#dentures with the ice

[transarsonist]

When I'm done I'm gonna have a whole Weird part of my wardrobe

People r gonna walk into my wardrobe n be like "what's up with the TEETH????"

[songmingisthighs]

which one of y'alls grandparents lost their damn dentures 💀

[compacflt]

does adult mav canonically have pre braces TC teeth or did sometime during the early 00s maverick mitchell wear adult braces

some thoughts

1. my knee-jerk reaction was characters are not their actors so who cares let mav’s teeth be whatever you want

2. But engaging w/ this honestly i see a couple possibilities

3. possibility A is that yes mav has fucked crazy bigass teeth (see my post on ice calling him “Peter rabbit” for more on this)

4. possibility B is that part of trying to reinvent himself during their brief divorce era (post pulling rooster’s papers ca. 2002-2005) was getting adult braces and the like 4 times ice saw him during that period he was just so bewildered he didn’t think to comment on it at all

5. (can navy fighter pilots have braces?? i feel like it would immediately obviate any call sign you had and everyone regardless of rank would immediately start calling you “brace face” and that’s what they’d stencil on the side of your f-18 or w/e… Pete “brace face” Mitchell! honor is everything im not sure mav would tolerate that! you lose a LOT of social capital when you have braces as an adult unless you’re actually tom cruise! which mav is not!)

6. Possibility C mav got invisalign circa 2015 when it really started getting popular and had his retainers in during the TGM mission cause why not. that’s funny. you cannot lose a SINGLE day with Invisalign or it sets you back so much. even if you have a suicidal navy mission to drop bombs on a sovereign country ... still gotta wear your Invisalign dumbass

[hamburgerhowdy]

How do you feel when people get their bagels scooped?

Ya know, I wanna say "Sir, this is America! Land of the FREE! Home of the BRAVE! Everyone's free to eat their food however they want to! Fuck your snobby elitist bullshit. Pineapple up that pizza! Deep fry a pickle!" but...

s... scooping bagels is just...

[He's. He is distraught. The inside of the bagel is so good and you're just wasting it because you're too scared to pile on the toppings? You're afraid of some shmear falling off? Gotta give it a little cubby, a little crust prison to feel safe?]

Scooping bagels might be where I gotta make an exception.

[victim9d]

turning tate into a self insert (i think he should have dentures)

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #7

7. Bruising or Bitemarks // Virgin // Ice Play (Logan Howlett x Reader x Wade Wilson)

It’s not fair, you think, that you have two perfectly handsome partners and neither of them allow you to leave any marks on them at all. You’d love to be able to show that they’re yours. A purple mark in the shape of your teeth, perhaps, or red pinpricks where they ask you to slap them just a little harder.

They’re both pain freaks and you’re happy to oblige, so long as everyone is being sensible. Your body is a palimpsest of their adoration: bites, scratches, bruises, all of that good stuff which leaves you aching after a night of being thoroughly taken care of.

How you wish you could return the favour.

Lying in their laps as the three of you slob out and watch a movie, you reach up to trace Logan’s jugular with a feather-light touch. His attention gotten, he glances down at you.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mm. Just thinking.”

“Sexy thinking?” Wade asks hopefully. The man is so on your wavelength that it’s scary sometimes.

“I was wondering if I had like, adamantium dentures or something, I’d leave a mark which took longer to heal.”

“Sorry, you’re thinking about dentures…” Wade says after a beat, as Logan chuckles. 

“You asked!” you say, throwing your hands into the air. Wade grabs one and presses a kiss to it, a gesture of armistice. 

“Okay, sorry, you’re right. That is an interesting question. What’s your thoughts, honey badger?”

“Maybe. If we get some, we’ll put the theory to the test, okay?” he replies, voice a warm rumble from his chest. 

“I suppose…” you sigh. It occurs to you that Wade hasn’t let go of his hold on your wrist. In fact, he drags his tongue across your pulse and gently bites down, teeth on the sharper side of a caress. 

“Wade…?”

“Sorry pookie. All that biting talk got me thinking…”

He tugs you up and into his lap in one swift motion, making you gasp as you feel the beginning of a hard-on forming in his sweats. His mouth traces your throat oh so reverently. 

“Like leaving marks on you, is all…”

He waits for you to nod your consent before biting down. Canines sink into the soft flesh of your neck, not quite hard enough to draw blood but enough to know that he’s been there. Marking his territory. Proving that you belong to him. 

“Wade…” you breathe, rocking your hips down into his, encouraging him. He kisses the mark he made on your neck as his hands start pulling at the hem of your shirt.

You’d better get ready. It’ll be Logan’s turn next…

[ckret2]

This chapter is a whole lot of Bill and Ford talking and I couldn't think of a good illustration for it, so have a funny comic instead.

Here's chapter 9 of The Pines Have Captured Human Bill Cipher And Nobody Is Happy About It (otherwise known as Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone). Sept 13 2024 - now updated for TBOB compatibility!

####

Ford knocked on the bathroom door. "Time's up. You've had your two hours, Cipher."

There was no reply.

Ford glanced at Stan.

