#I shouted in this scene

[thaitoz]

This is so disgusting and disrespectful...

:(

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are back (from the grave)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[cak31ssuperi04]

Barbie protagonists but make it My Scene

[katebeckets]

how to say “I love you” in x-files [6/?] ⤷ 2.13 — “Irresistible”

I don't want him to know how much this is bothering me. I don't want him to feel like he has to protect me.

[pepurika]

AWW YEAAAAHHHH we're halfway the last book!! two more chapters left! THEY'RE GONNA BE WILD

[chloesimaginationthings]

Shadow Freddy is in the movie?

Yes they are! Max the babysitter is seen stuffed into a shadow Freddy suit near the end of the movie

So in return, it’s fair to say she’s Shadow Freddy

[lazycranberrydoodles]

don’t take this too seriously …

[mari-lair]

Searching for Ging

From the AU where Gon was raised on Greed Island instead of Whale Island

[lygma-nygma]

Honest to god Titans Tower is probably the funniest thing that's ever happened in comics to me? Like, there's so much to unpack here it's insane?? The tear-away stripper Red Hood costume? The knock-off Robin costume with the stupid ass yellow tights that somehow looks worse than if Jason just rocked the bare thighs? The way Jason is drawn like he is fully 35 with two stepkids and a mortgage? Jason inventing fanfiction about Tim and Bruce's relationship in his head because he refuses to believe Tim actually stalked his way into being Robin?? Trying to mimic his crowbar death by beating Tim with his own staff but I as a reader am entirely unable to take it seriously because of those stupid fucking tights-

And then you get to Tim's side of things and he says like, all of 5 things the entire time and three of them are a coded 'fuck you'. He has absolutely no time or respect for Jason's pity party and it's actually hysterical because Jason cannot stop yapping. Meanwhile, Tim is like, definitely losing the fight which makes it funnier?? Then the ending?? Jason scrawling "Jason Todd was here" on the wall in blood (or red paint meant to look like blood, up in the air) and signing it with a handprint like he's a middle schooler who just discovered Creepypasta???? Ripping the 'R' off Tim's costume when he's literally already unconscious?? Zipping away from the scene thinking "damn I actually like that kid, wish I had friends tbh"??

And then it's literally never brought up again.

[itachanta]

Highly specific gifset of Vash's angry face because we all love when our sweet blorbo goes 😠

[biblio-smia]

part one | part two | part three

mike hasn't been himself in a while.

he's been there, physically, barely. you chalked the first few days of the lack of anything from mike up to his new job working security at the local mall. the new title came with longer hours and a sort of haze over mike, the little energy he already had draining into the negatives. on the occasional night you stayed for dinner, there was a faraway look in his eyes and your words had to leave your mouth three times before mike really heard them.

next came the forgetfulness.

first it was to call you before he went to bed that night. you hung around the landline in your kitchen for hours before you slipped into unconsciousness in your dining room chair.

you didn't bring it up.

then came the second saturday since mike had started working as a security guard, the day you and mike would usually have a night in with dinner and drinks.

you'd kissed abby goodnight and shut her door quietly, almost spinning into mike as he came up behind you.

"i'm so sorry, i'm really, really, tired," mike sighed, his arms wrapping around you as his chin sank on your shoulder. your hands immediately set to soothe his muscles, hoping he'd get better sleep tonight.

"it's okay," you assure, pressing an understanding kiss to mike's cheek. "do you need me to tuck you in, too?"

mike laughs, an arm wrapped around you as he walks you out. you find comfort in the fact that he doesn't really want to let go, pulling you in for another warm hug and smothering you with quick kisses. quiet laughter fills the air and mike holds onto your hand until you're too far to touch, not retreating inside the door frame until your car has turned the corner of his neighborhood and disappeared.

so, even though you haven't had a proper conversation with mike in more than a few days, you don't bring it up.

mike forgets to make dinner again. last time he'd been lucky, a few stray vegetables coming together to save his ass with soup; it looks intentional enough for abby despite her usual groaning.

this time, not so much.

you’re up extra early to help take abby to school. at least, that’s what you say you’re there for, though really your mission is to make sure mike leaves with his uniform on his back the correct way. everyone is running late as mike flips over a pancake to reveal a blackened outside with a still-raw inside.

