#filthy ratbag

[sheltiechicago]

Wall to Wall Street Art Festival in Melbourne, Australia

Renowned artists such as Smug, Adnate, Celeste Mountjoy (creator of Filthy Ratbag), George Rose, and French artist Zoer, among others, will lend their talents to the project, infusing the precinct with their unique styles and perspectives. 

[1-million-interests]

Lorenzo loves Isabella

(inspired by Keats' poem, Isabella, or, The Pot of Basil)

Brother #1:

He loves her. That much is clear. And she loves him. That much is known.

The filthy ratbag and my sister. The simpleton we hired to write to our clients, to transcribe our musings, to count our money. The ungrateful pig.  The leech. After all that we’ve done for him? After we give him a room in our home? A plate to eat from? Work to support himself and his brothers?

No. It’s not enough for the Janus Lorenzo. Look at him, sitting next to her, his face flush with love. Making her laugh. Pouring her wine. The way he looks at her, it makes me sick. Mortifyingly, she’s playing along,  jingling bells in her giggles. The horny fool. The bitch. She deserves to pay for being so stupid. So easy.

Does she not understand how we have laboured over securing her future? Her marriage? That pompous high noble. The red-faced tyrant. Thank God for his olive trees, succulent as they are, by far the best in all of Tuscany. What did we do to deserve such an ungrateful sister?

I can see my brother staring at them too, gnawing nails down to the knuckle. He catches my gaze and shoots me a look. It’s time. No. It’s past time. This has gone too far. It’s been a long-time coming, Lorenzo. Tomorrow you will pay for your unabashed lust, for your pungent disloyalty, for your sinister charms.

Say goodbye to Isabella, scum.

Lorenzo:

I love her. She is my whole world. She’ll never know how much it soothes me to merely sit by her, to feel her warmth radiating off her and attaching itself to the weak strings of my heart. She glows with goodness. She is heaven incarnate.

The only time I can breathe is when I’m with her. When I can inhale as she exhales. When I can consume and swirl her breath inside my own lungs and know that as I expel her milky scent that a small part of her will remain there, creeping around my capillaries, dancing around my blood as her laugh twirls behind my eyes.

I love her.

I don��t find anything beautiful anymore. The whole world is grey now, except for her. She radiates all the light left in Florence, perhaps in the world. What I wouldn’t give to kiss her and taste her whole life there on her sweet lips with her luminous chin tilted to the stars.

My love for her is not a feeling nor an action. It is my whole existence. My whole being. I spend every waking moment consumed with thoughts of her. I think of her past, her present, her future. I see her in my dreams. I’ll still be seeing her when I die. Good God, You will have to lock me to pearly gates of heaven in golden chains to keep me away from any realm that holds her. To hear my name crawl its measly way through the cherry maze of her mouth is pure bliss. Now I know the cry of nature. She is a collapsing star. The light and sound drain from any room she enters and plummets into the infinite depths of her eyes. My breath is sucked in there. My misery too. I am floating. I am flying into Isabella. I am comprised of Isabella, of stars, of thousands and thousands of years of longing and waiting for her and I to exist in the same life and sit side by side at the same table. For her to be grabbing oranges from a plate that I offer her. For us to exist in the mirrors in each other’s eyes. For me to behold her image and own it in my mind, if only for a second.

I yearn to hold her hand, to hold it tight.

I need her.

I love her.

Brother #2:

Goodbye, Lorenzo.

We stand over his open, shallow grave. Blood slowly seeps from the gashes in his chest, staining the earth beneath him. His entire face is tinted a ghoulish white, save for his eyes, which are open and bright red and wet. Tears ooze steadily out of them like syrup. His mouth hangs open, her name the only thing to claw its way out of his throat as I stabbed at his heart again and again, trying to murder his blatant lust as he tainted her name with his desire. He tried to scratch at my wrists, my eyes, but it was futile. Weak little Lorenzo. You never were very strong. Useless sack of shit, you couldn’t even dig your own grave, not even when my brother held the knife so close to your throat that your face turned yellow with fear and urine stained your trousers.

That’ll show you, Lorenzo, I think as we begin to fill his putrid mouth with earth, that’ll show you to keep your filthy hands to yourself.

Isabella:

He came to me last night. In a dream. It was him. I swear it.

I saw him in the dull of midnight. He sat on the edge of my bed and I felt the chill from his spine drag its way up my sheets and through my cheeks. His hair, once glossy and bright, like the halo of an angel, now grey and wiry like a corpse. His once perfect and blushing lips now cracked with a bluish tinge, wheezes leaking from the darkness of his mouth, the holes in his chest. His dead smell, mint and chlorine, it marked the air.

Although he was sitting across from me, I could feel his whisper, his breath, right inside my ear. He wept to me about my brothers, their murderous spite, and their swords. He moaned for me to find his forest tomb, to dig him up, and to bring him home. He told me that he loved me. That he loved me so much it had killed him.

