#but anyway i hope this works!! <33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[triona-tribblescore]

I cant stop thinking about them :'( 🩷🩷✨✨ drew my human designs for a wee change of pace uvu

[noxious-fennec]

A redraw of an old thing because exam season is the only time i get creative energy ig

[diamondsheep]

The Mighty Wano Tiger 🐯⚔

This is my illustration for @opanimalszine, i really loved being part of this beautiful Zine 💚

[cornleypolytechnicgoeswrong]

More of my favourite low effort CPDS Members as my screenshotted tiktok comments memes for you as an apology for being so inactive and proof I am still around hehe <33

[ldy11lc]

Artrick x theater kid moodboard?

ARTRICK MOODBOARD + HC’S ᥫ᭡

─────── ୨ৎ ───────

─────── ୨ৎ ───────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 theyre your biggest supporters, full stop.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 art is at EVERY single show with a bouquet of flowers in hand, ready to congratulate you and give you a giant hug afterwards. dosent matter if you were the lead or if you had one line, hes there (even if you only helped with the sets, he’s still there)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 patrick does his best to make it to your shows, but he’s on the road a lot for tennis, so he dosent always make it. he feels so guilty but he always makes a point of video calling you before a show while youre getting your hair and makeup done when he cant be there !!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 every time he demands art record the entire show for him to watch after, even if it isnt allowed. art has gotten in trouble for this multiple times

ᯓᡣ𐭩 when he CAN make it though, you know it. he cheers and claps louder then anyone when you come onto stage, when you make a joke, even if it isnt that funny, he’s cackling, and he has gotten into a whisper fight turned accidentally too-loud argument when someone was talking during one of your big moments. (he apologised to you profusely afterwards)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 art has so many ticket stubs from your performances, that he now has a small box dedicated to only them, since there just isnt enough space on the wall (it’s probably definitely got some cheesy label with your name and a bunch of hearts and drawings on the lid) (he isnt ashamed)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 if youre doing a shakespearian play, theyre in the audience doing their best to understand whats going on. if its a musical, they are whooping and cheering every single time you hit a hard note.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ALWAYS reassuring you and comforting you. you accidentally messed up your words on stage ? no one even noticed ! pre-show jitters ?? you’re going to do amazing, they just know it !!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 theyre at every rehearsal they can be. its nice to watch you in your element !! plus seeing you out of breath and sweaty from the choreography isnt so bad either

ᯓᡣ𐭩 patrick CONSTANTLY talking about how good you look in the costumes and asking if they would REALLY notice if you were to take it home for just one night. everytime you say yes and that you cant but hes slowly wearing you down

ᯓᡣ𐭩 if theres any moment where you have to kiss someone else on stage, theyre doing their BEST to stay calm and supportive (they KNOW its just acting, they DO) but its hard. they’re silently fuming in their seats until they can see you again, and if theyre a little more touchy then normal ? well, that dosent seem like SUCH a bad thing…

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you have definitely almost been caught in compromising positions with them by excited co-stars coming to congratulate you after a show. every time you tell the boys its not going to happen again, but you all know youre lying.

─────── ୨ৎ ───────

Notes. ᡣ𐭩

╰┈➤ aughhh !!! i really hope this is okay !! tbh ive never actually been involved in any kind of theatre (im WAYY too shy for that 😭😭) but i LOVED this prompt !! i just think its so cute !! i hope i did it justice with my limited knowledge <33 also just a fair warning for the other moodboards im going to do !! they are probably NOT going to be this detailed !! 😭😭 i really dont know what came over me for this but i just couldnt stop the words from coming !!

