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i had a mental breakdown so my mother brought me fruit & nut chocolate because

and i fucking quote

"youre clearly a bit fruity and nutty"

MA'AM

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:)

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rb if u still support:

georgenotfound

wilbur soot

jack manifold

niki nihachu

+ literally anyone at the party

ya’ll beg and beg them to make this IRL content then get salty when they do.

(also rb if you support tommyinnit because that child gets far too much hate for absolutely no reason whatsoever)

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Feelings dump in the form of words. it’s not spell checked and was written on my phone. Also doesn’t have a title Except this is kinda a title so

(by falloutboy)

cant put this on any other social media so here you go

~ insert magic transition ~

I Dissociate for hours to forget I’m lonely

Feel like the only way to have a friend

Is just not be me

Second guess myself at every turn

The voices in my head remind me

Nobody wants you, unworthy

Too ashamed to hold my head up high

Get up go to work come home quiet

Quiet out of sight don’t be noticed

Craving attention but terrified of what that means

Im so jealous of the friendships

Of people I’ve never met

Coz they’re so much closer than I’ll ever get

Intimacy scares me but fuck I want a friend

I hold so much in my head I just wanna talk

When was the last time someone just asked for that?

I don’t want to be a burden or talk up for myself

I’d rather shut up sit down than let it all out

If only you could hear the constant screaming in my brain

Can’t remember the last time I felt content

Always itching to go out but the voice reminds

Nobody wants you there, just stay inside

Every friend I ever had wanted to take

And when I said no they were gone in a flash

Don’t call or text fuck even Facebook clout

Force myself to reach out to be left on read

Nobody wants you, why even bother

Diagnosis CPTSD and four therapists left me

Can’t hold onto a friend or even a shrink

Memory is shot when it comes to my own shit

But I remember what the square root of Pi is

Stay alone stay home don’t show your face

Pretend you’re fine with a smile and laugh

Lie about a friend to not look pathetic

Put people on a pedestal because they have what I want

Pretend I know strangers just to take the edge off

Reality is I talk to myself and honestly

The voice that replies is kind of a bitch

Few minutes of happy that’s all that I get

Until I try to sleep to the sound of silence

Problem is I start off too fake

All smiles all fine bright and happy

Try too hard for perfect then can’t show the cracks

Got it all together, you’re gonna go far kid

That’s if I survive and don’t pack it all in

This downswing is stretching me real fuckin thin

So much rage building up but swallowed back down

Stare at the screen to forget I exist

Don’t feel don’t talk don’t turn on the light

Stay down stay dark recharge the mask

Thousand things on my mind it’ll just take one blow

For me to shatter and break and never be back

Start over start fresh fuck I want a redo

Can’t pick a part of me that I even like

Why should I expect anyone else to?

Unworthy unloved unwanted undone

I’m done

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guess i should be used to disappointment by now

it’s the story of my entire life

shouldn’t get my hopes up for anything

because something always goes wrong

and i’m left feeling stupid for believing otherwise

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wounded

someone binged the Witcher on Netflix and this spilled out

i regret nothing

warnings: blood, implied relationships (past), heavy wounds, implied violence. I don’t know the lore as well as i should so if i’ve cocked anything up, a wizard did it

Wounded

Tales of monsters haunting the village reached her ears long after the true danger began. From her little hut on the edge of the forest, it was easy to know when the beast began to prowl. She had reinforced her wards and kept herself very far from its usual trail. The village had collection plate going around to hire someone to deal with it. They had asked for a donation and she had given, though she wondered when the Lord planned to actually help his people.

Her little hut- the witch’s cottage- squatted in a glen on the edge of an unending wood. Where spooks and spectres lurked, where ghosts and ghouls wailed through the night. She had a reputation for healing, but only in the daylight. The few brave souls who had dared try to breach her door at night had seen a very different witch.

Smoke and mirrors. Necessary. Small towns bred small minds and she had no intention of letting them get the idea that they’d be better off without her.

It was so very tedious to start over.

