#also filed under:

[leclercsbf]

scuderiaferrari SOAK IT UP! what an incredible drive

[hinamie]

theyre soft your honour

[yesokayiknow]

thirteen: a custard cream pedal??? for me??? oh gosh i wonder why the tardis decided to just be so nice to me all of a sudden :O

the tardis, who's about to bring about the apocalypse by getting possessed by the god of death in a few years: 👍

[stealingpotatoes]

Happy revenge of the fifth 😈 specifically to Darth Vader and InquisiCal and Trilla Sundari

its their special day!!

(donation doodles! // tip jar)

[javelinbk]

The Beatles in their suite at the New York Plaza, 7th February 1964

File this under: things that remind me Ringo is the oldest

[hrokkall]

DIVINE AUTOPSY

Text from a post by @bedrock-to-buildheight about angel anatomy and the physical manifestations of regret that can only be purged in a bloody vivisection.

[gascreates]

emotional support frog

who will absolutely eat your hand.

[sp0o0kylights]

You know what I want to see, I want to see more of Steve, Eddie, and Robin being 1980s small town kids from Indiana, by which I mean;

Robin is The Source of Gay Knowledge purely because her parents host Hippie Christmas and she managed to sneak away to find a neat bookstore in Indiana once. 

Her knowledge is not in depth. It's patchy, woven together through rumors, stories she heard or things she picked up from her parents' old pictures. She's got a handful of zines, one book, and some movies she managed to order for Family Video behind Keith's back.

She acts like she's Queen of the Queers because in Hawkins she pretty much is.

(Max and El ask her what a lavender marriage is once, something they overheard snooping around. 

Robin confidentially answers that it's code for when one woman dresses up as a man, fooling officials into wedding two woman.

She does not live this down two years later when they find out what it actually means.) 

Eddie doesn't spend every weekend in Indianapolis. 

Gas is expensive, his busiest days of his "job" is Friday and Saturday, and he has no fucking clue what the hanky code is. 

He's wearing that bandana because Metallica front singer James Hetfield has one on all their tour posters. 

Eddie does make it down to a gay bar though, by accident. Rick needed some back up for a shady deal. Promised Eddie a boatload of free drugs to sell if he agreed to just stand there and look mean. 

He was warned the bar they were meeting in was 'weird' and to not 'freak out' --which Eddie thought was hilarious given his nickname and general appearance, but whatever.

He doesn't understand when they get there, because it's just a bunch of hot men with hanky's in their back pockets everywhere.

Then he sees two women kissing and it clicks. 

He can't out himself in front of Rick, but one of the bartenders playfully dresses him down for his own hanky, letting him know all about the code and teasing him through his embarrassment. 

He's got an offer to come back and learn what color and which pocket his hanky should actually be in, a prospect Eddie was salivating at until Chrissy Cunningham up and died on his ceiling.

(He still wore the hanky, because the feeling of that bartender tugging it out and stuffing it back in might be the closest thing he's ever had to sex and he absolutely wants a repeat. 

He's young and horny, sue him.) 

Steve Harrington may not be academically smart but he's not dumb. 

He figured out a while back that the basketball team as a unit probably crossed the queer line more than once--or at least it did before Hargrove came in. 

( Brad Handly for example, went around slamming kids into lockers and screaming slurs like a fucking movie villain one Monday because the varsity team got dead drunk at Laura's party on Sunday and hey, look, there weren't that many girls there, okay?

They all had fucking hands and mouths. Everybody but Tommy was single and hot to trot. Nothing gay about it.

Its not even like they were kissing or treating each other like chicks. It was just Brad's first time and they got to tease him later for overthinking it. 

Dude graduated soon enough after and given Steve was on the team as a sophomore, he hadn't thought about the guy and why he might be freaking out so bad in years.) 

Robin's entire panic attack at Starcourt, and a few more after had Steve replaying that whole incident. Reframed it a bit, and, yeah.

In retrospect that had been extremely gay, actually. 

It sat with him a lot easier than he'd thought it would. Partially because of Robin, but mostly because that's just who he was.

Stranger things had happened to Steve and this one didn't want to kill, maim or otherwise eat him, so it got filed under 'interesting facts he should never tell his parents if he wanted to keep his trust fund' and then he went about his day. 

(Or he tried too, anyways.

It caught up to him when Eddie and Robin somehow figured out the other was queer and dragged him along to some bar Eddie had a standing invitation at, with demands for Steve to do what he did best.

Babysit.

