#Mike is the kidney

[glamrock-freddy]

Hmgnhm coughing up an au. Have some undercooked doodles

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Knew I was going to be stressed and anxious for this election but this isn’t what I imagined.

[dire-kumori]

I hope you don’t mind me responding to your tags in a new post, @lonelyfreddles​. I just really wanted to say something, but I was worried the post was getting a bit long.

I like to think it could be a bit of both: Evan has moments of lucidity where he’s not so bad and the bloodlust isn’t so intense, but even then he can’t help but enjoy wielding some of that same power over Michael that Michael once held over him. Maybe he feels some small amount of guilt over it but reasons that he’s not really doing anything so bad to Mikey, just playing with him and showing him the kind of brotherly relationship they could have had all along if Mikey had been just a bit nicer. But then at other times all the pain and the terror and the betrayal just come flooding back and as a spirit ruled almost entirely by the emotions he felt during his death he loses his sense of self to hatred for the source of those negative emotions.

And perhaps Michael believes if he lets Evan take those emotions out on him, take his revenge, he’ll finally be able to move on peacefully and rest like he deserves to. Or maybe Michael’s just telling himself that to make it easier to deal with the fact that he’s likely not going to get out of this situation alive...

[kidneystheallpowerful]

That's fucking it, AROACE MIKE WHEELER

[probablyintensemuses]

Dating Armando Aretas Would Include:

Grumpy x Sunshine Edition

🎧- Enchanted: Taylor Swift

pairing: Armando Aretas x black fem! reader

themes: grumpy x sunshine w/drabble

warnings: mentions of trauma & abuse, strong language, and a bit of gore.

authors note: I saw Bad Boys 4 again last night and it’s really refueled my Armando obsession, so more headcannons, drabbles, and fics on the way.

✨First Encounters✨

You and Armando meet in the worst of circumstances.

He, his father, and Marcus were on the run as wanted men, and you were the first person Mike thought to turn to after the attack at Tabatha’s.

Which he wasn’t wrong, you’d give your left kidney to Mike he’s saved you so many times.

You had let them into your small apartment, offering them clothes, food, and shelter until they could get in touch with the rest of the Ammo team and sort this shit out.

Armando had taken an interest to you then. Your house was warm and cozy, lived in. A small, plush couch, next to a coffee table littered with medical books. A kitchen stacked with teas and espressos , a dresser with vintage vinyls and a record player beside it. This was the kind of house he’d like to live in if he lead a different life.

You remember walking over to him, a picture of your parents and you when you were young in his hands.

“Those are my parents,’ you say. “I was ten then.”

Armando’s gruff exterior takes over though, and he doesn’t give you as much as a word back, let alone a thank you for feeding and housing literal fugitives.

You figured it was just him though and let it roll off you back like water.

You all got some sleep and the next day Mike asks you to drive them out to Dorn’s house on the dock. You agree and begin to load up the truck with guns, water, food, and extra clothes for the drive.

This is when Armando starts to question who you are and the legitimacy of your actions. Last person Mike trusted fucked them over, and he wasn’t having that shit again.

So he pulls his father aside and confronts him on the situation: you.

“How can we trust her?” Armando says, not far out of earshot of you.

“She’s good for it, trust me.”

“Didn’t you say that the last time and we got sold out. Don’t forget there is fucking five million dollar bounty on our heads. We can’t trust no one!” He whisper-shouted.

Mikes shoulders dropped. “I saved her life when she was younger, and I used to work with her parents. Trust me, she’s not going to pull a fast one. Because if she was, she would have done it already.”

Armando looked over at you, you’re dressed in a tank top, and that’s when he notices the cuts and burns littering your left arm. He sucks in a deep breath eyeing Mike who looks at you with sympathy too. There’s a story there, he’ll piece it together later, but for now he guesses you’re his only hope of getting out alive.

✨Post-fallout ✨

After you didn’t screw them over, and got them safety to Dorn’s, Armando found himself limping towards your apartment, blood trailing behind his feet.

