I carry his voice with me afterward

like a relic I didn’t know I was collecting.

I call my mother.

She asks if I’m eating.

If I’m sleeping.

If things are getting better.

I tell her yes

in the soft voice people use

when they are protecting someone else.

I tell her I love her

and let the silence afterward speak.

Everywhere I go, I practice goodbye.

The cashier wishes me a good afternoon.

A stranger nods.

A door is held open.

The world continues its ordinary devotion

to not noticing.

And you—

you are threaded through everything.

Through the way my hands hesitate.

Through the way my chest caves inward.

Through every sentence I don’t send.

I loved you without contingency.

I loved you past dignity.

I loved you like a ruin loves ivy—

slowly, helplessly, completely.

Not being chosen rearranges a person.

It teaches the bones new geometry.

It turns kindness into evidence.

It makes hope feel like a language

you used to speak fluently.

I wanted to be your home.

I wanted to be your safe.

Instead, I became the quiet chapter,

the name you stopped practicing.

So I spend this day closing doors gently.

Returning borrowed energy.

Forgiving people who never knew they wounded me.

Packing away versions of myself

that only existed to be loved.

The sky bruises itself into afternoon.

Rooms begin to echo.

My heartbreak sits beside me

like an old companion finally out of stories.

This is not disappearance.

This is release.

This is the laying down of a self

that begged to be seen.

This is the unlearning of survival.

This is the moment I stop carrying

what no longer wants to be held.

Somewhere between memory and resolve,

I choose quiet.

I let the old me close his eyes.

And if tomorrow cannot find me,

it is only because today taught me

how to become something else.