#and medic explodes again

[snazum]

i want medic to lay in bed after battles at night and kick his feet at how heavy worded sentences like they’re on a date or flirting about stupid mundane tasks. im not projecting no never.

[noroalia]

THESE guys !!!!!

[dinoburger]

Heavy heart

[princescar]

Crazy how despite Mikan's love for gory movies and blood, she doesn't do an over the top murder. She doesn't even do a medical themed murder despite it being the main focus of the chapter. (Only one of her victims was a patient and she just strangled her)

Crazy how, when she wants to commit a murder for Junko, she does neck trauma.

That's Yasuke's M.O.

[mukuberry]

webtoon would be such a better app if they removed comments

[original-punks]

.

[godblooded]

and i’m right back to what it was like taking care of my mother.

[mercumeme]

My favorite part about being a disabled person in late stage capitalism is that I have to wait months just to see a PCP for the first time and urgent cares don't like handing out referrals anymore.

I ❤️ waiting and festering

[narzissenkreuz-ordo]

god why am i constantly feeling sick i hate it here. i just want to rip my insides out and not be in pain anymore

[automatonknight]

i <3 2fort forever yay ^__^

[moe-broey]

I HATE VYVANSE

[of-another-broken-heart]

Damn, that survey about jam on toast really has me wishing we had bread (and butter) because I could DESTROY like half a loaf all by myself right now.

Which of my menagerie of maladies is to blame for me craving salt and fat above all else?

I don't fucking know.

Even day-old bread costs like $4 a loaf now. And butter, that shit's like, double digits for a pound.

I don't remember the last time I could eat enough to actually feel full.

I say, while just wanting fucking. Bread.

Hit me with the peasant scraps. I will take your stale heels and I will be delighted.

[dxppercxdxver]

and now for something completely different!! (it is once again that collaboration with @chiropteracupola)

you already know i love you

A crisp spring breeze crested over the hilltop near Teufort Manor, ruffling grasses and skirts alike with warmth and the promise of better things to come. It was saturated with sweet lavender and the tang of onion grass, and Filomena took a deep, soothing breath, letting the dawning season blossom in her lungs, before another explosion rocked the bucolic meadow.

“Do you suppose they’ll hurt themselves?” she murmured, licking her finger to turn over a page in her book, some dense medical volume in Ansel’s native German filled with extensive diagrams and footnotes she could barely follow. Beneath her, Ansel shifted, peering across the clearing. Far off in the distance, Jeremiah and Mikhail were continuing their jovial pyrotechnics; chain-shot whistled and cracked against pine bark, rippling out on the wind, whooping and guttural laughter nipping at the echo’s heels.

“Oh,” Ansel said, adjusting his glasses as he peered over Filomena’s shoulder, “almost certainly.”

Filomena snorted, knocking her head against Ansel’s temple.

The two of them were curled up underneath a sprawling oak whose roots gnarled and twisted into shapes almost resembling waves. Its whorls provided a comfortable place to lie down with a friend and a good book, both of which Filomena was fortunate enough to have to hand. Of course, Ansel bore the brunt of the wooden seating, as she was quite neatly slotted into his lap, but he was hardly complaining, and the good doctor made more than adequate a cushion for such an occasion. Beside them sat two glasses of cider newly dredged up from the mansion’s cellar, sweating in the sun. The scent of apples was barely noticeable over the milieu of wildflowers and the cool water of the nearby river, but its company was not to be ignored.

Cocking her head away from the deafening blast of cannonfire once more, Filomena laughed. “Are we at all obligated to stop this?”

“Not at all, Liebling.” Ansel smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I have every faith they will remain in one piece.” Pausing, he pursed his lips, fighting off the grin pulling at his cheeks. “More or less.”

“Of course.”

Shaking her head with an incurable fondness, Filomena tapped her thumb against Ansel’s knuckles, rough and cracked from years of equal parts caustic chemicals and dirty fighting, before feeling for the twin bands that encircled his middle finger. They sparkled in the afternoon light, new gold as yet untarnished by neither time nor bitterness. While Filomena’s own ring was nothing to sneeze at, all delicate etching imbued with adoration, she admired the interlocking pieces of Ansel’s jewelry. Daniel had made them, so of course they were lovely as they were unconventional.

Her reverie was broken shortly after by the loudest blast yet, punctuated by the splintering of wood and a triumphant holler. When she looked up, Jeremiah was beaming, gesturing to a swath of leveled trees with flailing arms and calling out to her.

“Mina! Mina, didja see that?”

“Yes, darling, I did!” Filomena cried, waving from her spot seated atop Jeremiah’s husband. “It was spectacular!”

“Hallelujah!” Pumping his fist, Jeremiah ran to Mikhail, who was lumbering toward the makeshift camp under the tree. He leapt up into the gunner’s waiting embrace, whooping as he went.

“Hey, Micky, she saw! She saw!”

Mikhail rolled his eyes, but nevertheless swept Jeremiah into an expansive twirl so that his legs flung out in all directions and he looked as though he could take flight with glee. When he touched ground again, Jeremiah nudged Mikhail’s elbow. “D’ya think the Doc was watchin’?”

A rumbling guffaw tore itself from Mikhail’s throat, bounding around the clearing. He ruffled Jeremiah’s hair with a hand wrought from iron, and Jeremiah shouldered him in return.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“You are…” Mikhail seemed to consider his words as they drew closer. “Cute. I see why Doktor likes you.”

“Hey! I ain’t cute! Mina, tell ‘im I ain’t cute!”