[babybirbb]

Just started watching suits recently and was wondering if you had any good fic recs, particularly AUs. The nature of the show really lends itself to Selkie fics imo but also I just love selkies

anon i need you to know that as soon as i saw your ask i immediately went scouring through the AU tag on ao3. i’m not gonna lie, i'm not usually an AU reader but i wanted to challenge myself to provide some recs as unbiasedly as possible.

at first observation, i noticed a lot of the AU fics were still in some way canon (divergent and adjacent)-- usually splitting off somewhere along the show or a situation where Mike or Harvey is still a lawyer, while the other was not. i will say i skipped over smut-based (omegaverse, bdsm) and lengthy fics (under 20k is nothing, anything more than 50k is pushing it for me) cause i just did not have the brainpower to even try to get through them :/

so of course the ones i ended up liking were mostly canon divergent/adjacent but i tried my best to get you something different. what i managed to dig up for you is under the cut and i really hope you like them anon (also fyi these are all pretty much marvey fics, hope that's okay!) <3 also thanks so much for the ask! i enjoyed this little scavenger hunt haha!

As the World Caves In by SupernaturalIdjit16 | Mature - Zombie Apocalypse, Warning for the usual triggers that come with zombie apocalypse. It’s not a complete work but it literally got updated today!

Here at the end of all things by tattooedsiren | Explicit - Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort, Mike and Harvey protecting each other, Mike does shoot someone and goes a bit into the psychological aftermath, light smut towards the end

The Haunting of Penthouse B by Skara_Brae | Teen+ - Supernatural Elements, Happy ending, Mike’s a ghost…or is he?

Meet Me at Midnight by butdaddyilovehim | Teen+ - Superheroes/Superpowers, Protective Harvey, he's also Batman…need i say more?

Complications by LearnedFoot | Teen+ - Canon divergence, Fake/pretend relationship, Harvey decides not to hire Mike, instead asks for his help to spite Jessica, of course they end up falling in love

The Touch by FrivolousSuits | Teen+ - Magic, Angst, Soulmate inspired, it’s also from Donna’s pov which was super fun and interesting, as was the nature of the magic

TBR list:

Wear My Name by Lunarflare14 (Teen+) and whatever the question by tattooedsiren (Explicit) - These are both Fake/Pretend relationship AUs based/inspired by The Proposal movie! (a very good movie imo)

The Game by FrivolousSuits | Teen+ - It’s a Hunger Games AU so i am intrigued, just haven't gotten around to reading it yet

Ocean Dream by Blue_Five | Mature - i apologize for being unable to provide you with a selkie fic so the best i could do was the incomplete merperson au... i hope it's enjoyable...😅

[robiinurheart33]

(TW for major panic attack, small s3lf harm and intrusive thoughts) - clicks for Palestine

Anyone who takes a good look at Ghost can probably guess he isn’t the most mentally healthy person.

Okay, he lied. No one would look at him long enough to actually take a good look before looking away in fear.

So why the hell are so many people annoying him today?

Look. He isn’t usually a very angry guy. Ghost is more like a combination of all his traumas and defence mechanisms and depression with anxiety all wrapped up in a scar-filled muscle tank. He does not get angry easily. He’s trained for that.

But fuck, when everyone is somehow getting on all his nerves at once, Price demanding paperwork, Gaz being way too fucking patient with him, and Soap whining all the god damned time. Jesus. Christ. Give him a bloody break already. He hasn’t drank water or eaten anything today, and his head is light and his brain feels like soft tissue scrunching up in preparation for a killer migraine. His boots are too tight, his mask suffocating him, his dozens of knives and guns and whatever the hell he keeps in him, he’s feeling every single minute detail and it’s driving him up the fucking wall. Who the hell decided all the lights be white?? God, his eyes burn. He probably hasn’t blinked properly in a while. His jaw and teeth hurt from clenching them, and ghost can practically feel his shoulders turning into giant boulders.

Ghost wants to crawl into a hole and die. Well, he already did do that, didn’t he? That wasn’t funny. He grimaces, sucking in a big breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Pull it together.

His thoughts are all over the place right now, and he can’t focus on one thing at a time. He needs to do a hundred things at the same time, and another part of him is reminding himself how dehydrated he is. He wants to choke the living hell out of his brain. Able to kill hundreds of people but unable to escape the confinements of his own mental stability. Ghost almost huffs at that. So you use comedy as a coping mechanism under stress? The words of his shrink suddenly ring through his mind, and ghost wants to bash his head into the wall and pull out all his hair.