The first she heard was that the mayor- in name only, for he was as dirt poor as the rest of them- had managed to find a foolhardy soul to send up against the beasts. A man and his bard companion, each likely to die. She had thought of them as little more than a sacrifice. A sacrifice meant to sate the appetite of monsters and keep the villagers alive one more night.

She had built a good life here. Simple, outcast, not quite belonging, but good enough. Townsfolk left her mostly alone until they had a problem they couldn’t fix on their own, and they made good deals when they asked her out of her hut. Nobody wanted to end up in her cauldron next- for as the rumour went, she would kidnap those who angered her and cook them for her dinner.

Quaint little stories and she did nothing to dissuade them. It kept thieving hands out of her garden at the very least.

From her hut, she had heard the fight. Bloodcurdling death screams of the beast, ending in resounding silence. She had sighed and peered out her window to judge the time. Still hours until daybreak. She didn’t expect visitors until the sun penetrated her shadowy glen- that is, if the mayor had been a good sport and delivered her message.

Without knowing what manner of monster lurked, she had no idea what it would be good for. Such a mystery rankled, and she had paid a hefty sum to ensure the monster’s corpse would be delivered fresh and bleeding in the morn. If the Witcher was gone by then, she wouldn’t complain. Especially if… rumours of white hair and golden eyes had flown over her head. Deliberately, perhaps. It had been over a decade since they parted ways and she had heard little of him since. If she was being honest, she had been glad of the reprieve. He was intense, he was overwhelming, and wherever he went tended to change just by his presence.

As if on cue, there came a horrid pounding at her door. Followed by pleading screams and muffled curses, the desperation pulled her from her languid chair. She peered through the window at the shadowy men waiting outside- a smaller figure holding a much larger, clearly unconscious one. The younger was the source of the noise. The other hung like a fresh kill off his back.

No monster, though.

With a disappointed click, she opened the door. “Please!” the young man cried, the moment her light spilled across his face. “He’s hurt, we need your help!” And he shifted his shoulders to reveal his burden. White hair, rugged face, familiar in all its lines- her heart stilled for several uncertain beats. He was pale- almost as white as his hair- and as he hung off his friend’s shoulders, she could see the pool of blood gathering beneath him.

She blinked herself into action. “Bring him in, quickly,” she said. With a wave of her hand she cleared space before the fire, laying out an old rug she didn’t mind ruining. “What got him?”

The signs had all been there. All the cats in the village mysteriously dying, one by one; the dogs growing stronger and fiercer with the proximity of a leader. Packs of wolves roaming closer, hunting livestock like it was their right.

“Werewolf,” said the boy, who looked doubly pale now that he wasn’t the only thing supporting the Witcher. “It had friends.”

She paused. “Friends?” she asked. If there was a pack of them- it wouldn’t bode well for the village. One cursed lycanthope was enough, but if the cursed one was deliberately infecting others… “Werewolves?”

“I don’t know,” the boy’s voice shook a little. “But there were so many.”

Her mouth twitched. She used to tease, when they were younger, that all he would never be rid of her. All she had to do was follow the corpses- monster and human alike- like following the rainbow for a pot of gold.  Funny how the world worked. She stopped chasing him only to have him stumble upon her. The only gold at the end of her bloody rainbow was in his eyes.

Eyes that were currently crusted shut with blood, while the rest of him seemed determined to bleed out on her floor. The bard who had dragged him here- young, eager, but desperately unqualified for the life he had chosen- stood by the door, fighting the vomit rising in his throat.

She looked up at the boy, narrowed her eyes, and pointed at the door. “Fetch me water from the well, just outside, and a handful of dandelions and peppermint from the greenhouse beyond. Hurry!”

He nodded and was gone. With his nervous energy gone, she refocussed on the dying man. Her hands shook as she pressed them over his wounds. Deep and oozing, smelling of rot and death- she had not missed this smell. It would be another scar painted on his body, another story of a thankless task. In his younger days he had celebrated the scars. Another tale, another dead monster, another bag of gold at his hip. But people were rarely thankful for long.

Witchers were, by their very nature, unsettling to behold. Creatures able to stare into the black expanse of the void and kill the monsters lurking within.