Mike had sent him, and for some reason, at that moment, your place felt like exactly what he needed.

With the last of his energy, he banged on your door. Shortly, you answered and immediately went into panic mode.

The moment you let him inside, Armando crashes to the floor, passing out.

You screech and get every first aide equipment you have on hand and begin to bandage him up and stop the bleeding.

It took two bloody, sweaty hours, but you eventually got him all closed up.

Armando woke the next morning in a bed he didn’t recognize. This sent him into a frenzy. He went to shoot up out of the bed, but the soreness of his injuries knocked him back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned, grabbing at his torso.

From the living room, you turn down your headphones at the sound of movement. Armando must be awake.

Two days of rest, not bad.

You move towards the microwave and reheat the breakfast you had made him, pour some orange juice, and bring a whole heck of a lot of water and pain-pills.

Tray in hand, you kick open the door and slip inside your bedroom.

“Good morning.” You smile, setting the tray on the bed by his side. “How do you feel?”

“What the fuck did you put in this.” Armando asks, eyeing the food.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast.” You snicker.

Armando lifts a piece of toast, taking a bite. “If I die from this, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted, Sarg.” You salute.

You watch Armando eat his food with a smile on your face.

Eventually he looks up at you scowling. “Why are you staring at me.”

You shrug. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You say truthfully.

“Well,’ Armando takes a swig of water, downing the pills. “Go be happy somewhere else.”

Your shoulders drop and you let out a sigh, you knew Armando was tough, but geez, you practically saved his life. Would it kill him to be a little nice?

But still you smile when you say, “okay, well if you need me, I’ll be out in the living room studying. Feel free to roam around, I don’t mind.”

It was a couple hours before Armando had come out of your room, limping over to the kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.

“I’m making dinner right now,’ you say, pausing your television show. “It’s a roast with veggies.”

“I want a beer.” He grumbles.

“Well I don’t have beer, but I do have wine.” You say, pointing to you collection of reds and whites.

“ I don’t want wine.”

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

Armando comes over to you, cornering you into the tiny space between your sink and the counter. “Get me a beer.”

“Let’s start over,’ you stick out your hand for a shake. “I think we’re at a misunderstanding of our situation.”

Armando frowns at your response, grumbling Spanish curses under his breath and walking away, slamming your door like a toddler.

The roast was done, and eventually you got Armando to come and have dinner with you…kind of.

He sat on the couch and watched the news, for updates on the status for his search, and you sat at the table, contemplating what to do with him next.

✨Enemies, Friends, Roomates✨

Mike had told you harboring Armando would only be for a short while until he could figure something out with the D.A’s office….that was three months ago.

Eventually you got your bed back, Armando taking the couch, but not your sanity.

Living with Armando wasn’t easy. He was brash, stand-offish, stubborn, and mean.

You did everything to try and form some kind of bond with him, even buying him gym equipment offline, but it just never clicked for him.

Not until one night when you’re studying late for an exam and happen to fall asleep at the kitchen table, books all around you.

That’s when you fall into a nightmare. The man who ruined your life the star of the show, again.

It always starts the same. You and your parents living happily at the park. Your parents watch you as you swing higher and higher, giggles filling the air. Then a man appears at the edge of the park, beckoning your parents over. You scream and shout for them but they never turn back, they keep going to the man. And when he has your parents in his grip, he brandishes a knife, slicing them open.

You let out a blood curling scream, slamming awake and falling to the group. Sweat sticks your curls to your face as you cry and gasp for breath.

Armando’s up in a second, swarming you.

“Estás bien?’ He pats you down, checking you out. “What’s happened to you?”

You can’t do anything but cry. The man who’s ruined your life, he’ll never leave you…he made sure of that in many ways. His latching to you is so deep that you can’t even escape him when you sleep.

You finally are able to get some words out, tell Armando, “I had a nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,’ he helps you stand. “Maybe you should get some sleep in your bed.”

You’re shocked by his response, but you’re even more shocked by the way he helps you to your room.