Okay, okay, okay. Stay focused. First thing is to get back to his room, finish paperwork, drink and eat then sleep. As simple as that. Nothing else. Work, eat, sleep. Okay. He can do that. Terrifying lieutenant reduced to some guy who can’t even take care of his basic necessities. How can you even take charge of thousands of lives on the field? Ghost bites the inside of his cheek hard, tasting metal flow into his mouth immediately. SHUT THE FUCK UP. He feels like his skin is wrapped in cling wrap, pulling tighter and tighter, until his skin burns and he wants to scratch on every cell on his body until the feeling goes away. This is quite literally his own personal purgatory. Is he dead? He hopes he is.

Ghost slams open the door to his room, and winces at the loud sound that happens. He closes the door a little more carefully, his fingers trembling and even the subtle “click” of the door echos through his head and he wants to melt into the floor and die. Ghost presses the heel of his palm into his eyes and watches the sparks flutter behind his eyelids, until the pressure relieves some of the tension, until it almost hurts, and his breathing somehow soothes slightly. He wasn’t even aware of how hard he was breathing. His chest itches, and Ghost scratches at it, surprised by the dull pain that etched through his ribs. He rips off his gloves and throws them onto the floor, like a child throwing a tantrum. His father’s words plague him, and a cold sweat starts to break out.

It all boils to a point, and Simon throws his mask off, hands trembling and shaking and he doesn’t know what to do how to get rid of this how does he function, and he has work, work, work and there is no time at all and he’s paralysed by the thought of choice, and he’s standing in the middle of his room, face flushed and panting. His shaking hands raise slowly and he grabs onto his hair and yanks. He gasps and grinds his teeth together and it hurts. It hurts, and it’s making his brain feel sharper, and his eyes are slowly blurring. It hurts, and he doesn’t let go. Energy thrumming beneath his skin, and his nails sink into his forearms, and he scratches, scratches, scratches, it hurts, and he scratches, scratches, scratches, and there is nothing that can save him, and he scratches.

It hurts.

He hurts.

It’s good to see you again, Simon.

A sinking feeling explodes in his gut and his mouth opens, jaw limp and he doesn’t know what’s happening. He pants, and it hurts. He falls to his knees, face plummeting into the foot of his bed, and it hurts. Tight, tight, and with fumbling hands and skin and blood under his fingertips he unbuttons his jeans, throws over his shirt and lay panting on the ground. It’s too close, and he unties and throws his boots across the room. Tantrum. His mind taunts. It’s not enough, it’s never enough, hurt. It hurts.

His fingertips tremble.

He almost sprains his ankle tumbling into the shower, turning the knob completely to the right. He slams his head against the wall tile, not even waiting for the water to heat up before stepping into the water. His back and shoulder hurt, and he tries rolling his shoulders back but to avail. He tries to compose himself, and he fails. There is simply no more energy left in him.

Simon shivers and slides down to his ass, closing his eyes and welcoming the boiling water with reverence. It burns, and he hurts, and he’s alive, and he feels horrible. He knows he hates sitting while showering. He knows that there is no way he can possibly get up now. He knows that this is the absolute worst way to deal with his attacks right now. He knows he should get help. He knows he should breathe.

Simon does none of that.

He cannot tell if the liquid falling down his face is water, blood, sweat or tears. He doesn’t think about it any further. He angles his face just slightly out of the water to take in a gulp of humid air. That’s one down now. He shudders yet again, could imagine the goosebumps break across his arms. One objective right now is to get clean. He breaths some more. Counts to 10. His body doesn’t listen to himself. Dirt scrapes across his knees, and it’s not real, none of it. A metal hook, rotting jaw, and blue eyes.

Soap. Johnny.

Simon opens his eyes.

There’s no dirt, there’s no hook, or wood, or fire, no smell of decomposing bodies, no gun or blood, no pats to his shoulder, no whispers, no tommy, Beth, Joseph, elizabeth Riley or Johnny, he’s alone.