She flattened her hands against the worst of the cuts and began to mutter a chant. She could feel the healing begin to take effect; her own body taking the brunt of his hurt to heal him faster. Between his gifts and hers, there would be naught but a scar in just a few days.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” she hissed, at the first sign of him stirring. One golden eye cracked open, swept the room, and settled on her. The groan he made might have been pain if she didn’t know exactly how much magic was in his system. His head fell back on the threadbare pillow.

“It’s good to see you, Flissa.”

“Fuck off, no it isn’t.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched. “You sound stressed.”

She resisted the urge to smack him. “You bring it out in me,” she said sharply.

“My apologies, then.” His eyes remained closed and she listened to the rhythm of his breath until it levelled, and he slipped into a true, deep sleep. She allowed herself a moment to study his face. Unchanged, but that was hardly a surprise. Magic was in his blood as sure as it was in hers. They did not age or change as a normal human would. Still a rugged jaw, a strong nose, his long hair as white as virgin snow.

Her eyes dipped to the hem of his shirt, torn to ribbons. Beneath was an expanse of skin she had once known by heart. Years ago, she could have mapped his scars with her eyes closed. She wondered how many new ones he had earned since then- and promptly tore her mind from the subject. He was not hers to know like that, not anymore.

Knowing him like that had been the thing to drive her off. Terrified of what it meant to connect that deeply with another, refusing to let it grow between them. She had run, she had left.

And he had let her.

The door opened with a swift bang and she was on alert at once. Geralt didn’t stir; perhaps a more worrying sign than his bleeding. The depth of his slumber did draw her concern.

The returning bard dropped a pail of water at her feet and held out a large bunch of dandelions. “Are these enough?” he asked, anxious. “Will he live? Do you need anything else?”

Flissa took the bundle in both hands and nodded. “That’s fine. Sit down, boy, before you pass out.”

The bard refused to move without an answer. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked again, firmer.

“Yes,” she said; and he sank into the nearest chair in relief, holding his head in both hands. Flissa’s heart panged with empathy for him. She was him, once, before she mastered her craft; a terrified companion to a man determined to fling himself through death’s door at a moment’s notice. The singular reason why she became a healer was Geralt of Rivia.

Flissa set the dandelions in a bag and hung it in the window. She fetched dried leaves and added the fresh water to the kettle, setting it on the fire to brew. The rest of the water she heated with a whispered spell and returned, cloth in hand, to Geralt’s side. Getting the blood off his skin was significantly easier than getting it out of his clothes.

How very fortunate that she had kept a shirt in his size.

“Help me get him up,” she said to the boy. He was still pale, still shaking- in shock- but he reacted instantly. His arms under the Witcher’s shoulders, hers under his legs. Somehow, between them, they moved the man to her bed. “Where’s his horse?” she asked.

The bard raised an eyebrow. Connecting the dots at once, he had the sense not to ask but this one was a damn sight smarter than the average. “At the tavern, three days paid.”

“When the sun rises, bring him here.”

“But the wolves…”

“Are gone,” she assured, gentling her tone if only slightly. “With the Weres dead, the rest will scatter.” She returned to the kettle when it began to boil. Dandelion tea with peppermint- to calm his nerves. Flissa slid the steaming mug onto the table beside him. “Sugar and honey are behind you.”

His head rose. Eyes lingered on Geralt, then to the tea. “Thank you…?”

“Flissa,” she said, taking the hand he offered.

“Jaskier,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “Bless you.”

His mouth twitched. “My name is Jaskier.”

“You are welcome, then,” she nodded. “How does a bard end up travelling with a Witcher?”

“I wanted adventure and he strolled into town. I’m still not sure he likes me.”

“He’s like that with everyone.”

A pause, in which the boy stared at his friend. “You do know him,” he said quietly; curious, without wishing to outright ask. Flissa could see the questions bubbling but his reluctance to anger her held his tongue. The villagers likely warned him off coming anywhere near her. As if the ‘witch in the woods’ asking for a dead monster corpse wasn’t warning enough.

“For years,” she confirmed. “I used to travel with him.”

“Why did you stop?”

She shrugged, gestured to her little cottage. “I fancied myself suited to the quiet life.”