Their magical trip was utterly destroyed when Brad Handly happened to be the very same bartender who had given Eddie the invite.

 Considering Brad's immediate bark of laughter followed by a hug and introducing himself as "Steve's gay awakening", Steve ended up having to speedrun through Eddie and Robin both having a crisis for him.

It didn't help that Steve had politely, and laughingly, corrected Brad with a casual; 

"Pretty sure that was Tommy man, but if it helps I think that tongue of yours gave Matt Burdon a crisis."

--which ended up with him answering a lot more gay sex questions with Brad than he cared too. 

At least he, through Brad, was able to help Robin connect to some local lesbians and--after a second crisis from Eddie regarding how Steve managed to have more sex than "the resident town freak and guy who actually knew he was gay, Steve!"-- even helped Eddie out by catching the metalheads tongue with his mouth later that evening.

The last one landed him a boyfriend, trust fund be damned.) 

[kaiminluu]

"when you slam the door i think you know, that you won't be away too long, you know that i'm not that strong"

hi @campbyler you destroyed me

[zzztlk]

I'm nonbinary and SEA and every time I remember the existence of Ties That Bind it makes my day 1000x better. Nat my beloved

I'm so pleased... peace and love to all the seasian queers in the crowd

[leclercsbf]

Carlos Sainz via Scuderia Ferrari

[fob4ever]

patrick, 2007

[sainz100]

a very small throwback to an opera moment! 🎵❤️✨ | x

[peaches2217]

“You’ve gotta take a nap, bro.”

“Then I’d have to stop looking at her.”

“She’ll be here when you wake up.”

“But I gotta make sure, yeah?”

“That’s what I’m here for, you big doofus. You know I won’t let anything happen to her!”

Luigi knew better than to take it personally, his brother’s protests and the silences between them. Reasoning with Mario when he was short on sleep was always an ouroboric cycle; the key to victory was to wear him down, tail him relentlessly in endless verbal circles, until at last he was tired enough to believe that dropping everything for a quick break was his own idea, at which point he would happily concede.

He’d always been stubborn like that. And as Luigi was quickly learning, the only thing more stubborn than an exhausted Mario was an exhausted Mario with a sleeping newborn in his arms. But he’d procured a nap himself and was armed with an endless supply of coffee and a foot-tall stack of Better Toads and Gardens. He could play this game all night long.

When another silence fell over them, he peeked over from an article on propagating winter roses and watched for a moment. Nothing new to observe. Mario still cradled his daughter’s head to his heart, his thumb stroking her cheek; his eyes were heavy yet soft and full of wonder, an equally soft (if slightly dopey) smile on his lips.

Luigi felt a similar smile creep onto his own face. He’d be lying if he tried to deny how precious the sight was, or how it made him want to melt into the loveseat they shared like gooey candy left too long in the sun. Fatherhood looked good on his brother. He’d always suspected it would.

Of course, it would look a lot better once Mario wasn’t visibly on the verge of passing out. And maybe after he took a razor to the stubble prickling his chin and cheeks and neck. And a good shower wouldn’t hurt, either. But for now, one hurdle at a time.

“Remember that talk we had?” Luigi leaned to his opposite side to fetch his drink from the end table, overcrowded with magazines. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself if you’re gonna take care of anyone else.”

“I know,” Mario groaned, dragging the last syllable out like a petulant child who’d been asked to clean his room, “and I’m gonna! You know that! But I gotta make sure she gets rested up first, yeah? All these new sounds and sights; that’s hard work, taking it all in! She’s too little for all that excitement.”

That dopey smile widened, and as Luigi polished off his fifth cup of coffee, Mario began cooing beneath his breath: “Sì che lo sei! Mia bellissima principessina! Mia albicoccetta sonnolenta! Papà adora così tanto la sua bambina! Sì! Sì!”

That was a good sign. A babbling Mario was a Mario desperately trying to keep himself awake, and thus a Mario mere minutes from giving into sleep. Luigi set his cup back onto the table and draped his reading material over the loveseat’s arm so he could commandeer baby duty at a moment’s notice.

“You can barely even keep your eyes open. It’s not safe to fall asleep holding a baby,” Luigi reminded him. “I’ll hold her for you. She’ll probably still be snoozing away by the time you wake up!”

Mario’s smile gradually faded, and he squinted down at his little girl, as if contemplating every divot of her visage. Luigi swore he could hear the squeak-squeak-squeak of rusty, overworked cogwheels rotating deep within his brother’s brain.

“What if she isn’t?” Mario eventually asked.

“Isn’t what?”