Like he always knew he was.

Simon twitches his toes, and watches as it slowly curls up. One more down. he blinks, and both his feet curl up. Twenty blinks later, and his hands twitch, static twitching up his arms. Distinctly, he remembers that they react that way due to not getting enough oxygen into his body. Ten blinks later, and his hands curl up. He slides his fingers against his palm, clocking in the water slowly getting colder again. He makes his hand into a fist. Another slow ten, and he lays his palms flat against the shower floor, inhaling painfully before pushing himself up with a grunt, slipping slightly and slamming his shoulder into the shower wall. He wheezes, clawing at the wall to keep himself upright. It hurts. His head spins. He blinks.

Breathe.

His hands fumble for the water tap, clammy hands shutting off the water and suddenly it’s way too quiet.

That’s- shit, that’s even worse and Simon turns on the water again, not to have it beat down on his back but a small drizzle, just to keep it from being silent, to not remind him how alone he felt.

A beat. Then two.

Simon turns off the water again and steps out of the shower quickly. He grabs a towel and wraps it around himself, staring at the man in the mirror.

Simon blinks. So does he.

Breathe.

That’s enough. He has work to do. He opens the door and steps back into his room, changing quickly and ignoring the blooming bruise on his shoulder and forehead. He takes one last breath and looks at the balaclava thrown onto the floor. He has work to do.

Ghost picks up the mask.

[keeps-ache]

i think i'm starting to really like writing again :D this will have consequences

[inkykeiji]

i love it when he sits like this ฅ^•⩊•^ฅ

if you’re reading this, wesley and i hope you have a good thursday!! <3 sorry i’ve been so absent lately, i promise i’m not gone forever, just taking a lil breather c: busy living life and writing without putting any pressure on myself! lately i’ve been (yet again) daydreaming about starting to vlog for no reason other than wanting to capture my life in a way that is creative and expressive—a moving visual gratitude journal, if you will. thinking very much about my autobiographical film class, chantal akerman, and italianamerican (which might be my favourite scorsese film ever >.<)

[blood-mocha-latte]

65 luztoye pleaseee

65. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

The problem with trying to do work in the morning was that Joe could never goddamn focus. 

He made it about halfway through the work that Winters had sent to him six days ago before the door to the bedroom creaked, gentle footsteps following it.

Joe looked up from the laptop and blinked. 

“Hi.” He said, and hoped, rather fruitlessly, that he sounded like a normal person.

George, who was in nothing but Joe’s boxers, hair messy and curling slightly around his ears, kiss-bruised with still-red lips and dark eyes, just hummed as he walked the short distance around Joe to get to the kitchen, bare feet padding against cheap linoleum. 

Joe went back to the screen in front of him, cleared his throat. He was fine.

George was warm, when he came up behind Joe again barely five minutes afterwards, after the tell-tale sound of cupboards being opened and the sink being turned on and off. Warm, and soft, and so, so much more interesting than whatever it was that he needed to do. 

“I missed you.” He murmured into Joe’s shoulder, around a soft, huffed laugh, and Joe leaned further back into him, closing his eyes.

“I have a deadline.” He said, regretted the very fact of it. George sighed around another laugh, pressed his lips to Joe’s temple. 

“When is it?” He asked, low and quiet. It was unnecessary, as Joe was already turning around in the stool, letting his back hit the table as George bent down further, dropping his arms to Joe’s shoulders to lean in and kiss him. 

“Mm.” Joe said, tilted his head just enough to let George lick deeper into his mouth. “Doesn’t matter. How’d you sleep?”

George pulled back enough to press a damp kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaning further into him as Joe looped an arm more fully around his waist. He pressed his forehead to the others with a hum.

“Fine.” He said, eyes warm and lips red. He blinked once, slow, and Joe tracked the shadow of his eyelashes absently. “It’s cold, without you.” 

Joe tilted his head back enough for George’s mouth to find the column of his throat, the hinge of his jaw.

“Yeah.” He agreed, vague. His other palm found George’s waist absently. “Same.” George made a soft noise, carefully between a laugh and something else strangled.