Jaskier smiled in acknowledgement, but there was a glint in his eye when he asked; “And does it suit you?”

“It’s… very quiet,” said Flissa, but that little pause said it all.

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i have a job interview tomorrow morning

i am wildly fluctuating between ‘this is fine’ and ‘COMPLETE AND TOTAL PANIC’

wish me luck?

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I’ll never get tired of this game.

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Planets i learned about via youtube while procrastinating my english essay

Planet 55 Cancri e is basically a giant diamond. like the planet is a diamond. and it would be worth $26.9 nonillion

Planet Gliese 436 b is an ice planet that is constantly on fire do to its close proximity to its parent star. the ice doesn’t melt bc the planet’s gravity is so strong it physically prevents the ice from melting

Planet HD 189733b rains sideways glass…. constantly

Planet J1407-B has planetary rings that are 200x the size of saturn. if saturn’s ring were as big as J1407-B’s we’d be able to see them with our naked eye from earth AND they would dominate our sky and look larger than a full moon

Planet Wasp-12b rotates so close to its parent star that its slowly being consumed by the it

Planet Gliese 581c is one of the candidates for a planet that can support life however it orbits a tiny dwarf star and is tidally locked so one side is constantly subject to immense sunlight while the other is constantly in darkness. there’s a small area of the planet however, that is just the right temp to support life. u just can’t step out of said area. the skies are red and the plants would have be a black color instead of a green bc they would use infrared light for photosynthesis. (a message was actually sent to the planet in 2008 in hopes that there’s life on the planet but the message wont reach the planet until 2029).

Planet GJ 1214b is a water planet nicknamed “water world” is has no land at all and the water is so deep it goes down miles all the way to the planet’s core.

Planet Wasp-17b is the largest planet discovered thus far. its so large its existence contradicts our understanding of how planets are formed. and it has a retrograde orbit, so it orbits in the opposite direction of its parent star.

Planet HD 188753 has 3 suns you should have triple shadows and there would be almost daily eclipses. and no matter which direction u face on the planet u would always see a sunset

Planet HD106906b is the loneliest planet discovered thus far. its known as “super jupiter” bc its 11x bigger than jupiter. it orbits its parent star at a distance of 60 billion miles (which is v strange) hence why its the loneliest planet.

Planet Tres 2b is the darkest planet known. it reflects less than 1% of light (it reflects less light than coal and black acrylic paint). the tiny part of the planet that does reflect light is red making the planet glow a dim red.

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How to Make Quick and Easy Tattoo Sleeves

Got a cosplay idea but the character has lots of arm (or leg) tattoos? Don’t feel like painting on yourself with body paints or hunting down that horrendously expensive temporary tattoo paper? Here’s a quick tutorial for making tattoo sleeves using nylons and sharpie markers! 

Upsides: 

- Supplies are cheap! You may even have many or all the supplies you need right at home.

- Quick and not very messy! No paint is involved, and sharpie marker dries instantly. 

- Easy! Great artistic skill not required.

- They move with your skin! People have legit thought these were real tattoos. From a distance, yes, but I had guys at cons with actual ink on their arms come over to compliment on my full (fake) sleeves. 

- You get to eat pringles! More on that later. 

Downsides:

- They are delicate. Nylons get holes in them super easy and forearms run into stuff, lean against things, and generally make it hard for the sleeves to survive. But if you only need them for a weekend, that’s ok.

- I haven’t experimented too much, but unfortunately this technique probably doesn’t work for wearers with darker skin tones. Sharpie ink is transparent, so any color it rests on just multiplies and the tattoo won’t show up very well. You’ll want to go the fabric paint or body paint route to get the best bold, bright tats. 

- Can’t do white sections, because sharpie ink is transparent and doesn’t come in white. I leave them blank and they read OK, but the white areas will always be pink, tan, brown, etc. unless you dab in a little fabric paint, which will not be covered in this tutorial.

- Sharpie is supposed to be permanent marker, but on skin…it’s not. The ink will most likely wear off onto adjacent clothes. Not that big of a deal for me, as I tend to wear my tats with white shirts that can be bleached, but other shirts may not survive as well.