“What are you doing?” You asks, confused.

“You just flew out your chair from a nightmare, what do you mean what am I doing? I’m helping you.”

“Yeah, I get that…but you never help me.”

Armando sighs, holding his hands at his hips. “You gonna tell me what it was about, or should I leave.”

You sigh. “When I was younger, my parents worked for the Miami Police Department. They were detectives and before I was born they ended up helping catch this serial killer. His name was Gunter Bennett but the media called him “The Gutter” because that’s how he killed. Years later, somehow he escaped prison. That’s when he came for my parents. He killed them in the middle of the night.’ You take an uneasy breath, finding birth relief and shock when Armando’s hand slips into yours. “And I was sure he was going to kill me too, but he didn’t…he did worse. He kidnapped me and kept me at some shithole for three years. Three.”

You rile up your sleeves and show all your burns and cuts. Armando remembers them from the first day he met you.

“It’s how I got these. That sadistic bastard,’ you cry. “He tortured me.”

Armando feels something in him snap hearing your story and seeing the ways it’s effected you, even now. He knows what it’s like to be harmed and loose the people closest to you.

So he shocks even himself with what does next, scooping you up like a wounded bird and nuzzling under the blankets with you.

You whimper and sniffle in his arms and he just hushes you, stroking your curls.

“It’s going to be alright, niña bonita, he’s gone now.”

Slowly, the exhaustion of work, school, and your tears overcome you and you both drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

✨My Lover✨

Armando was jealous.

You two had just spent the day out shopping, laughing and talking. Hell, you two live together! And yet you’re grinding on another man at the bar?!

The glass in Armando’s hand shakes and chips as he squeezes it further.

“Relax, muscle milk. You’ll break the glass.” Marcus says.

Armando scowls at him.

“I’m just saying, if you love her, tell her.” Marcus shrugs, walking away.

Armando scoffs. Love? Yeah right.

Did he feel close to you, yes.

Want to spend every breathing moment with you, yes.

Touch himself in the shower thinking about you, yes .

Oh fuck…he did love you.

Fuck! He loved you and you’re grinding another man!

Armando pushed out of his chair, it clattering to the ground in his wake.

He stalked over to you, grabbing your wrist and putting room between you and the man you danced on.

“ ‘Mando, what are you doing?” You stumble, clearly drunk.

“Let’s go.” He grabs you, chest heaving.

“Hey, wait!” You swat at him as he drags you through the bar and out the exit. “Why would you do that?” You whine.

“Because you’re drunk.” He rolls his eyes, slinging his leather jacket over your naked shoulders.

“I’m not!’ You whine, stumbling, luckily Armando catches you with ease. “I am.”

“You are. Let’s go.” He says, slinging you and carrying you bridal shower.

“Ah,’ you say, wrapping your arms around Armando’s neck and snuggling into him. “My knight in shining armor always takes such good care of me.’ You lean over, smacking his butt with a giggle.

“Shut up.” Armando says, resisting the urge to crack a smile.

Home, Armando tucks you into bed. He’s just about to walk away when you snatch his wrist, pulling him on top of you.

“Let’s play a game,” you whisper.

Armando rolls his eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth for truth. I tell you a truth and you do the same. “I’ll start.” You giggle.

“Tonight went exactly how I planned.”

Armando pulls back. “What do you mean by that?”

You shake your head and pout. “Uh uh. You’re turn.”

Armando sighs. “I don’t actually find you that annoying…anymore.”

“Ah, I knew it!” You laugh.

“Knew what?”

“Game over.’ You slump and snore, pretending to sleep.

“Stop it, you knew what?” Armando lifts you.

You bop his nose. “I knew that you loved me.”

Armando’s eyes get big. “What?”

“Me and kelly paid that guy to dance with me. We knew you’d get mad and that was all the proof I needed.”

“You’re a dick.” He starts to walk away, but you grab him by his belt loop.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You pull him back. “But you don’t have to be shy.” You hiccup.

Armando grumbles, nuzzling his face into your stomach. “And why’s that?”