He shifted in between Joe’s knees, eyes dripping closed as he crossed his wrists behind his neck. Joe looped his arms more fully around his waist in return, almost exhausted.

“Long distance is hard.” George murmured against his lips, all sunlight. Joe kissed him back.

“So fucking hard.” He agreed, hoarse. 

In three days, they hadn’t left the apartment. In three days, they’d barely left the bed. George dropped his forehead to Joe’s with a sigh.

“I’m quitting.” He said, low and quiet and barely an edge of humor. “I’m calling Sobel and telling him to go fuck himself and staying here for the next six thousand years.”

Joe wanted that. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything else, maybe ever. He huffed a laugh and tilted forward to kiss George again. 

“You’ll make it.” He murmured. “You’re almost there.”

George’s hand shifted, palms curving around his jaw instead. “Illinois is too far away.” He said, like a complaint, tapping his thumbs along Joe’s cheekbones thoughtlessly. 

Realistically, it’s maybe a twelve hour drive from Philadelphia to Chicago. Still. “Yeah.” Joe said, quiet, an easy agreement. “You’ll make it, beautiful.”

George made a soft noise, pulled back enough to watch him, eyes warm, soft and gentle and cold and a thousand other things. He watched Joe, face serious, for maybe two seconds before his expression fell into something slightly more amused, always warm, always gentle.

“Beautiful.” He murmured, in between kissing Joe for the thousandth time. “You should look in the mirror.” Joe snorted, dry.

“I’m okay.” He rasped, felt the scars and the where skin melded into titanium most acutely whenever he thought about it. George just made his own face, soft and creased.

“You’re more than just okay.” He said, rather indignant. “I mean, we’re catches. We’re the — the Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio of our friend group.”

“Mm.” Joe said, cut off by George kissing him again before he could say much more. “If you say so.”

“I do.” George said, not missing a beat. “And you have to believe me, because you like doing what I say.” 

He ran his fingers over the hem of Joe’s undershirt, rucking up the fabric there to speed his fingers against bare, scarred skin. Both the movement and the words made Joe almost grin against his lips, and he leaned further into him, spreading a palm against the small of his back. 

“That so?” He rasped. George hummed, low and warm.

“Come back to bed and I’ll tell you how I want you to fuck me.” He said, low, and Joe moved to kiss him again, all warmth and gentle and wildfire. George hummed into his mouth, pleased.

“Love you.” Joe told him, pulling back and pressing his mouth to George’s cheek. George’s fingers knot behind his neck and he sighed, more tired than even the second before.

“Love you.” He murmured back. “Three more months.”

“Three more months.” Joe agreed, mouth to George’s collarbone, along his clavicle. George’s hand found his hair, running his fingers through it. 

“Once it’s over, I’m never going to leave.” He said, swaying heavier against Joe, who braced his weight easily. 

“Three more months.” He said, again. George flattened the fingers not in his hair against his neck in an absent, soothing touch.

Joe’s laptop was still at his back, but it was long forgotten. He still had another day to complete the damn thing, anyways. He tilted up to kiss George again, who obliged gladly. 

“Three more months.” George mumbled against his mouth. “Hey, Joe.” Joe hummed, kissed him again.

George kissed him back, and Joe could feel the way he breathed against his skin. The way he moved, did anything. 

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know?” George licked into his mouth, just as warm, just as light, and Joe couldn’t help almost smiling against him.

“Sure, baby.” He murmured, pressed in to kiss him deeper before George could protest.

Three more months.

[theproblemcallednight]

tis the rat man's bday

some fedya doodles bc i cannot be consistent enough to color smth 😭😭

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <333

[hearts-hunger]

good morning sunshine <33

[hopkei]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YUSEI! ⋆ 97.05.06

[lunetual]

TEAM 2:00 (NTX) ✧ JAEMIN   ↳ PEAK TIME 2R : TEAM A DANCE UNIT

[somerandomdutchfangirl]

Hhh,,, might cave and make a fanfic about Them