Stan grumbled under his breath and cracked his knuckles. "BILL!" He pounded on the door. "Either you come out of the bathroom, or we're dragging you out by your ankles!"

No reply.

"That's it," Stan snapped. Ford nodded in agreement and took a step back to cover Stan as he opened the door.

The bathroom reeked of chemically-enhanced rotten eggs. From knee-height down, every single surface in the room was plastered with curly blond hair. Behind the bath tub—naked, curled up in a ball, and hiding beneath a towel like a child—was Bill.

Stan and Ford gaped at the scene. And then they cracked up.

"Most—" Stan wheezed, "Most people just use shampoo! But hey, whatever floats your boat!"

Trying to sound stern and failing, Ford said, "I hope you plan to help clean this up."

Bill didn't reply. 

Stan coughed and pounded on his chest. "Gah. Almost choked on my dentures."

"How did you do this? I know we removed the blades from the room." Ford was glad he'd put on his boots. He picked up a bottle of hair removal cream from the bath tub and tested the weight. Almost empty. "You didn't use this on your scalp, did you? It's far too caustic to use around the face."

Stan asked, "How do you know?"

"I've experimented with many shaving techniques, Stanley."

Bill didn't reply.

"Bill?" Ford's smile faded. "Did you burn yourself?" If he was burned badly enough, that was an infection risk—the last thing they needed was to haul their prisoner to a doctor...

He took another step toward Bill. Bill tightened his arms around his knees and retreated further into the corner. And still he said nothing.

####

Stan and Ford agreed that dragging Bill's naked butt out of the bathroom wouldn't do anything to help protect Gravity Falls from the horrible alien triangle menace, and also wouldn't make them feel particularly noble; so they left the door open, told Bill to get dressed and get out, Stan went back to bed, and Ford sat in the attic window seat to wait.

It took almost thirty minutes before Ford heard Bill trudging upstairs. He had dressed, thank goodness, but still had the towel draped over his head, like a Victorian widow in a mourning veil. Ford wondered if it was bad to find the sight of his obvious distress so funny, or if the fact that it was Bill made it okay.

Bill got close enough to his window seat nest to spy Ford's boots from beneath his towel, veered off to the side, and curled up in a corner of the attic.

"Well," Ford said, to say something; and then drew a blank. Finally, he said, "The next time you claim you're out of practice at a basic human task, I'll believe you."

Ford could have sworn he heard the towel-covered lump hiss like a leaky tire. Had he gotten a laugh?

The ice broken, Ford went on: "Are you injured? That stuff can burn even when used correctly. And—you did not use it correctly."

No response.

"Just—why did you—why?"

No response.

"Say something so I know I don't have to call an ambulance and tell them you're in shock." Ford did not relish the idea of explaining a mysterious woman with no ID to a hospital.

Apparently, neither did Bill, because he muttered, "I don't need medical assistance." And then, "So I didn't want hair. Baldness isn't a sin. Get off my back."

"That's a heck of a way to get rid of it."

"Yeah, wow, I guess so. I wonder why I didn't just use a razor."

"You could have... You could have asked for a shave."

Bill let out another tire-wheeze laugh. At the thought of asking for help, or at the thought that he'd have received it?

"Bill—"

"Go away."

Ford frowned; but he got up, headed downstairs, and shut the bathroom door as he passed so Bill couldn't go back in.

And a few minutes later, came back with a sandwich made out of the first odds and ends he could find in the fridge, and a six pack of hard apple cider. "Here." He set the plate and six pack on the floor near Bill. "Mrs. Ramirez hasn't touched it, I promise."

Bill didn't move, not even to see what food Ford had brought.

Ford shifted his footing nervously, his common sense insisting that he'd demonstrated all the decency he was obliged to and that it was time to go; and then he sat down again on the window seat. "Listen," he said. "Bill." (He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be talking to Bill Demon-Triangle Dimension-Destroyer Cipher, eternal nemesis, ruiner of Ford's life, threatener of his family; but right now, it was hard to see Bill Cipher beneath the hurting human.) "I've—been here before. I know what it's like to—to be trapped in an alien dimension, surrounded by hostile locals, with no way home." He tried not to think about the fact that Bill was the main reason Ford had been trapped, or that Ford was now one of the hostile locals, or that the locals (and Ford especially) had a damn good reason to be hostile to Bill, or that they all didn't want Bill to get home. He was kind of curious find out where the heck he was going with this conversation. "I know what that... grief is like."

Ford thought it might be an insult to suggest Bill was capable of grief; but Bill didn't twitch. Ford went on. "I know how tempting it is to—to ignore everything but the fight ahead. Never mind hot food, shelter, showers, fresh clothes, a comfortable bed. Luxuries you can tend to when your work is done. But—a fire can't keep burning without fuel and fresh air. Depriving yourself those 'luxuries' doesn't turn you into some ascetic warrior-monk. It simply... burns you out. It makes it that much harder to achieve anything." Ford shrugged. "I—learned that the hard way."