“Snoozing. You know? What if… what if she wakes up before I do? What if she needs changed, or…”

“Then I’ll change her. No sweat.”

Mario shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Mario, I’m a plumber. You think dirty diapers scare me?”

“No, I mean—” he gulped, catching a quiet, heavy breath. “Won’t she be scared? If she wakes up and she needs something but her mama’s asleep and her papa’s asleep, she’s gonna think she’s all alone, and—” His voice cracked as he spoke, and as soon as he stopped talking, his bottom lip began to wobble, fat tears pooling in his eyes.

That was also good. A weepy and irrational Mario was a Mario on the precipice of surrender. This would be over soon.

“No!” Those tears leaked out as he buried his face into the crown of her head, planting little kisses to her hair between affirmations. “No no no, Papà non andrà da nessuna parte, albicoccetta! Non ti abbandonerò mai!” Mwah! “Mai!” Mwah! “Mai!”

“Stars’ sakes, Mario, you’re not abandoning her.” Luigi made a point to keep his voice even and sympathetic as he scooted closer, draping an arm around his emotional brother’s shoulders. “I can wake you up if she needs anything,” he promised. “But you know she’ll be okay! As long as she’s clean and cozy, she’ll sleep like a— well, you know.”

Mario sniffled. “You’ll keep her cozy?”

“The coziest. She’ll be so cozy she won’t even know you passed her off to me!”

“...But we don’t smell the same! She’ll smell you and know it’s not me!”

“Bro. She’s a baby, not a dog.”

“But she’s so talented! So smart!” Mario hiccupped and turned to wipe his face across his shirt sleeve, already stained and crusty from the fifteen times he’d used it as a snot rag prior. “She stopped crying as soon as she heard her mama! She opened her eyes when I talked to her for the first time! She knows these things!”

If she already knows your smell as well as she knows your voice, then you really need that shower. Luigi bit back a chuckle and cleared his throat. No, he’d be every bit as incoherent and emotionally raw in Mario’s shoes. Comfort now. Snark later.

“Look at me, bro.” He pulled back just enough so that Mario could look up at him, and that alone was a victory, because he hadn’t looked away from his daughter in hours. And looking into his eyes now, red from tears and foggy with fatigue, Luigi knew with even greater conviction that he was on the right track. “If she wakes up — the second she starts acting scared or sad or needy, I’ll wake you up.”

“You promise?”

“On Polterpup.”

“You won’t just grab a nurse, or make Peach—” Something like horror flickered across Mario’s face, and suddenly he leaned in, his brows scrunched and his tone sharp. “Swear you won’t wake Peach up. No matter what. Don’t even think about it! Swear that on Mama’s grave!”

Luigi blinked. Well, if he’d been entertaining thoughts of waking a new mother after she’d spent all day in labor (which he wasn’t, at least not too seriously), those thoughts went flying out the nearest window. Mama Mario would personally descend in a chariot of angels to smack him with a rolling pin for committing such an act in the first place; what wrath would he incur if he also spited her name in the process?

Yeesh. That was an intense request, even (or maybe especially) for Mario.

Still, he clapped a hand against his brother’s shoulder, nodding firmly. “Sulla tomba di Mamma. Lo giuro.”

Finally, Mario’s face softened, and he lowered his head with a sigh. Luigi met him halfway; he cupped the back of Mario’s head and touched their foreheads together, and there they savored a moment of quiet resignation, taking in each other’s calming presence.

Wow. It had only taken three hours to reach this point. Honestly, Luigi was quite impressed with himself.

“Alright.” With one last sigh, Mario broke free and turned his attention back to the bundle in his arms, kissing her forehead gently. “You be good for Zio, okay, sweetie? He’s gonna take good care of you.”

Even in the weariest depths of acute oxytocin intoxication, Mario knew (with minimal convincing) that his own child was just as safe with his twin as she was with him. Luigi cleared his throat again, some fluttery but not unpleasant feeling bubbling in his chest. He knew better than to take that for granted.

Zio. Oh, he loved that title.

He found himself uttering his own stream of soothing nothings as he plucked the baby from Mario’s arms, leaning back against the couch cushion so he could prop her against his chest. Stars Almighty, she was her papa’s spitting image. Her chubby cheeks, her strong jaw, her dark hair — she was Mario if he had Peach’s eyes and nose and shaved off his mustache and was also thirty years younger. A little Mini-Mario.

Luigi clicked his tongue softly at his precious little niece, resting peacefully in his arms, entirely unphased by the transfer. Another trait she’d picked up from her father, it seemed: she was one heck of a heavy sleeper.

He would tear down the sky and blow up the stars for her. Funny, how quickly one can devote their entire being to something so small.

“C’mon,” he said, facing his brother again, “let’s get you somewhere more—”

Mario was out cold. He hadn’t even laid back or made himself comfortable; he just slumped forward, his mouth open slightly, his eyes lightly shut.

Great. Speak of the devil…

“Hey.” He glanced back down to the infant in his arms, ensuring her neck remained stable as he nudged his brother with his shoulder. “Come on. Don’t do this! There’s a perfectly good sofa literally right across the room!”

His rationale went unheard. Mario swayed in place for a moment, eyes still closed, and then slouched into Luigi’s side, his head landing square on his shoulder. A quiet snore escaped him as he made contact, and then nothing.

Luigi stared down at his unconscious twin in stupefaction, eventually casting a longing gaze at his gardening magazine, still open and waiting for him on his opposite side. Mario wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. He could, in theory, free himself, but given how the hypervigilant dad-to-be had trained himself these past months to startle awake at the slightest sudden movement…

Well. Their shared moment of resignation hadn’t just been for Mario’s sake, then.

Ah well. Best not divide his attention while babysitting. With a lighthearted huff, Luigi carefully repositioned himself, pulling his legs beneath him and leaning against the loveseat’s arm (and creasing his poor abandoned magazine in the process) so he could more appropriately support Mario’s bulk. Both father and daughter remained undisturbed as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Starai una rompiscatole come Papà?” he whispered to the bundle in his arms. He tried to sound annoyed, if for no one’s sake but his own, but he couldn’t possibly drop the grin that tugged at his cheeks.

His niece smacked her tiny lips, nestling a bit deeper into her blanket with a quiet noise. At the same time, Mario snored again, settling against his brother in his sleep.

A Mini-Mario indeed.

“Oh, sì!” Luigi nuzzled his nose into the crown of her head, planting little kisses to her hair as she snoozed. “La rompiscatole preferita di Zio! Sì che lo sei! Sì!”

[its-wabby-stuff]

Mikey Goes To Oz

<Time spent: 49 hours 17 minutes>

When Mikey takes some time away from a loud family squabble he accidentally ends up getting “flushed” down the sewers. This winds up sending him to the colorful land of Oz where he meets a good witch, a wicked witch, a brainless scarecrow, a heartless Tinman, a cowardess lion, and a powerful wizard, all disguised behind very familiar faces.

A canon adjacent spin off set before the season one finale but after they discover Splinter is Lou Jitsu

I wanted to fit each of the boys into their “you’ve had this all along” category. Leo isn’t brainless, in fact he’s pretty clever with a street smart, people reading ability on par with Donnie’s intelligence. Donnie isn’t heartless, he just has a tough time expressing his feelings. They are complex and unalgorithic but he can get just as excited or sad or angry as anyone, as much as he may deny it. Raph isn’t a coward, but being brave sometimes means admitting you’re scared and that you maybe don’t have all the answers. You dont have to be strong all the time and you don’t have to do it by yourself.

In the movie Dorothy’s journey home is also a representation of her running away. The important thing was to remember there were people who cared about her. Mikey is experiencing a similar phenomenon, wanting the escape the bad vibes in the lair. His “you’ve had it all along” is interesting because it is an object, since the Ruby kneepads could’ve taken him home the whole time. And sometimes getting home means going on a journey only to realize you never left.

I put April as Glinda because Glinda appears as a defender of the weak, and I see April in a similar light. Always willing to help and beat someone up if it is so required. Splinter as The Wizard of Oz represents Splinters own willingness to hide behind different personas, his running from the past and the pulling back of the curtain for Mikey in timeline. The Wizard grows through the movie, albeit quickly, and ends up leaving Oz to go home leaving his legacy with the scarecrow, the Tinman, and the lion. In this case the passing of the baton to his sons.

Meanwhile Draxum as the wicked witch felt much more how Mikey sees Draxum at this time in the show, mostly just an antagonistic force who wants something from them. Fun fact: I imagine throughout this dream, Draxum is uninterested in being the wicked witch but is pressed into it via plot. Hence his disinterest in being “melted.”

Additional characters not pictured: Big Mama as the Wicked Witch of the East (those were her Ruby kneepads!!) and Todd as the Mayor of Munchkin Land. If you can think of more, feel free to leave them in the comments or tags.

[mondschein14]

This is the best German production I have found so far and it does many things right, such as Grantaire having long hair