OK, let’s go! Here are your supplies: 

You’ll need a pair of nylons, scissors, tape, a set of sharpies, your designs printed out on 8.5 x 11 paper, some bracelets, and a can of Pringles. You can use any design you want, of course, but Here is the link to these fine Newt Kaiju tattoo designs. 

If your nylons have an undies part, cut the legs off and wear the undies on your head for the rest of the tutorial, if desired. Put the legs on your arm like so, and cut the toes off so you can slip your hand through. You can cut some of the top of the sleeve off as well, but don’t cut too much because you can’t put it back on if your sleeves are too short. 

Here are my creepy sleeves. Now for the pringles.

Tape your design template to the Pringles can. It doesn’t reach all the way around but eh. The Pringles can gives you a nice stable surface to draw on that is roughly the shape and size of an arm. It’s a little short, so just roll up the rest of the nylon above the workspace and adjust both template and nylon down when you get to working on that part of the sleeve.

Color with the markers! I recommend doing the colored areas first and then doing the black outlines on top of it, to avoid the black ink contaminating the ink pads of the lighter markers. Remember how that always happens to the yellow ones? Eww. Nylons are thin and slide around a bit, so it’s best to use short strokes and dotting to get the ink on.

Take the template off the Pringles tube, flip the paper to the blank side and put it back on again. The paper collects the extra ink, so it’s hard to see any missed spots. Now you can see any bits you may have missed. Fill them in for completion. Also, the paper doesn’t manage to wrap all the way around the Pringles can, so now is the time to free-hand a bit of the design where the template doesn’t reach. For Newt tattoos, that’s the back of the arm. 

When you’re all done coloring, put them on!

There’s a rough end to the tattoo right at the wrist, of course. Disguise where the sleeve ends and your skin begins with some pretty bracelets:

There we are, much better!

Now…you’re done! Have some Pringles! 

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The Gavotte is “a lively peasants’ kissing dance that became fashionable at the 17th- and 18th-century courts of France and England.”

mmhmm the perfect dance to enjoy at a discreet gentleman’s club.

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so i’m shit at music mashups but i feel like someone you loved x bad liar (imagine dragons) would be such a bop

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who the hell gave m*chael sheen's face permission to be LIKE THAT like how dare you sir

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Create your own Avengers 5 movie!!

Reblog with what you got!

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"To the world" whilst deep-gazing into each other's eyes doesn't count? From where I was sitting, that's a pretty big I love you

“why didnt crowley and aziraphale say they loved each other tho” are you kidding me. are you JOKING with me. we are all of us out here literally bleeding to death from the blunt force trauma of michael sheen softly saying “you go too fast for me” and you wish he’d said something MORE emotional?? no thank you, i choose life and to live.

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"Divorced, beheaded, & died. Divorced, beheaded, survived! I'm Henry the Eighth, I had six sorry wives- some might say I ruined their lives!"

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I’ve been obsessed with Dragon Age lately (10 years late to the party but whatever). I played DA2 first because I never do things in proper order. And of course I was swiftly and fiercely smitten by Varric... so I wrote a little thing. VarricxF!PurpleHawke

Short and fluffy non-canon-compliant oneshot of their reunion in Skyhold under the cut

He couldn’t believe it. They’d found her, after all these years, they had done the one thing Varric swore he’d never do; track her down and drag her into this clusterfuck of an Inquisition. He had been pacing by the fire since Cassandra smugly announced the news. Hawke is coming. Hawke is coming.

Varric couldn’t breathe. Three years since Kirkwall, three years since he reluctantly left her side- the fame from his book meant it was hard to go unnoticed, and after the shitstorm of mage rebellion that followed their every move, attention was not something Hawke needed. Or wanted. Even if she did want… no. Varric closed his eyes, forcing away the memories of her tearful face, of the crack and wobble in her voice as she begged him to stay. Leaving had been for her benefit. She could hide better without him, she could be whatever she wanted- without him.

The hardest thing he’d ever had to do was walk away. Her ghost walked with him every step; the book brought him fame and attention, endless questions about Hawke- where is she, where did she go, why did she defend the mages, does she ever write- questions he couldn’t answer without giving her, him, them, away. What they’d had and what he had ended.