He tried not to think about the fact that Bill had been the fight Ford had burned himself out for. Or the fact that Bill no doubt saw Ford as his fight. Or the fact that Ford didn't want Bill to achieve anything. He immediately regretted the decision to find out where he was going with this conversation. What was he doing?

Voice muffled, Bill said, "You think you're the only person who's ever had to get used to an alien dimension before?"

And Ford remembered—a moment too late—that Bill had destroyed his home. It was so easy to take that information, the horrific enormity of it, and stop there; but follow the implications one step further, and that meant Ford had never once seen Bill in his own dimension. As long as Ford had known him and billions of times longer, Bill had been a stranger in a strange land. Ford should write off this conversation as a loss and leave.

"This isn't my first rodeo," Bill said. "But hey, thanks for coming back up just to patronize me. It's really what I needed tonight."

To hell with leaving. Ford wasn't letting Bill get the last word in after he'd tried to do something nice. "This is your first time being a human in an alien dimension," Ford pointed out. "You said it yourself earlier—I've bathed hundreds of times since you last did. As an energy being, you've never had to make time for regular showers, or sleep, or exercise, or..." He almost said food but paused. He'd seen Bill eat as a triangle. Was that fun or necessity? Never mind. "You probably think those chores are beneath you—but your body needs them whether you like it or not."

Bill laughed harshly. "Wow, this is rich coming from Dr. Food Pills who bathes monthly."

"Hey! I've improved since my postdoc days and if you were half the stalker I know you are you'd know that!"

Bill didn't argue; he just changed his angle of attack and muttered, "'Eat better and bathe more,' says the guy who locked me out of the fridge and bathroom."

"I—" Well. Ford couldn't really argue with that. And he didn't regret it. "I know it's... not an ideal situation." The opportunity hung in the air for an and I'm sorry, and Ford self-consciously hurried past it. It was the thing one said in these situations, but it wasn't true. He wasn't sorry, he shouldn't be sorry, Bill was here on death row. "But I'm just trying to..." The sentence died. Why, exactly, was he trying to help Bill?

"Why would I want any help from you?" Bill's voice was venomous; and under the circumstances, Ford couldn't fault him for that. "Even if you didn't kill me and capture me! For all your talk of needing shelter and comfort when you're stuck in another dimension—you never accepted any help from me. But you think I can't take care of myself?"

Ford stared at Bill. (Not that there was much to stare at, except the top of a towel.) "I never accep—? You never offeredany help!" Not that he would have accepted it if Bill had, but just the outrageous suggestion that Bill had been—what?—charitably offering interdimensional refugee services that Ford had stubbornly turned down—?

"I never got the chance! You dove into the first wormhole you could find—you didn't even bother to say 'hi'!"

"Why would I say 'hi' after everything you—! Plus, you placed a bounty on my head! Within thirty seconds of my arrival!"

"So I got excited!" Bill uncurled just enough to shrug. "Anyway, the bounty was to bring you to me alive! C'mon, Stanford, I know you steered away from the frats in college, but you know what a little friendly hazing is, right?"

Flabbergasted, Ford echoed, "'Hazing'?" And then, even more disbelieving, "'Friendly'?"

"Sure!" One eye, almost luminescent in the shadows beneath the towel, peered over Bill's knees. As if Bill was as baffled as Ford and needed to see him for himself. "You built us a portal, you got cast out of your dimension into ours—you were gonna get a hero's welcome! You'd joined the gang! You were one of us!"

"I'd—spent weeks trying to stop you!"

"So?"

Ford gaped. Bill was a liar, he reminded himself—a liar, a manipulator, and a conman. He'd say anything to portray himself however he thought most useful. Ford remembered arriving in the Nightmare Realm. He'd relived it over and over—in hundreds, if not thousands of nightmares. "That was no welcome party. You were surrounded by an army of monsters."

"Hey, those are my pals you're talking about!" Bill laughed—a sincere, easy sound. It was unnerving, how real that laugh sounded. "Hate to point out the obvious, Sixer, but you've got a handshake that '30s Hollywood woulda designed a whole movie monster around. Who are you to judge appearances!"

Ford's thoughts flashed briefly to the Glass Shard Beach freak show he'd met as a child—the humans who'd called themselves "monsters" and who'd called Ford their "abnormal ally," the frightening friendly freaks who'd welcomed him warmly. He pushed the thought away. Bill wasn't running some kind of weirdo sanctuary; he thought making Ford think he was would win him some sympathy. "You were sitting on a throne. Made out of optical illusions. Like a self-appointed tyrant."

"Oh! You noticed my throne!" Bill's head lifted a little more. "Hey, I got that custom made! It's upholstered with the torn fabric of reality! Say, did it look three-dimensional to you? I'm told it looks 3D if you cross your eyes just right, but, well, you need two eyes to cross 'em."

"Wh—" Ford blinked, trying to remember what the throne had looked like. "Was it... not 3D?"

"No way! Do you have any idea what it'd cost to upholster a whole extra dimension in the fabric of reality? I'm not about to drop that kind of gold on a feature I wouldn't even use!" Bill grinned up at Ford. All Ford could see was the one eye and his teeth. "But hey, if you couldn't even tell the difference—I guess the autostereogram detailing was worth it!"

And Ford thought, he means it. Bill, mad thing he was, never thought that being Ford's friend and destroying Ford's universe were mutually incompatible. When he'd arrived in the Nightmare Realm, Bill hadn't been hunting him, he'd been welcoming him. Lounging on his stupid tacky throne, hanging out with his terrible friends, feigning a punch at the new guy to make him flinch before laughing and inviting him to the party. And Ford—sleep-deprived, terrified, paranoid—hadn't seen it.

And then Ford thought, he's lying. It was over thirty years ago—thirty-one, technically (time ticks ever on)—and Bill could say anything he wanted about what he would have done if he'd caught Ford, because he hadn't caught him. Today, Bill probably thought his comfort, if not his very survival, was dependent upon convincing his captors that he was so much less a threat than they thought he was. It's all a harmless misunderstanding! It was no misunderstanding and Bill wasn't harmless.

Ford got to his feet. "We remember that day very differently."

Bill's smile faded into the dark. "Yeah. Guess so." And then his eye disappeared as well as he curled in on himself and vanished under the towel. That wasn't like him. Ford had expected at least a little gaslighting.

Strange body in a strange land. And a recent death (metaphorical or literal, Ford still wasn't sure). Of course Bill was more subdued than usual.

Ford told himself not to worry about Bill. (He was unnerved that he had to tell himself.)

"Well." He gestured vaguely at the sandwich, decided against doing something nice like reminding Bill he needed to eat, and said, "Don't waste food."

He mentally chided himself as he walked downstairs. He'd been careless; he'd almost let his guard down in front of a friend who'd betrayed him. He'd been nice to Bill. He'd tried to encourage Bill to take better care of himself—when Ford was plotting to kill him, for crying out loud! Why? Because the human body made him forget this was Bill? No. Because Bill had tricked Ford into seeing him as a friend again, for just a moment, talking about parties and pals and—of all things—his stupid upholstery? Also no; that had come after Ford had offered compassion. It would have been nice if Ford could have blamed Bill. He'd like to think that he was being manipulated; it would free him from any personal culpability. But Bill hadn't done anything—except look miserable.

And that didn't line up with how Ford remembered Bill. Maybe that was what had thrown him off? But—he wasn't sure. Ford had spent thirty years with his thoughts spiraling around Bill, and now it was hard to think about Bill at all without second-guessing every thought that passed through his head. He was a recovering Cipherholic—and the fastest way to fall off the wagon was getting exposed to your addiction. He'd have to ask Stan for a reality check.

Another question gnawed at him as he kicked off his boots and climbed back into bed. When he'd been cast from his dimension, the portal was still functional, just uncharged. There was nothing Ford could do from within the Nightmare Realm to either reactivate or destroy the portal. Bill had seemed in too good a humor to have had punishment on his mind; and since Ford had been both useless and unthreatening, Bill probably hadn't wanted to recruit him for his help or eliminate him for Bill's safety.

So what had Bill wanted him for?

What had Bill wanted him for?

He'd probably just wanted to kill him. For no particular reason. For fun. Bill didn't need any other reason, Bill was insane.

Ford tried to convince himself that was true.

####

Bill had gotten careless. He almost let his guard down around a friend who'd betrayed him.

He couldn't really blame himself. He was a consummate extrovert with nobody to talk to. Captivity in and of itself was bad enough; but without his friends, he was... bored. That was the word. Bored.

But he was fine.

Bill's stomach ached. He peered at the food Ford had brought.

After a moment, he dragged over the six pack and popped out a can of cider. Nothing better to prove he was fine than some good old I'm Fine Juice.

That bathroom could be useful. He'd never be trusted in there for two hours unsupervised again, but if he mastered the art of the ten-minute shower and claimed he still needed an hour, that would give him some uninterrupted privacy. He could work a little magic in that time, even if he was limited to human capabilities. Most local female humans wore makeup, Melody probably kept hers in the bathroom; and in a pinch, there was toothpaste and shampoo; he could write with those. You could get a lot done with two mirrors, running water, a writing tool, and a human body full of blood.

Maybe he could call for help. Acquiring the supplies to get a call through to Hectorgon or Amorphous Shape would be difficult, much less calling any of his outerplanar pals; but Kryptos kept a psychic line open in dimension 46'\, if Bill got his hands on some candles he could reach him. At least, assuming Kryptos bothered to pick up the call. Bill hated the thought that his fate rested on whether or not the most annoying person in the multiverse felt like taking a call from an unknown number, but what could he do about it? If he could just reach the mindscape, this would be so much easier—

No, that wasn't quite accurate. He could reach the mindscape. He dreamed. He just... couldn't control it.

This body clamped onto his soul like an iron maiden. He couldn't just shed it like an old coat, the way he'd always effortlessly moved in and out of physical bodies before. He'd tried, curled up in the window for hours at a time, meditating silently, reaching for that point where he quietly detached from his borrowed form—but never grasping it. A couple of times the effort had exhausted him into falling asleep.

He knew his way in and out of human bodies—along with plenty of other earthling bodies and the bodies of aliens from countless dimensions. Leaving it should have been easy. There was no good reason for him to still be stuck.

But there were plenty of bad ones.

Three possibilities: thanks to the unconventional way he'd left the Theraprism, his power was still sealed away (if not removed entirely), and he was simply too weak to disentangle himself from this body's neurons; the reincarnation process had fully turned his soul from a triangle into a human; or, something about the Theraprism's machine locked souls into their new bodies. Maybe to keep the newly-rehabilitated from immediately shedding their body and returning to their old ways.

A lock that simply needed to be picked would be the best option—but with his limited powers, it was also the hardest to identify except via process of elimination. He could start by figuring out humans' own techniques for controlling their dreams and shedding their bodies and see if that helped him. (Part of him hoped it wouldn't. If it did, it would be all the more likely that he really was just a human—the worst possible option.) He was sure Ford had done some reading on astral projection at Bill's suggestion, maybe he still had those books somewhere. Bill couldn't just ask for them. Ford wouldn't trust Bill with them.

Not yet, anyway. But with time...?

Ford's little visit had been unexpectedly encouraging. He'd been a fool to ever offer Ford freedom and power instead of leaning on humans' soft spot for vulnerability. The whole woe-is-me routine was clearly working. Even if Ford had probably only pitied him because...

Under the towel, Bill's scalp burned. He could feel the alien contours of his head.

Never mind, never mind, never mind. This was all part of his strategy. This was his plan.

The point was—he thought, for just a moment, he'd gotten a glimpse again of the Ford that was his friend.

Bill could use that.

He'd keep working on Ford, softening him up. Ford had already brought food. Rookie mistake. So few humans realized that once they'd done one favor for someone, they'd set themselves up to make every favor after that a little bit easier. Bill would have Stanford Pines wrapped around his finger again in no time.

And until he'd worked his way back up to big favors, it might be nice to have someone to play chess with again. He was bored. He missed his friends.

He missed home.

He missed himself.

A lump formed in his throat. 

To drown it, he popped open the first can of cider, chugged it in several large gulps, and reached for the second.

####

(This is sort of the first chapter we've had to slow down since this fic started, so let me know what y'all think!)

[introspectivememories]

can i be honest? i dont think tim and bear have a really grand proposal. i think it happens at their apartment that they got bc bear finally put his foot down and went "baby you're immunocompromised. you cannot live on a murderboat on the gotham river" and tim reluctantly gives in but not without finding some random apartment complex that's still near the marina so he can go down and get his ass beat at poker by pie. and so it happens late at night, when tim is in nightwing sleep shorts and bear's old band tee on and bear is in some horrendous anime sweats and no shirt because their home is the only place he's ever felt comfortable leaving his scars out. and the lamplight gives a soft hazy glow to bear's tattoos and tim reaches under the shirt to scratch and in the movement bear can see the bear tim got tattooed onto his hip and he can't help grin softly. and they're both sitting on the couch as some lame ass procedural drama goes on in the background and they're eating batburger. tim's got the nightwing special and bear has the sword robin combo. and the ringbox is burning a hole through bear's thigh and tim makes some stupid comment about how lame meredith sounds begging some guy to love her and all bear can think is how much he loves this boy. so he gets up to get some water and he positions his phone so that he can get the best video bc tim is a sucker for home video and he plops down on the sofa hard enough that tim turns around to complain except bear is holding the ringbox open with a soft "marry me?" and tim goes "what?" and bear says "baby i have loved you since you walked through the gates of our high school and i loved you when you left and i loved you when you came back. i love the way you talk to yourself and i love the way dance when i put music on. and i even love the fact that you shove your ice cold feet in my shins every night. and i don't know exactly what to say except that i want to do this everyday until you get dentures and i get a hip replacement. and i want to be horny in the old age home and-" and tim cuts him off sob-laughing and says "can i say yes now?" and bear who is also crying says "wait, let me finish love. -and i want to do this in as many lives as we get together. so all this to says, timothy jackson drake, will you marry me?" and tim launches himself bear and shouts "yes, yes, yes! a thousand times over, yes" and they're sobbing as they slip the rings on each other.

[sniffanimal]

Dont count baby teeth unless they're just permanently in your mouth and havent been removed. Don't count implants, bridges, or dentures, veneers are on thin fucking ice. Half/chipped/cracked teeth still count as long as there's some tooth where it goes. If anyone's wondering I have 23 lol my wisdom teeth wrecked my other teeth on the way in.

This is obviously no moral judgement on dental hygiene, orthodontics, age, or anything (as I'm someone missing a lot of teeth). I'm mostly just curious at how common a mouth like mine is! There's many causes for tooth loss, and none of them are more Noble or Valid than another.

edit: hell i messed up the numbers but Whatever i meant for 28 to be in the category above it but its fine just vote for what the categories say lol just dont @ me for having bad math

[annieqattheperipheral]

vet presence + horsegirl🎠 talk with EJ!

Erik Johnson joins Sabres Live // sep 14, 2023

When we had Makar & Byram & all those guys come in i just wanted them to feel super comfortable bc then you'll be more productive and be a better player on the ice; you don't want to be tiptoeing around the locker room. The open-minded communication is so huge.

...

He's the new Craig Anderson!

I have hair, though.

That is true. He has his teeth, though, that's the difference.

But I wear dentures. Did he wear a wig?

No he didn't.

Ok good. There you go.

Horsey talk🐎

Interviewer: Are you still doing it? Are you still involved with it?

...

You team up, 10 guys buy 10 percent so you're not in it for too much money.

...

We bought a horse and named it Landeskog

[so he convinced his 9 other co-owners to name it after his bff🫠]

...

I have a horse named Sabres right now.

...

I could get creative with the names here [in Buffalo] with some of the guys.

...

Interviewer: Have you tried to ride?

[mbabeys]

this might be a bit random but i figured since everybody's feeling some type of way, might as well bring back the OG clownery when it comes to PSG 🤡💁🏻‍♀️

in 1973, a midfielder lost his dentures at some point during a match and didn't notice until they were back in the locker room. It was snowing and cold, but they had to light up the whole stadium so that the entire team, staff included, could search the pitch. Never found the dentures and nearly caught hypothermia in the process

in 1979, PSG was invited to Cameroon to play two friendlies for a big check (see? nothing's changed). The team was traveling aboard two buses, but no one had noticed the microphones inside were directly broadcasting the whole ride through the town. They were nicknamed the 'PSG circus' for a while because of it. The local press had a field day.

in 1983, the club organized the first football cruise to 'ease the team back into training' after winter break (and make big bucks). Fans, families, staff, everyone aboard. There was literally no space to move and they sent about a hundred balls out into the sea. No one ever truly knew why they even came up with something like that. They ended up playing friendlies in Senegal, including one where after the equivalent of not one but two matches in a row, the score was still 0-0.

in the early 1990s, the team famously spent hours combing the locker room for the second shin guard of their resident Awkward Boi. He had put both on the same leg. They showed up late and were finned.

in 1998, the back-then President of PSG and the back-then President of RC Lens got stuck in an elevator together. They'd almost gotten into a fist fight earlier that night, everyone thought they were going to murder each other in there.

at some point in 2010-ish, the team's hotel couldn't get enough ice for ice baths for the players. The staff had to go fetch some at a local supermarket. Great right? Except it was from the seafood department. Some of the players couldn't get rid of the smell afterwards.

in case anybody ever wondered, this team always had chaotic written in their DNA

[moonbunscafe]

I really want to see ink Pomni meeting Pomni 🙏

Ink au! Pomni would be incredibly gentle to Tadc! Pomni. She can see her fragile self in her, and although the latter gets more... Sweaty. She's still a joy to be around. They spend the day eating ice cream and having girlie talks (talking about their dentures for face boyfriend)

[innocent-diamond-2090110]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OflOlcHLb8

My latest obsession hehe

Hey there! I don't know ATEEZ very well, so this commentary is the best I can do (it took me almost 2 hours to learn who's who):

I have no idea what "tennis" is referring to (other than the actual sport), but it definitely makes the chorus addictive. Also, "ice" seems to be a recurring word in other recent comebacks.

There's technically no 3rd chorus (got 0th, 1st, & 2nd), but there's a 3rd verse (Hongjoong & Mingi) before the 2nd pre-chorus. I guess that evens out?

In terms of the plot (not a very deep analysis), this MV looks like a prequel to MONSTA X's "GAMBLER" to me.

Apparently, Wooyoung's "bunny ears" (or air quotes) during his chorus are legitimately part of the choreography. I prefer this move with elbow-length sleeves (most live performances so far) instead of wrist-length sleeves (2024 KGMA).

I cannot explain why Yeosang looks like Leeteuk/Ryeowook to me OR resist the black umbrella scene. But why is he the only one hanging from the chandelier while the others are on ground level?

The only thing I didn't like was San's bathrobe outfit. (same reason why I didn't like Mingyu's hot tub scene from SVT's "LALALI")

In the end, the mansion was on fire (despite all the ice). I'm not sure if someone just lost their dentures or got burned to ashes in less than an hour, but Hongjoong retrieved (only) a single diamond from those teeth/gums.

Is this considered a "dark royalty" concept? The outro feels like (wrapping up) a funeral. I had to watch the live stages to see the outro dance break (it's smooth & classy).

This scene was so confusing yet hilarious that I decided to make a GIF:

Full tracklist is here on YouTube!

[abarbaricyalp]

For the @sambuckyhalloweenbingo Based on a weirdo dream I had where Sam and Bucky were Louis and Lestat. Only this didn't need the full AU works 😄

Less of a plot, more just concept and vibes

CW: fake blood and fangs

Hearts Dancing Together

Sam pretended he couldn't hear Bucky loitering the the doorway. He kept his attention on the mirror in front of him and not squishing out all the fix-o-dent in the fake fangs he was putting on. It was a slow process.

"If I ever need dentures, just put me out of my misery," he said to acknowledge Bucky's presence.

"We'll get you a nice set of veneers," Bucky promised with bemusement. "Let me see the suit." He reached for Sam's hips and turned him from the mirror.

Sam almost spit out the fangs. "You're blond!"

Bucky didn't react to the teasing. Instead, his eyes darkened in a way that spelled out them being late for the party. "And you're beautiful," he breathed. He hooked a knuckle under Sam's chin and stared at the green contacts Sam was wearing. "I prefer your big browns, but this is pretty great too."

Sam felt himself flush and pushed Bucky back a step before he let Bucky make them late. Or he let himself make them late.

He hadn't meant to watch the new rendition of Interview With The Vampire. (Actually, he hadn't even known it was 'THE vampire' and not 'A vampire' until the title card) He wasn't a fan of the movie. Or really vampires in general. But he and Bucky had happened to catch the premiere while they were channel surfing. He'd really meant to watch just enough to make fun of the inaccuracies about Louisiana, make fun of an insulting accent or two, maybe make Bucky watch the movie to see his opinion on it. That was it.

They did not turn it off at any point. They watched the rest of the season religiously. Actually, they were kind of obsessed with it. (Sarah banned discussion of everything to do with the show)

Bucky had mostly come up with the costume idea. It came in fits and starts. The first time was as he stared at his neck in the mirror and prodded at a bite mark that actually had teeth marks in it.

"Goddamm, Louis de Pointe du Lac," he'd said, trying to rub away the indentions.

"You complain when they're gone in the morning, you complain when they're rough," Sam had said with no thought towards Bucky's words, except to add to his eye roll. "Get back in bed. 'S gettin' cold."

And then again a few weeks later when Bucky had tied his hair back. He curled the tiny ponytail around his fingers and then grinned at Sam and asked, " Is it very in fashion for the French vampire style?"

It earned another eye roll, but an appreciative once over nonetheless.

He'd finally broken down sometime around the beginning of September and said they should dress like the characters for Halloween. Then promptly spent weeks bitching that the movie Lestat had better clothes. Which was maybe true, Sam had to admit.

Even so, he must've gotten over the complaint because he looked like he wanted to take all the parts of Sam's burgundy three-piece suit off with his teeth. Bucky himself had cheated and was only wearing a Gothic type shirt and vest covered in blood, with regular--if slightly tight--dress pants. Sam wasn't sure which blood bath it was a reference to, but he had his suspicions confirmed that Bucky could look like a vampire effortlessly if he dressed all old-fashioned.

"You're blond," he repeated and finally reached up to touch Bucky's hair.

"Is just a spray on. Silver on top of yellow. Cass helped. It was a trade-off for me making his hair purple."

"I thought he was going as a Transformer. Why does he need purple hair?" Sam asked before waving his hand. "Nevermind, he probably only did it because he knew you wouldn't say no."

Bucky scrunched up his nose in offense. "I couldn't say no. I was buying it for myself. What kind of example is that?"

Sam had lived through this exact conversation with Sarah before. It was about ice cream at the time. He was not eager to rehash it right then.

"How come you got your shirt bloody but not you?" he asked instead.

"Well, I thought I might come in here and we could hang out for a while. Didn't want to ruin your outfit with any fake blood."

"Nuh-uh," Sam said, putting out a hand to stop Bucky walking closer. Stalking closer. "You are not making us late. If we hang out, we'll never leave the bedroom."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Bucky offered. "We'll take pictures beforehand and post them later. And people who know won't be able to blame me when you look like this." He reached for Sam's hips and suddenly they were flush together because the hand that had been on Bucky's chest, creating space, was now in Bucky's hair.

Fangs caught on lips almost immediately. They were both clumsy with the extra length of the fake teeth. He understood now why the fangs in the show were retractable. Although it felt like Bucky was going to make a point of learning to kiss like this. Which was kind of hot.

He walked Bucky back against a wall, shoved his hands under Bucky's flow-y shirt, smoothed them up his abdomen. Bucky rattled off something in French that ended with a moaned, "Mon cher," which earned him a few extra kisses. He was loose and pliant under Sam's attention, which is how Sam knew this was exactly what Bucky had wanted.

"Why are you trying to get out of the party?" he accused, stopping in the middle of a kiss to Bucky's neck.

Another string of French, this one considerably lower and sharper, followed. "I'm not trying to get out of the party," he defended. "Just think you look too good to let go right now."

"I'll look this good when we get home too."

"And tomorrow morning and all the sunsets and sunrises after that," Bucky agreed. "But you'll be tired tonight and I'm gonna be covered in fake blood that you're gonna make me wash off before I can get in bed and by the time I'm done, you're gonna be passed out."

Sam looked affronted, but he wasn't sure how well it played while he had sea glass green contacts in. "I have never fallen asleep waiting on you."

Bucky looked at him blandly. "You fall asleep on me all the time. One time, you fell asleep while I was kissing your neck."

"Now, just wait a minute. You were so warm and I was so cold that night--"

"I don't care, mon amour," Bucky interrupted. "You need to sleep. I'm not mad about it. I'm just saying that you're so damn handsome right now and I don't wanna wait."

He held Sam's face in one big hand and leaned over to kiss and nip at his jaw and his neck. The fangs scratched over Sam's skin, which just about made Sam melt under the attention and the fantasy of it all.

Then he pushed Bucky back and ducked away from his warm touch. "Later," he promised. "We said we'd go to this party so we're going."

Bucky scowled, which was only softened a little by the fangs. It was also incredibly heightened by those fangs. This was too dangerous. Sam had to look somewhere else.

"Let me do your blood," he suggested. A distraction was needed.

Bucky slipped around him--hands on his hips again, warm body pressed way too close for how much space they had, being generally too damn distracting on purpose--as Sam dug in the closet for the bag of Halloween supplies they'd gathered over the last few weeks. When he turned around again, Bucky was sitting on the lid of the toilet, face turned up towards Sam and the soft light of their bathroom.

Too damn distracting in dangerous situations.

They did make it to the party. Late. Very late.

And Louis was also covered in blood from the cheek to the collarbone and back to his ear, but he was a vampire, so what did it matter? Just added to the costume, Sam thought. Sarah bursting into snickers as soon as she saw them did not sway his opinion any at all.

And it was Bucky who crashed before they even got home. Evidently neither being a vampire all night nor a super soldier serum could affect the sugar crash of going head to head with all of the neighborhood kids in a candy eating contest. Sam did still wake him up to wash off the fake blood before being into bed.

As he did curl close to Sam, still wearing that silly puffy shirt, he mumbled something into Sam's neck. In French again, but Sam was able to parse it out this time.

"Accepte la beauté qui est en toi."

Be all of the beautiful things you are.

[readysetjo]

When I have dentures I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of chewing ice

[ericmicael]

And he released episodes 3 and 4 of the "Frozen Podcast", I don't understand English completely, but here we go:

3 - The Storm:

After Mattias' part with the soldiers giving the introduction back in the storm that ended the last episode (I'm going to skip Mattias' parts in the present)

While Disa takes care of the people of his kingdom and Mattias of the soldiers, Anna asks Kristoff and Lord Wolfgang to help the people of Arendelle

Wolfgang goes to help an old man who ends up spitting out his dentures in his sneeze and Wolfgang catches it in his hand lol

Olaf ends up ripping off his own arms to demonstrate

Elsa goes to the Enchanted Forest wanting to understand what is happening, but she is not sensing any of the Nature Spirits

Disa and Anna team up to look after the castle as the storm only gets worse and the Queen of Sankerhus from the news about Elsa believes it is a magical storm.

They go to the windmill, which is moving quickly due to the storm, and appears to have broken (I think one of the blades is thrown at them). The two come together and manage to go to him and solve the problem with Disa fixing them.

Anna cites "Dangerous Secrets" where Iduna revealed that she helped with the mills plan

Meanwhile Kristoff, Wofgang and Olaf will take care of the animals including chickens and goats, I think they ran away and are trying to bring them back: comedy moment with them getting along badly with the animals, especially the chickens hahaha

Wolfgang tries to make a deal with Kristoff to make an ice industry or something

Once the problems were resolved, everyone, except Elsa, got together to eat

Then the elements officially start to behave like what happened in F2, one of the Lord's birds is carried by the wind and falls where Elsa is in the Enchanted Forest and becomes her companion.

4 - The Dark Nokk

Anna decides to go help Elsa, but first orders everyone to barricade the castle to withstand the climate changes, especially the storm.

Anna leaves Kristoff in charge of the castle and goes with Disa after Elsa, Wofgang even tries, but is blocked, although I think he gives them some self-heating sweaters or something. Kristoff ends up deciding to stay longer to stop the Lord from making trouble lol

Elsa goes to the Dark Sea beach to meet Nokk and tries to talk to him, but then Disa and Anna arrive

Elsa sees that Nokk is acting strange and jumps into the water to go to him, Disa tries to explain Nokk with science, but it's complicated lol

Anna notices a spider in the water near Elsa and Nokk

Wolfgang approaches Kristoff using reindeer items

Disa identifies the spider as an automaton, and to help Elsa ignore the intense cold, she jumps and goes to the Snow Queen. The robot spider is leaking oil being the problem. Disa manages to solve the problem, but ends up being hit by a wave, almost drowning, Nokk and/or Elsa take her to the beach

Elsa is still hesitant about Disa wanting to help so much even though she appreciates her help. Anna asks her to trust her, Elsa admits that she has trouble trusting others, she is sure that her sister will learn to like her and the sisters hug

Anna and Elsa open the spider revealing that it is made of copper, and it actually looks like there is a lot of copper there infecting everything

Suddenly they see that a fire has started in the Enchanted Forest, Elsa goes after Bruni

Parallel to this, Wolfgang & Co. eat popcorn. Kristoff is worried, but the Lord thinks nothing wrong is happening

Wolfgang literally at the end of the episode.

"The Dark Nokk" may be because it is stained with oil, and the spider may be stuck in it. I said I don't understand 100% English.