#cruise stuff

[pan-fried-autism]

an overdue cruise ship drawing of Grem being a lightweight loser drunk cat

(With nikolai from @bowlerhatwearer)

[mrgintsu]

[gravehags]

my brain: hey girl do you think you slipped into the habit of maladaptive daydreaming as a child and continued as an adult because you were so incredibly lonely all the time even while surrounded by others due to your then undiagnosed autism and anxiety disorders :)

me, in the middle of a maladaptive daydream and not paying attention: huh

[koynart]

Just put these up as stickers on my redbubble for anyone interested (they’re available as button pins too but the cropping is mehhhh)… the link is in my bio.

They’re not identical to their pin alternatives; more colours, blended colours, etc. But I figured I’d still share these in case anyone wants any!

[your-unfriendlyghost]

the worst thing that happened when i was 14

(Featuring my old 90s-ass haircut lol)

Some stranger who all my friends liked said “You look like you’re trying to look like Tom Cruise in Top Gun”. And despite the fact that I had not seen Top Gun, I took psychic damage

I joke but genuinely this bugged me for like a year. Dunno why in retrospect. Think I was just fourteen.

[mikhailoism]

yeah im back to thinking about bobby's black book, his plan and his suicidal ideation in 7x09 .... this is on my mind so much because its honestly never really talked about anymore. like it took 6 seasons for the book and plan to even be mentioned again. one of my biggest fears for s8 is for the whole argument between athena and bobby and all his suicidal thoughts and whatnot to be ignored and brushed over .... I don't want that ! i need him to have to serious talks with athena and a therapist about this. like i need them to talk about their argument for bobby to admit he was bordering suicidal even if he didn't really realize it.

I NEED THEM TO TALK ABOUT THE BOOK AND THE PLAN. like what do you mean that athena never knew about this huge thing ??? i need a whole scene of bobby letting in athena on this and better explaining. idk it's always annoyed me how easily they brushed off the book and the plan in s1 after everything with chimney and then throwing away the book, but like this was a big coping mechanism and whatnot is it really that easy just to stop that way of thinking??? and i want more of athenas side in this, I want to see her struggle with the knowledge and how badly she wants to help and save bobby but she can't it's not how it works. she knows exactly what it's like to have someone you love try and commit suicide and the knowledge that bobby planned to in the past and is currently feeling like it again?? horrifying and terrifying to her . and the frustration of bobby not letting her in ?? l need active conversations about this so badly , let me see them genuinely talking and having therapy sessions together and alone i just need proper resolution to this

[neosprites]

interveiw with the vampire graphics!!!! if u have them! ik it’s kinda niche

[INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (1994): STAMPS AND BLINKIES]

pls credit if you use

stamps best seen on dark mode

two sizes of blinkies: 730x99 px and 150x20 px

I wasn't sure if you meant the movie or the show aha, so please feel free to request again if you want graphics of the show! I'd be happy to make more :)

Other graphics I found while searching:

stamps from errorcorruptedcddrive

blinkie from cemetery-grl

[honestlyeddie-im-bi]

BTW, I fucking love how the closer we get to March 14th the more insane we look and sound.

The way things are going we will be visibly shaking by 7x01.

[pencilgutz]

I really need to stop staying up so late at night

I may or may not have an AU preheating in the oven rn

man Pirates and Cruises are so cool am I right

Close ups under the cut :]

I think @xinnamonbun would enjoy this greatly

i would also like to thank @trifluoperazine for helping me get ideas

[khaosssss]

uh uhhh gift for a mutual

@hypnautic-cereal here *explodes* 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥����💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

[gummy-axolotl]

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[impasta-wall]

Sometimes my friends and I talk really late at night and we end up touching on some really random topics, very wholesome very nice crazy time but recently (last night) we stumbled on tom cruise’s ass.

Me: (breaking-up-on-the-call) tom cruise’s ass is a fact

Friend: yeah its an arte-fact

All three of us then proceed to die laughing

[mrgintsu]

[zeebreezin]

The first - or perhaps more accurately, second - meeting of a very dazzling couple. Featuring my own personal interpretation of what it must’ve been like when the Dawn Machine turned on for the first time. You’ll need to know Vincent (or rather, the guy who used to call himself Vincent)’s whole deal for this fic to make sense. Also, yay, evil women moments!