What he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since Cassandra told him. Hawke is coming.

Varric glared at the fire. Damn Templars. They couldn’t have left well enough alone, left her to the quiet life she’d built in whatever backwater village she’d chosen to hide out in. Half of him expected to hear she’d gone back to Lothering. Or whatever was left of it. Rebuild what the Blight had taken. But the truth was worse, much worse; Hawke had been camping out on the Wounded Coast. Etching out a living and making her home in some slimy cave; a fucking miserable pit and Varric couldn’t help but feel like he’d sent her there.

She’d been so close. So damn close all that time and he hadn’t known. He felt like an idiot for not seeing it. Hawke’s damn loyalty would be the end of her. She couldn’t walk away. She wouldn’t. And that same loyalty that he had adored about her, was the reason the Templars were dragging her to Skyhold now. Varric swore under his breath.

The doors burst open and then she was there- smiling like the sun, shouting his name, sprinting across the flagstone to throw her arms around him. Varric was swallowed by her, swept away, and he wouldn’t have cared if Corypheus himself flew in through the window because he had Hawke. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to exist without her arms around him. Varric pressed his face into her chest and hoped nobody could hear the sobs he desperately tried to muffle.

“Varric, Varric, oh my love,” Hawke was whispering, dropping kisses to the top of his head. “I’ve missed you terribly, you damn fool dwarf.”

“Corinne,” he said, her name the only thing he dared say. His voice wavered and she looked down into his eyes, her fingers brushing across his cheeks. Varric closed his eyes at her touch.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He grinned, big and stupid and full of the love he didn’t talk about in any book and turned his head to kiss her palm. “Hi.”

-[-]-

Once the rest had their fill of her, the stories spilling fast and loud from her lips, and the evening turned to night, Varric dragged her away. Corinne kept up a steady stream of her usual diatribe; sarcasm laced with quips, dumb retellings of things that had left scars on her mind and body. She spoke cavalier of the rebellion, of the slaughter in Kirkwall. Acted like dodging Tal-Vashoth and slavers on the Coast was child’s play. And for all her laughing, anybody would think the three years she spent trying to save Anders from himself hadn’t broken her heart.

And when the stories were done, the mead was finished, and the rest of the Inquisition slunk off to nurse their spinning heads, Varric dragged Corinne away from the tavern and up to his room.

“They gave me my own room, you know,” she remarked, picking her way across his desk. Like a magpie, she sifted through his belongings and he watched her face grow soft when she found the wooden hawk paperweight. The Amell crest was on the bottom, hidden, but there. Like me, she’d said, when she gave it to him all those years ago.

Varric rocked on his heels. “Where?”

One she answered with a rough, lopsided grin. “Near Cullen’s. And didn’t our little Templar blush when they told him.”

“He hasn’t forgotten Kirkwall,” Varric cautioned her. Hawke shrugged.

“Fuck Kirkwall,” she said, under her breath. Winced. “Ah… sorry. It’s still home for you.”

“Nah, you’re right, fuck Kirkwall,” he echoed, with a grin. The air between them was thick. Like there was something waiting to be said, but neither wanted to be the first. It had never felt so awkward. Talking to Hawke had always come as natural as breathing, but now it felt like he was swallowing rocks. “I’m not afraid to admit it’s a shithole.”

“I’ve heard the new Viscount is a bit of a dick,” she said.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Haha.”

“But it’s a step up from the Hanged Man, I bet.”

“Blasphemy!” he snapped without fire. “I’d take that over the bloody palace, any day. Still got my old room there, y’know. I couldn’t give it up… I didn’t want anyone else in that bed. Not when we…”

Hawke’s face changed. “I remember,” she said, lowly. Then, a slow smile curling her mouth, she lounged herself across his bed. “But the details are a bit foggy. Care to remind me?”

There it was. A click, and everything fell back in place. This wasn’t Kirkwall, wasn’t the Hanged Man, they weren’t the same people, but she could bring all of it back with a wisecrack and a wicked grin. Varric grinned and went to her, chasing the taste of her laughter with a kiss.