“ohhhkay,” you say, taking the spatula from mike and gently pushing him towards the door. you turn off the stove and throw the failed breakfast attempt out, checking the fridge only to find it almost completely barren.

looks like mike hasn’t even had time for groceries. you shouldn’t feel bad that he hasn’t had time for you.

you feel mike’s frustration grow as he can’t find his keys, abby’s impatient pointing to the time adding to his stress.

“hey.” your voice is grounding as you pull mike in by his slightly-wrinkled white collar, undoing a button in the wrong hole and smoothening out his shirt. “did you check your pockets?”

mike did not.

his hand digs into yesterday’s jeans and his fingers closed around the cold metal of his keys. there’s a smile on your lips as you pull mike in for an intoxicating kiss (mike doesn’t even hear abby gag).

“thank you,” mike whispers, one hand gratefully on your elbow.

“don’t forget to eat something, please.”

mike nods, kissing your cheek once before bolting out the door. if he drives fast, he might still make it on time.

you turn to abby with a smile, grabbing her backpack and her tiny hand.

“how about we pick something up for breakfast?”

abby cheers, no longer aware of how much silent reading time she’d missed.

when you pick abby up there’s a frown on her face and you feel bad for dragging her to the grocery store. abby doesn’t complain because she hates upsetting you, a nervous desire to be a “good kid” in front of you still standing strong. though her eyes light up when you place a candy bar in with the rest of your items at the very end, knowing it was for her by the way you smiled.

“don’t tell your brother.”

abby shakes her head and holds your hand tighter, grinning. mike always said you spoiled her, but you felt like going on a little bit of a rebellious streak.

abby helps you put away groceries (as best she can with her thin arms and small stature) and you let her pick tonight’s menu. to no one’s surprise, she chooses spaghetti and meatballs. you’d anticipated this dish being a popular one, pulling out the ingredients immediately.

abby draws while you cook, though mike’s kitchen was different from yours and you’d somehow burnt the sauce. really, all you had to do was heat it up.

you supposed you’d gotten lost in your head (now you could understand where mike was most of the time). but then abby’s face scrunched and her voice cut through.

“is something burning?”

you bite back a curse (not in front of abby!) and taste the sauce to see if it was worth salvaging (it wasn’t). you tossed the few cents’ worth and tried to scrape off the black stuff it left behind. you gave up and pulled out a new pan, making one of the easiest meals known to man without fault this time.

abby’s in bed. not even a sugary high could compete with a full belly and warm coaxing from you (though you’re glad mike’s running late, missing how much longer it takes you to lure abby to sleep).

keys jingle on the other side of the front door and you know staying was the right decision when you sigh at the sound. your shoulders are hunched as you sit at the dinner table, plate of spaghetti only half-touched.

the front door creaks open and you don’t rise to greet mike with a kiss as you usually would. mike barely notices, busy sniffing the air and trying to identify the hint of something awful. he locks the door behind him, kicks off his shoes, remembers to hang his keys. the place looks tidier than he left it.

he’s quiet, wondering if abby left the kitchen light on when his socked feet lead him in front of you.

your chin rests in your hands as you look up at him, slowly. there’s a tired, forced smile on your face and mike suddenly remembers dinner.

he opens the fridge and is convinced he’s traveled back to a week and a half ago with the state it’s in. mike glances at the stove and identifies the main smell that had hit him upon arrival.

“you..?” mike can’t finish, pointing instead to the fridge and the pot of pasta.

you nod, your eyes never leaving him despite your head not really moving. you’re different tonight.

“you didn’t have to.” mike is tiptoeing the line between grateful and annoyed. he’s an adult and these are his responsibilities. but really, what would he had done without you?

“yeah,” you reply and mike is worried you’re going to break up with him. his heart quickens his pace and he’s suddenly nervous. “are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

“what?” that wasn’t what mike was expecting. “nothing’s wrong,” he shrugs, shields coming up immediately.