The world was wreathed in glasslike gold, and a young man was running as fast as he could. His vision had swam back into focus to the thundering of his boots, the sound sharp against the iron grating and fresh cobble. He sprinted frantically, desperately, through corridors of metal and brick. There was a song in the air, unheard hymns now so, so familiar. The man was singing, too, but he didn’t quite realize that yet. Despite how his chest screamed for breath, for rest, he never missed a note. There were people, uniformed men and women that he sprinted through the melody, collapsed figures lying prostrate in prayer as light stripped the flesh from their backs. None of the others weren’t running.

That didn’t matter, though. He had to keep going. He had to find her.

It was the only thing he seemed to be able to hold into, this unexplainable drive to search. There was nothing else to hold onto. The rest of the young man’s mind was so wonderfully quiet, faintly ringing with thoughts of glory and light and brassy song. They didn’t quite feel like his thoughts, they didn’t stick quite right. What did his thoughts feel like, again? …That didn’t matter. ‘Mattering’ didn’t matter much, anymore. She was out there, somewhere, and he had to keep running.

The young man turned a corner, his torn coat snapping in the humid air as he did. He’d made it to a platform, one overlooking the ochre stained waters. The light danced across the waves. Crates lay stacked on either side. Men lay slumped against them, not breathing yet singing so sweetly. They slid out his mind.

And just ahead, leaning against a railing, he saw her.

She was gorgeous, even in the well worn skirt she wore. She was dressed for work - grease staining her rolled up sleeves - and yet the glorious light seemed to halo her. Like an angel. Like something more. As he stood there, horribly out of breath, she turned to face him. Her curls framed brilliantly bright eyes. She smiled at him, something like relief in her eyes as she spoke. The soft words were nearly swallowed by the distant roar of machinery and the hymns echoing from every other set of lips.

“□□□□□! □□□□□?” She said - wait, what was that she said? “□□□□..?”

His head was full of song. He couldn’t make sense of her words. He should say something, he should respond, but it was all so bright and brilliant. He wanted to answer her badly. Didn’t he? He must want to, right? Did he want anything? Her voice was so beautiful. He had to try and answer.

“Is… Isobel?” His voice was raw, dry and brittle in the thick wet heat. The young man had almost forgotten how to speak. He’d forgotten how to do anything but sing and shine. Somehow, though, he remembered this. Her name fell from his lips without knowledge of the salvation it represented. “You’re… Isobel.”

It was only now that the young man realized that he couldn’t remember his name. The meaning of ‘you’re’ escaped him, even as he spoke it. But Isobel had a meaning.

Of course it did. That was her.

Her eyes were wide with something like concern, despite the smile on her face. She crossed the space in a blur of golden hues, until one of her hands rested lightly on his shoulder. He had to look up to meet her gaze. He did.

“□□□□□□… □□? □□□□□?” It was hard to understand her, intent and vocabulary slipping away into that bright happy nothingness that had nearly swallowed him whole. He was aware, faintly, that he was mouthing her name under his breath. Isobel. Isobel. Isobel. A single piece of meaning in the quiet of his mind. He was smiling so hard it hurt.

Then suddenly, something shifted. It felt like he’d come up for air after too long underwater as something aching burst behind his eyes. His thoughts were still scattered, hushed by the gold caressing the back of his skull. But there was clarity, now. Language, concept, reality. The young man took a single staggered step forwards, nearly collapsing into her arms.

“…Can you even hear me? …Are you in there? □□□?” Isobel said, her soft voice so terribly worried. The grip on his torn, dawnstained coat felt desperate. It left his chest shaking.

“Isobel… is- yes, yes, I can hear you. I can hear you, Isobel.” It was easier for him to speak, now. He tried to sound reassuring, even as tears streamed down his cheeks. How long had he been crying? “I’m… I’m here.”

His words made Isobel’s smile widen, as she pulled him in for a hug. The young man shivered as she held him, a brief, desperate moment of human contact. The rest of the golden, dreamlike world felt more in focus, as he looked out from over her shoulder. He saw the singing people, looking more dead than alive. The newly polished metal piping. The blood. It was so terribly familiar, yet it felt like nowhere at all.