You lift his head, angling it to face you. “Because I love you too.” You lean forward, placing a firm kiss onto his plump lips.

Armando reciprocates, opening his mouth turning the kiss fierce and hot. He climbs on top of you, mumbling against your lips. “And I thought you were supposed to be the nice one.”

You giggle. “Feels good to be bad for a change.”

[maroontragedy]

okay, so she released an official statement on the matter. and i LOVE how happy Mike (and the rest of the og members) looks in those videos. he also introduced all the members and said, "...and in the role of Chester Bennington this afternoon...is each of you" (and that made me sob).

so yeah, i'm happy for the band and looking forward to experiencing that and honouring him through music.

i was excited about Linkin Park's attempt at the new beginning (they deserve it, and no one and nothing can bring Chester back anyway) for a solid five minutes before discovering some things about the new singer.

now i don't know what to think or how to feel. i really wanted to go to a concert and honour Chester by singing and screaming to his songs with the rest of his (and the band's) fans

back to feeling empty i guess

[v-i-r-i-d-i-a-n]

I don’t think I’ll ever get over how Mike looks at Will- like so genuinely I don’t know I’ll ever fully comprehend or stop thinking about it

ID SELL MY KIDNEY FOR SOMEONE TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

LIKE GENUINELY HERE MY KIDNEY IS YOURS

[transneilyoung]

david crosby and graham nash - definitely fucked definitely in love with each other in some way

neil young and stephen stills - didn't fuck but that isn't needed for the toxic yaoi to be real

robbie robertson and levon helm - this was real as hell

anything including bob dylan - obviously real

peter tork and mike nesmith - didn't fuck but should've

paul mccartney and john lennon - acknowledge as real on some level while deriving no pleasure from it

paul simon and art garfunkel - i would bet both my kidneys on it

[cazzyf1]

Today would have been Mike Hawthorn's 95th Birthday. So here are some facts you might of not known about him.

His Grandma died on the ship Lusitania. As this ship was a passenger ship in WW1 it was thought it wouldn't be targeted but it was. This was before Mike was born but gives some context for why he disliked Germans.

Mike was at boarding school during WW2 and when they had to hide in their dormitories during the blitz Mike would tell jokes to lighten the mood.

He accidentally shot his friend in the leg when they were messing around with shooting guns at school.

Mike did want to do his national service and had filled out a form to join the RAF but due to his kidney issues he was unable to join. He didn't make it public knowledge however or he wouldn't be allowed to race so he had to face the abuse of the public saying he was avoiding his national service.

Mike was at the Le Mans in 1954 ready to race for Jaguar when he found out his father had been in a car crash. He desperately tried to get home but his father died before Mike could. This could explain some of his determination to win the Le Mans the next year in 1955.

On a trip with friends Mike was the only one who brought a warm coat, he offered to let his friends borrow it if they paid him. When it got warmer and he had to carry it his friends offered to carry it if he paid them.

He had an operation to remove one kidney but his other kidney was still dying, so often he would have black ours and be in immense pain. In the 1958 British GP they were unsure if he would be able to race as he was ill because of his kidney.

Mike Hawthorn accidentally managed to break a piano at a wedding celebration.

Mike got a puppy and was struggling to come up with a name, but he caught the puppy drinking from his pint of beer so called it grogger.

In 1958 when reversing back onto his drive Grogger ran out and Mike accidentally killed him. Mike hid in his room and cried the rest of the day about it.

Mike loved to mess around and have a laugh, potentially because he knew he didn't have long to live. He got along with fellow driver Duncan Hamilton immensely and they would get up to all sorts such as deciding to change around the furniture in their room by tying bed sheets to it and lowering it out of a window from one room to another.

Mike Hawthorn would often just walk into Peter and Louise Collin's hotel room and spend the days relaxing with them when he and Peter weren't racing.

When Peter was killed Mike went to see the body. Afterwards he left the room, leant against the wall and then collapsed to the floor.