“Well, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Filomena grinned, gently closing her book around her finger.

“Agh! Betrayed!” Drawing a hand to his forehead, Jeremiah sprawled across Filomena’s lap, face contorted in mock agony. “By my own wife, no less!”

“I’m sure you’ll live.” Bending down, Filomena pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Immediately, Jeremiah sprung back to life, sitting upright.

“It’s a miracle! I’m cured!”

“A veritable scientific anomaly,” Ansel agreed with a wink, reaching for Jeremiah’s hand and twining their fingers together. “One I will be sure to study at great length.”

“Aw, you flirt.” Succumbing to giggles moments later, Jeremiah tugged Ansel through a gap under Filomena’s arm for a clumsy, beaming kiss. She cast her eyes over to Mikhail, who was settling in beside the three of them, and found herself stifling ungainly chortles as he examined her plight, tangled between her husband and her husband’s husband. Reaching out, Filomena gripped Mikhail’s shoulder like a lifeline.

“Jeremiah, dear,” Filomena choked out through suppressed laughter, “while you know I love you very much, I am also— rather struggling to breathe.”

“Oh, shit.” Scrambling backward—very nearly clipping her nose with his head—Jeremiah disentangled himself from under Filomena’s arm until he was straddling her lap, hands laced behind her neck. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Smiling, Filomena twined her fingers through Jeremiah’s hair, admiring the smattering of freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes shimmered green with the foliage around them, and flaxen hair shone like spun gold.

“You are beautiful,” Filomena said before the rest of her mind caught up, but when it did, she found she still meant it. Ducking his head, Jeremiah’s cheeks flushed, and he reached for her glass of cider.

“Says you,” he mumbled.

“I do.”

Taking a long swig, Jeremiah eventually replaced the empty glass and laid his hands on Filomena’s cheeks.

“Love you, Mina.”

Jeremiah leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, breath fogging against her spectacles. She wanted to tell him she loved him too, but the gentle silence that enveloped them felt too precious to interrupt, and so she simply hoped he knew what she meant, what she would always mean.

Sighing, Filomena began to recline against Ansel’s chest again, before he raised a hand in protest.

“Ey! Save some for the rest of us!”

“Sorry,” Filomena chuckled, shimmying to the side until there was no interruption between Ansel and Jeremiah. Her book had long fallen by the wayside, and she scooped it up as she nestled herself between Ansel and Mikhail, dodging Jeremiah’s stray boot.

“Nice, isn’t it?” she whispered, more to the wind than anyone in particular, watching Jeremiah fiddle with Ansel’s tie, dot kisses along his jaw.

“Да,” came a soft whisper from behind her. When she turned, Mikhail was looking down at the scene before them, expression infectiously serene. “Is nice.”

“Misha, are you talking about us?” Ansel called, muffled under Jeremiah’s bear hug.

Mikhail’s amusement reverberated outward from deep in his stomach, rippling through Filomena and dragging her along with his levity. “Only good things, Doktor.”

“I should hope so, mein Schatz!” Although Ansel clearly meant to say more, Jeremiah pulled him into a crushing hug and abruptly cut him off, the both of them cradled in light and warmth. Filomena kicked her heel into Jeremiah’s thigh.

“Let the poor man recover, darling!” she exclaimed, guiding him back into her lap. “I do apologize for my husband’s despicable behavior, Mr. Ludwig.”

“And I, mine, Mrs. Thornton,” Ansel returned, kissing her cheek. “Really, Vogel, you ought to know better.”

“You two are insufferable.” Groaning, Jeremiah flipped over, positioning himself across the row of thighs that formed a convenient mattress. “Why did I ever marry you?”

“Hmmm, because you love us?” Filomena said, tapping his nose.

Ansel chimed in with a raised finger. “And because you are a man of miserable tastes!”

“Ah, yeah, that’s gotta be it.”

Soft grin spreading across his face, Jeremiah let his eyes flutter closed, resting his hands across his stomach, and a pleasant quiet began to settle around them, guided on the maple seeds fluttering to the ground. The hopefulness of springtime was practically infectious, with the four of them together like this. 

Inhaling long and slow, Filomena tucked her head into Ansel’s ribs, and he draped his arm over her shoulders, slender fingers finding purchase in the brocade of Mikhail’s coat. If she was not mistaken, Jeremiah was already drifting off, heart slowing to a crawl against her legs. Mikhail’s steady breaths worked to lull them all into a timeless, dreamlike state, where the world seemed to turn at a snail’s pace around them.

“I adore you,” Filomena mumbled, uncertain as to whether or not her loves had heard her. Not that it mattered, of course, but then Ansel’s “Süße Träume,” and Mikhail’s, “Спокойной ночи,” and last of all, Jeremiah’s, “Love ya,” reached her ears, and her chest all but glowed with the vibrancy within.

The distant chirp of birds lulled her into a gentle sleep.

[fandom-blackhole]

.

[schaettchen]

Communications class: here’s how perceptions tend to be biased and here’s the fundamental attribution error! Explain how you’re going to improve your relationship with [specific person I chose at the start] by improving your perception skills!

Me: I do all those things. I’ve heard of the fundamental attribution error. If [person] explicitly told me he doesn’t care why I’m doing things, just whether I inconvenience him, I don’t see how improving my perception skills will fix this.

I could just make shit up. But I’m too frustrated with him to pretend this issue is on my end.

[paintingskyblutf2]

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD

I AM MELTIIIIIING