“really?” you’re hoping he’ll just spit it out so you don’t have to ask again. but you underestimate how stubborn mike is. “because this is the first actual conversation we’ve had in, like, a week.” it’s been longer than that, but your head is starting to spin.

“i’m just… tired.” mike shrugs again, turning towards the cabinets to pull out a bowl, immediately guilty as he gets ready to eat the food you had to make.

your expression is unrelenting as mike glances over, his eyes darting back to his plate to avoid yours.

mike is startled by how quietly you creep beside him, hands pulling the pot and the pincers closer.

“i’ve got it,” mike insists as you begin reaching for his bowl (because, even now, you still care). “i said, i’ve got it.”

ceramic smashes against tile. the both of you are forced to freeze now, the threat of stabbed feet keeping either of you from walking away.

“mike, if i’m too much for you right now, you have to communicate-”

maybe that’s it.

“you are being too much,” mike blurts out heatedly, his honesty evidently shocking you. “i’m not a kid. you don’t have to take care of me.”

you need a second to recover. to let mike’s words sink in.

“i don’t mind it, mike, i really don’t. if you need me to pick abby up, fine. watch her? i’ve got it. if you need me to take care of dinner, i’d be happy to. i’ll do it all without you even having to ask, because that’s how i love you.”

mike is twelve years old again, feeling himself shut down completely, watching as his mother pleads for him to speak to her. she gives up eventually.

“it doesn’t even feel like we’re in a relationship anymore, michael. and if you need a break, that’s fine, i just want you to talk to me.” the pressure in your chest is lifted with the relief of saying what you’ve been meaning to but is immediately restored (and heavier, if possible) by mike’s silence

it had only taken a few more years for michael’s home to be completely broken, shattered into tiny pieces like the ceramic bowl on the ground.

michael is difficult. he knows this.

it has been floating in his head for years but it is hammered in now: michael schmidt is hard to love.

mike is silent now, watching your lips move but not quite grasping any sound coming out of them; not quite there, lost somewhere else like he has been for weeks.

at last he has the sense to do something.

he walks carefully through the remnants of the bowl on the floor, finding the broom in a different place than he’d left it and returning to the kitchen.

you’re gone and mike’s head snaps to the sound of the doorknob.

“i’m not gonna wait around forever.” you say before you slip out into the dark of the night.

mike sees your headlights faintly through the curtain before they disappear down the street.

mike begins mindlessly sweeping up what’s left of the bowl, left alone with no one but himself to blame.

he has been abandoned, once again, but can he really call it abandonment when he pushed you away first?

requests for mike schmidt are open!

[hercarisntyours]

the way she looks at him in this scene I'm so sappy rn my heart andshe'ssoprettyomg

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Average Drama Enjoyer observes some peak drama.

[definitelynotshouting]

You have synesthesia?? How does that work for you? Is this how you manage to use the word “meat” in a way that makes me go “holy shit that’s good and cool i need to read that sentence four more times” instead of “ew”?????

I do!!! Letters, numbers, and words all have colours and sometimes visual textures for me-- and while numbers and letters on their own are generally only a single colour (7 is a bright, grassy green!!! while "K" is a pale peachy pink, for example :] ), when i put them into words they often take on entirely new colours, some of which even bleed into each other like watercolour paints. Ironically, its why i use the UK spelling of "colour" in the first place-- the "u" turns what looks like a dull, desaturated blue into a smeared blue-and-purple that i find really pretty to look at :]] so when i say i like to paint with words, i kinda mean that literally 😂😂😂😂😂

But yeah, i'd imagine thats why my writing is Like That™ to some degree-- a lot of what im doing behind the scenes involves matching the colours and visual textures of a given word with all of the others in order to evoke a particular vibe or image in my writing. There are a lot of layers to how i write, but this is probably the one that takes both the most time AND is the one i happen to talk about the least WKDJWKSJEJ

[psink]

It's a big shame the anime skipped the 2nd half of Kuusuke's monologue from chapter 178. Some people tend to misinterpret this scene, and this part makes it even more clear that Kuusuke was very much in the wrong.

"Kuusuke won and destroyed Teruhashi" No, he fully lost. He basically acknowledges that himself as well.