Mike had a section in the Sunday Times newspaper where he would test out new cars and give a rating for them. He used used this space to occasionally rant about things that annoyed him on the road like pedestrians walking out without looking.

When Mike won the world championship he sent a telegram to Louise Collins saying 'we have done it'.

After he retired he was thinking of taking part in airplane racing.

He taught his friend Mary how to drive and recommended what cars she should drive for races. When she got married and moved over to Australia he sent a telegram congratulating her and telling her not to over rev.

On the day Mike Hawthorn died he had plans to go see Louise Collins.

There are a lot of theories on how Mike Hawthorn died but its generally accepted he was racing Rob Walker and potentially had a black out because of his kidney.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

Request!

Can you feed me more material girl Mike hunging with his material girl dad?

I still have another kidney :3

a couple of material girls hiding from the feds

[clockworkdragonffxiv]

I started my D&D campaign back in April of 2020 shortly after the COVID Lockdown hit. I was bored out of my skull and stressed, and a friend had expressed his frustration with his own D&D group and I just went "Fuck it."

I hadn't played DnD since college. I had never GM'd a tabletop game. But I had nothing better to do. So I went on to Discord into, like, the three channels I'm active in and rounded up a gaggle of friends from FFXIV and from my old City of Heroes group. For my starter campaign I used the very first Eberron campaign ever published for I think 3e or 3.5e, converted to 5e, "The Forgotten Forge."

And three and a half years, multiple cases of COVID, two rounds of cancer and chemotherapy, four or five moves, three kidney stones, multiple bouts of depression, and a half dozen job changes, we finally finished the campaign at level 16, having convinced the Lord of Blades to devote his talents to building the new Warforged nation and healing the Mournlands using the unique techno-organic warforged plants and animals we'd discovered, instead of his original plan which was to absorb the power of a Creation Engine and a Demon Overlord into himself, achieve apotheosis, and drown the world in a tide of blood.

My original plan for the final battle has in large underlined letters the phrase "Biblically Accurate Chainsaw Angel" and included a speech with lines like "LET THE SEAS BOIL AND THE SKIES FALL! LET THE WORLD BURN!"

Also probably ending up with the players picking the Red, Blue or Green endings from the End-o-Matic 9000.

But that didn't happen.

So instead, the campaign that started with our little group of heroes stumbling onto the murder of a professor with the clues to a hidden workshop, ended with the wedding of Seeker the Warforged Artificer, the man who'd talked the Lord of Blades down (despite having a Charisma of 8) and now holds the title of Maestro Seeker, is an advisor to the national leadership, and is the teacher of a whole new batch of warforged, and the warforged medic Solace, an NPC whose existence began as a joke about Seeker having a whirlwind romance with a medic in the space of about 23 minutes while the rest of the party were running errands.

Hot damn was that a lot of work. Three and a half years, and despite it starting in modules by the second I'd decided I didn't like the story as it was written, threw it out, and told my own story. Featuring friendly little fire elementals named Phil, packs of extremely patriotic and laddish mimics named Jimmy, an eight foot robotic sweetheart named Friend whose primary weapon was an equally massive tower shield and her totally-not-boyfriend warforged druid/allosaurus/swearasaurus Din, a wrestling match with a hobgoblin that nearly turned lethal when an 18 foot tall warforged titan came in with the steel chair, an alligator with a gun, and banishing the elemental dragon powering a flying battleship while A) the team was still on the battleship and B) it was still several hundred feet in the air and C) it was the only thing keeping it there... it's done.

And it was all worth it. God I love these guys. So here's to you, Katie, Jacquie, Mike, Stan, and Will. I'll see you all next week for our next adventure.

[crazycoke-addict]

I don't fuck with Mike Tyson nor do I fuck with Jake Paul. I hope that the fight ends with Jake bleeding badly and unconscious. While I hope that Mike Tyson gets his kidney burst or has a heart attack. Both of these men are pieces of shit, and abusers like them don't deserve to breathe the same air as their victims.

[ultra-raging-ghost]

"I always assumed the eggs were dragon kidney stones" -Mike 2024

[jubiilee13]

requests

im working on requests i swear!! ive been working on this essay all week and after i finish working on it writing feels impossible

but still send in requests! i have 3 im currently working on but i NEEEEED requests!

i take requests for

josh hutcherson

peeta mellark

josh futturman (kinda, only seen 2 episodes)

mike schmidt

bucky barnes

steve rogers

stucky

spencer reid

SO PLEASE SEND REQUESTS POOKSTERS ILL SELL MY KIDNEY FOR THEM!!!!!!

[albertbutyoucancallmebert]

@stuckinuniformdevelopment

(prev) Teddy grabbed Bert’s hand and gave him a nervous smile while keeping his grip loose in case he wanted to pull his hand away. He wanted to tell Bert how much coming along meant to him. Yet he couldn’t quite find the words. The journey to the med bay was long and filled with tension, largely because Sam’s attack had left Teddy on high-alert after months of already being on edge. And he was well-aware of how risky being around Bert was. Even if it may already be too late. Eventually— after thoroughly making sure the coast was clear every step of the way and making detours to avoid running into other watchdogs— they arrived in the waiting room. Fortunately(?) the receptionist ushered them in right away… but only because they recently realized that Freddy needed more blood than they initially thought. It hurt to see Freddy look so cold and pale, especially when he was usually full of life. For a moment Teddy’s heart had stopped before he reminded himself that he was still alive. For now, at least. As his doctor hooked him up she informed them that Sam had pierced both Freddy’s liver and one of his kidneys, with the latter being unsalvageable. They had done all they could and now all they could do was wait. Even she wasn’t sure if he would pull through. Teddy had requested for Freddy’s visitors to be limited to him, Bert, and Freddy’s wife Cathy to reduce the chances of Sam returning to finish the job. Then he promised to file a police report and waited for the doctor to leave before letting out a long-suffering sigh. “I swear..,” Teddy muttered under his breath. “…if he dies I’m blowing up the Glornch with everyone in it…” Well, except potentially Mike.

Bert tensed slightly when Teddy grabbed his hand, but only because he wasn’t expecting it. But once he got used to the feel and reminded himself how nervous Teddy must be, he didn’t let go. It was kinda comforting, after all… Despite the fact he was worried a Glornist could possibly spot them like this. Which was why Bert exercised as much caution as Teddy did on their way to the med bay.

Seeing Freddy firsthand in such a fragile state and hearing about the damage done to him, Bert’s wishful optimism that everything would turn out fine started to wither. He sat quietly in a chair near Teddy. “I will provide the bomb,” he dourly mumbled in return. 

Bert idly fidgeted with his fingers as much went through his head. First he thought about what he could have done to prevent such a thing like this from happening. Maybe he should’ve been more dissuasive and unsupportive of Teddy’s magic research. Maybe he should’ve done more to expose and campaign against Percy and the Glornch instead of burying his head in the ground to hyperfocus on his career. Maybe he should’ve been more dissuasive and unsupportive of Percy’s magic research. …That was going back too far. Bert slightly shook his head as he reminded himself that dwelling on the past isn’t going to fix what’s happening now. 

So next, he thought about the consequences of blowing up the Glornch whether Freddy made it or not. Would an unexpected explosion kill Percy? Even if it didn’t, what would he do with all of his resources gone? How would an explosion impact the rest of the Skullship? How much trouble would they get in?

Meanwhile, Sherri Jr, fraught with worry, was holding herself back from climbing the medical med to sniff and examine the injured Freddy, as she knew that would be obtrusive. Instead she diligently sat at Teddy’s feet, hoping to provide some sort of comfort. She then remembered her gift, and retrieved the cashew packet from her backpack and set it on the ground next to her. She wanted Freddy to know they were from her when he woke up, so she also got out a small notepad and pencil. She was still miserable at writing, but she still tried her best to write, “From Sherri Schwarzschild Jr.” She tore out the page and set it on top of the packet.