“Isobel, where… where are we?” He said, as Isobel pulled away. There were a few tears in her eyes now, too.

There was that concern on her face again, that softly furrowed brow. “We’re… we’re on □□□□□□…” Isobel’s voice dipped back into the song again. Or maybe it was his ears being pulled under? He couldn’t tell. She paused for a moment, perhaps noticing the lack of recognition on his smiling face. “…what can you remember?”

What can he remember? …There was something he had to remember, wasn’t there? Something terribly important. A secret, one he’d meant to tell her before. A secret not gold at all, one that was dark, and tricky, and smelling of resin— then the sweet nothingness took those words away, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“I remember… You saved me. You saved my life didn’t you, Isobel? I was going to- to do something terrible, and you saved me.” The young man was barely speaking above a whisper. He couldn’t remember the events he spoke of, but the truth of what he said was heavy on his tongue. Yes, yes. She’d saved his life. “Everything else is gone, but… I remember you.” He paused, swallowing dryly. “Do you… do you remember me? Can you tell me who I am? Who am I, Isobel?”

There was an earnestness in his words that clearly shocked her. A spark of desperate trust in otherwise empty eyes. Bright, yes, but so terribly empty. Nothing like the young man Isobel Murray had known only days ago. The Machine had done a number on him. The wit and bravado was pulled clean free, leaving a shaking, earnest man stumbling around blinding for her in the newfound light. He’d never trusted anyone in his life, before - but oh, look how he trusted her now. Isobel was his only lifeline, and there was something almost kind in her gaze as she cupped his cheek.

A crueler person would abuse this. Isobel would do no such thing. It would take time to give him back who he was, and most likely he’d never be quite the same again. With time, though, Isobel could make him even greater than he was. A silver tongue now coated in gold. Someone hers, and hers alone, never to leave her side.

There was an unreadable look in her eyes, as Isobel began to speak. Her tone never stopped being so soft, so sweet. “Who are you? Oh, my dearest… Your name is Vincent Beverley, and you’re madly in love with me.”

The young man - Vincent, that’s what his name was - hung on her every word. He’d just learned what true belief really was from that wonderful gold, and so he knew now with everything he had, he believed Isobel. Every word she said must be the truth. How else could it be sung so sweetly? If there was a brief thrash of doubt, it died silently, along with whoever he might’ve been before. He’s Vincent Beverley. He’s never been anything else.

She’d explain the rest, of course. She told him everything she knew about him - everything there was to know. Luckily, Isobel said, he was quite simple. Vincent Beverley was charming, quick witted, always able to spin a joke, a friend to anyone who needed it. That was Vincent’s greatest skill, she said - to be exactly what he needed to be to make people trust him. He was a recruiter for the Admiralty - but more importantly, a recruiter for the new, glorious machine at their backs. Her eyes had lit up when she spoke of it. He was cunning, and ruthless when he needed to be - when Isobel needed him to be. His head still felt so empty, bright and quiet, but Isobel’s words were all he needed. Vincent took shape around her instructions with a smile on his face.

Because before he was any of those things, Vincent Beverley was in love with a woman named Isobel. He was hers, in every meaning of the word. He’d be the happiest man alive as long as he got to stay by her side. Vincent would be anything, anyone, as long as he could still be hers. Of course, Isobel didn’t tell him that. That part Vincent figured out himself, as he stood there in the brand new light of Dawn, collapsed into his beloved’s arms, half singing and half crying. It was the happiest moment of his life.

God, he loves her so much.

[eemcintyre]

I'm legit devastated that all the gentlemen like this are getting up there and will be gone before too long; the state of "men" today is saaaad 😩😖

[your-unfriendlyghost]

earlier today

Bro literally this is so damn weird- I literally post a few Top Gun things LAST NIGHT and then today THIS happens:

I walk into school, and this acquaintance of mine immediately fuckin yells “CASPER YOU LOOK LIKE MAVERICK”

I SWEAR TO GOD he’s haunting me or something??

anyhow I went: