ENDLESS PORTRAITS ◟ ⋆  › the white rabbit & alice.

ft. @zorkaya / zarina as alice <3 & artist.

Run boy run.

gotta say. I fucking love it when shows bring back songs that are SO OLD I love love love it

the thought of bea bargaining with god for ava’s life makes me implode on myself

dazai writing beast drunk, sobbing and singing along to running up that hill blasting at 150 decibels

24 for the meme :)

Kate Bush, Running up that hill (a deal with god)

Alex's 5k PB is 17.44 but he's running through syrup today, legs slow and heavy, heart gasping absurdly, flopping about in his chest. He's recovering from the flu but that's no excuse; he can hardly tell Helmut "Sorry mate, I let my conditioning slip but I had a little cold, so. Yeah. Definitely give me my seat back, though, I deserve it."

Patrick said to take it easy today and it's so tempting to take him seriously: with every step Alex can feel his body wanting to slow to a walk. He's not going to, though. He's going to run to the top of the long hill near his house, and then he's going to find a convenient wall and sit on it until he doesn't want to die anymore, and then he's going to run back down.

As he runs he thinks about George, with his seat at Williams he doesn't even really want. George is aching to replace Valtteri at Mercedes, it's embarrassing, really—the whole thing at Imola—George texted him afterwards, indignant that his manager was threatening to quit unless George apologised, and Alex said Yeah I think actually you were like. Kind of a dick there mate, sorry and George didn't talk to him for two days, then texted him Hey I'm free if you want to ? as if nothing had happened. George's belief in the power of sex to paper over any issue or argument is inspiring, really.

Alex imagines texting him, Hey will you give your Williams seat up to me? I think I want it more than you. George's sputtering indignant response. Responding in turn with a dick pic: Here, does this fix everything?

He's nowhere near the top of the hill. His chest is burning, his mouth filling up with the saliva that means he's going to be sick in very short order. He ignores it, and keeps running.

Whatever you do, don’t listen to Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush and think about how Buck would’ve switched places with Eddie when he was shot by the sniper IN A HEARTBEAT 🫠

"running up that hill by kate bush is the stranger things anthem" WRONG. it's the plot of fullmetal alchemist

@monstersmuses

her cheeks are stained with tears as the door opens. arms crossed over her chest, isca is evidently underdressed for the weather, as though she'd left in a hurry. she bites her bottom lip, tries to look like she has it together but a soft sob escapes her lips. "i'm sorry, i had--- i didn't have anywhere else to go."

Porsche crawling to the bed…. Shifting into the kinnporsche universe to kill Kinn and take his place

❛❛ AND IF YOU GO CHASING RABBITS, you know you're going to fall ...

PLSS THE CUTE ASS ART @londonfallen COMM'D FOR ME AS A GIFT EKRJHNM THE CORE FOUR.... / artist.

Conversation between King Cedric Tyrell of the Reach, and Lord Omer Florent, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard: The Ghosts that Remain. / @omerflorent

setting: the king of the reach is seen walking through the corridors towards the chambers of the lord commander. there he waits for the guards to enter, announcing his presence before walking in. the atmosphere seems as though something is rushed and tense - he clutches something leather in his hands.

and when the king finally cried, it were as though he would not stop. cedric tyrell's cries were quiet, as though he were suffocating - his shoulders heaved as though his soul tried to leave his body. as though his chest would burst, and the walls of highgarden itself would collapse, and the kingdom with it.

ooc: cedric finally asks one of his florent cousins to translate the brightwater tongue found within his mother’s diary. the consequences reveal what he always feared.

cedric: “leave us.” and his tone is on edge, as though he needed to do this now. lest he find himself wishing to never know the truth. “i need you to read something for me.”

omer: and the lord commander looked up as the king came in to further clear the room. rising from his seat he placed his hand on his king's shoulder and led him to the small solar where lucrezia wasn't in the bath. “what is it?” and he takes the book, opening it up, fingers moving over the fine writing. the familiar language. “what is this, cedric?”

cedric: and in his movement and actions, he barely considers the reasons why omer would have directed him to the solar. his feet seemed to move, but cedric recognised nothing about his surroundings, only fixing a look on omer's striking blue hues. they haunted him. as though they were not etched upon his face too. was he cursed by the gods to have his mothers eyes, as a reminder of his failure of her? “my mother’s. she drafted a letter before sending it, to her cunt brother. your cunt father. translate this.” and he pointed directly at words that were in the brightwater tongue.

(my lord brother of brightwater, i implore you to reconsider your rejection of wardship for your nephew. cedric is sharp in his wit and sharper still with his tongue, and has been raised as a son of brightwater in his own way. i wish for him to be safe within this world, especially now more than ever. there is none other i would trust with looking over my son but you, my gracious lord. the concern and insult for oldtown’s ambitions continuing beyond this war are shared; in this, i assure you, highgarden and brightwater remain the most steadfast of allies. no son of brightwater would be sent to ward with oldtown; as you have always taught me. concerns are, very high. a constant priority. a constant thought. tá amanna is cosúil m'fhear céile as a meabhair. tá amanna ann is dóigh liom go ndéanfaidh sé dochar dom. i wish for my son to see a piece of what it means to have florent blood, my lord - and if this were possible, you would have my utmost and undeniable gratitude. perhaps my lord can consider the strengths of having a tyrell ward; it will give your own noble and virtuous son another to depend on. má tharlaíonn aon rud dom, le do thoil a ghlacadh mo mhac. please tell my nephew his aunt thinks of him. i have tried to send him some correspondence, however believe to have yet gotten a response; perhaps it is not getting through for i do not know where to reach him. guím ort, a thiarna. deartháir mór. yours, lady eloise of highgaren. do dheirfiúr beag.)

omer: and he reads it, he reads it several times. he doesn't look up at his king as he makes sure he is reading what's before him. he's never seen this letter among what he searched from his father's possessions. “sometimes...my husband seems mad. there are times i think he will hurt me. i pray to you, my lord. big brother. your little sister.” and he reads it again to himself, he knew cedric didn't know the old tongue... even the simple parts...must have looked like gibberish.

cedric: and for a moment, there is no reaction at all. he watches the fox of brightwater reread the words again, and then again, almost as though he needed to be sure of what he was reading. and for a moment, cedric himself felt as though he were preparing to hear an abomination. he felt as though he needed to clutch the soil before feeling the world shake and end beneath him. “...she wanted the families to be closer.” and he goes silent again. he remembers the way eloise tyrell would speak of brightwater, speak of the pipes and the flutes, even would show him a style of dance in which his young mind thought her feet would break for the way they danced against the wood beneath the soles of her feet. “take my son.” and there was a slight laugh that came from his lips, but it was not his usual chuckle. it sounded as though he were laughing at the gods. at his life.

omer: and he says nothing, it's not appropriate. he stands there looking at the other. watching his cousin. they son of the pearl they called him. upon his birth they played the horns and pipes for him. omer was 3, his mother just died and his father wouldn't parade but he remembered the way the folk cheered for him.  omer; and his chuckle causes a crack across the surface of his demeanor, his heart. his brother stands there, his king, and there's nothing he can do to make him feel better. words were wind and did little to mend the broken.

cedric: “she said she didn't think our mother would have done this to herself. in the maze. before you found us.” and slowly, then suddenly, it were as though he had been bounced into action. his pace seemed to have him dart, like a fox, from the side of omer and suddenly he were beside the crackling fireplace in one of the small solars in the lord commander's chambers. “before he ordered an arrow to her neck.” and he looked directly at omer, his hand moving to each of the diary pages, his rips violent. page by page, the sound of it loud, for cedric did not raise his own voice. “on her wedding day. our sister, on her wedding day.” and the pages were being crumpled into a fist, before being thrown into the fire. he did not wait for them to crumple before throwing more, a sudden burst of movement coming in him throwing the entire leather bound into the fireplace. it needed feeding. and the rage in which he threw it with almost caused embers to end up on the rug. “helena was right.”

omer: and the sudden movements of the other don't startle him as he watches, gazes over him. he started moving toward him as he ripped at the pages and asked the question. as he repeated the words of helena, the sweet girl stolen from them. ;and while it sounds the other knows his sister was right, omer didn't need to tell cedric she was right because they read the words. the lord commander spoke them out loud. and when he was in front of the other, he could only think about those nights he spent alone after the north and the nights he wished for something more than what he had. and he couldn't let his little cousin. his little brother live a life with nothing. and so he pulled the man into his arms, holding him close. tight so the other couldn't escape from the hug.

cedric: and there was no reaction as the lord commander moved closer to him, and for a moment he began to feel as though the walls of this cursed solar were caving in on them. and it were as though every instinct within him seemed to scream at the seven heavens and hells alike at the mere touch of omer florent, his reaction being to try and push him off. “goldengrove...i was in GOLDENGROVE, with....”  and his voice suddenly booms, and there is no sadness in it. only loss. he was in goldengrove with his dead best friend upon the news that both lord and lady tyrell had seemingly died, only none had told him of how twisted it was until he was home to view the shrouds themselves. and he ignored it, for he knew how poisoned ivy seemed to spread within his family home. “poisoned her...his wife.”  and the entire time he is shouting, he cares not for who overhears him, servants or whoever else were in these chambers. and how much better was he? had he too not killed the woman he had taken as wife?  and his tone changed from angry, to a sense of desperation; desperation in trying to figure out what it was he was doing here. what was he supposed to do with this information?

cedric: and despite asking him to get off him, he clung to the lord commander; he clung to the cousin who should have been in his life so much sooner. his mother wanted them together.  and when the king finally cried, it were as though he would not stop. cedric tyrell's cries were quiet, as though he were suffocating - his shoulders heaved as though his soul tried to leave his body. as though his chest would burst, and the walls of highgarden itself would collapse, and the kingdom with it. and he stayed that way, silently begging for forgiveness. not from any of the gods people fell on their knees for. he prayed the pearl of brightwater would have forgiven him in her last moments. forgiven him now, wherever she was.

super late funky tag drops (part 2)

𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐒 : LOOKING THROUGH A WINDOW AT HUMANITY. WE CAN BE LONELY TOGETHER / DAZAI & SIGMA

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄 : BETWEEN TWO LUNGS IT WAS RELEASED. THE BREATH PASSED FROM YOU TO ME / DAZAI & RANPO

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄 : SHOVE YOUR KISS STRAIGHT THROUGH MY CHEST / DAZAI & NIKOLAI

𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐍𝐒𝐒 : IF I ONLY COULD MAKE A DEAL WITH GOD AND GET HIM TO SWAP OUR PLACES / DAZAI & ODA

God I miss Ryan Dunn.

Sorry for being a poser guys I’ve listened to very little Kate Bush in my life but I’m obsessed with running up that hill rn ever since people started playing it everywhere bc of stranger things