The morning comes and I instruct my old maid to come with me. Her small and sweaty hands cling to my waist as we ride my horse to the forest. I watch her shovel the earth, feeling her scrutinising gaze fall on me every so often. I know that she thinks I am mad with longing. I know she thinks my dream is merely that; a dream spurred by the frantic lust of a woman aching for her lover.

Lorenzo, God what have they done to you. My angel, my boy. Lying in this dirty, yawning tomb, the bush of berries above your head dripping their juices into your eyes. Look how they’ve torn at your clothes, the stains on your cheeks, the earth on your tongue. My dear, my love. I can’t take all of you with me. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Lorenzo. I don’t know what to take. Every part of you is so dear to me. Your hands that filled me with fear and delight at the slightest touch. Your chest that I still ache to rest my cheek on and hear the thumping of your life. Your eyes, your lips. I will save you from this forest tomb, Lorenzo. I’ll take you back home.

My maid and I, we take your head. It takes a long time using only a shovel, but finally with a sickening squelch you’re back in my arms, wrapped up in my finest silk scarf. Soon we’ll be home.

My brothers, they will surely steal you if they find you. They will slay you again, and again, and again, until there is nothing left of you for me to save. My desperate Lorenzo. What to do with you?

Here, in this pot of basil right next to my bed. That way I can be close to you. That way I can smell you, from when I wake in the morning to when I drift into slumber at night. Not that I sleep much anymore, all I dream is wicked visions of you, calling to me to gather the rest of you. But I can’t Lorenzo, believe me, I tried. I only have so many places I can hide you.

But don’t worry, my love. I will take care of you. I will give you a new life. This soil shall feed on your cheeks. These leaves will be fed with my tears. I’ll tend to you, angel. I’ll tend to you because I love you. You’ll be mine forever, they can’t take you from me. Finally we can be together.

[faultyhammock]

Get To Know Me!! thanks @thecryptkeeperskeeper for the tag dear god why would you do this to meeeeeee

Rules: Answer and tag nine people you want to get to know better and catch up with.

Favorite color(s): I am an absolute sucker, a complete slut, just down horrendous, for a good steel blue/grey blue (think that one tumblr color palate). I know it's probably boring, but a good version of that shade just gives me the good brain scratchies. Other than that, probably dark blue, any green, and black.

Last Song: The Winner Takes It All, while listening to my Better Call Saul playlist. Before that, probably Dead End Kids by Ratbag, it's quickly become one of my go-to's on the drive to work.

Currently reading: The Unbroken, by C.L. Clark, it's been on my recommendations and the fanart is cool, and by golly I need to read more books still. The main mistake is that I got it from the library to read in my downtime at work, and then I went and gave myself a creative project that's been taking up all of that time.

Currently watching: I'm two and a half episodes into EXU: Calamity at the moment, before doing the M9 reunited twoshot and going into Critical Role's 3rd campaign. Also rewatched Scream the other evening, and I think at least I'm going to get to the rest of those since I've never seen them, and we've thus far rather failed at my big long list of movies to watch in October. oh yeah also gotta rewatch Arcane season 1 very soon in prep for the incoming emotional devastation that will be season 2

Currently craving: I could probably go for an oreo or four when I get home from work, life is too short and precious to waste with the single-stuffed ones.

Coffee or Tea: Neither really? I don't know if I've really given tea its fair shake, so I should probably do that in the future, but I just don't care for the way coffee tastes at all. It's a shame, because both of them smell wonderful, but I just cannot abide the taste (of coffee).

Hobby To Try: Also definitely DnD, it had been on the "to learn" list for forever, and then I got into Critical Role, and went straight from that into playing BG3, which was helpful because at least now I should have a decent idea of how things work, my memory willing lmao. There's a couple ideas for characters that I've got rattling around in my head that I really ought to do something with, so help me. But also it requires like, actively seeking out people and talking to them and bothering them, and frankly nothing in the world horrifies me more.

Current Au: I'll be honest I'm not normally much of an AU person a lot of the time? Maybe I'm a filthy coward idk, I just tend to gravitate towards things where the story of the thing itself is what rips me apart, and so I usually try to stick to stuff that keeps that aspect to it. I can do it sometimes for funsies, I'm not that way all the time, just most of it lol, so probably some random caitvi modern au that was in my bookmarks.

Tagging if you want to join! I think I would rather spontaneously combust than actively tag other people tbh

[fknshema]

[suzy-queued]

Galladrabbles

Our @galladrabbles prompt this week was Wildfire, from the lovely @tsuga-of-mars.  Historical AU, anyone?  😅 -------------------------------- Plague had spread like wildfire.   Ian delivered the antidote to a dozen neighboring farms. He pocketed one last vial for himself, for safekeeping, and galloped toward home. He halted as he turned down a dirt lane. A red ribbon flew in front of the Milkovich farm. Shit. Someone there was sick. He couldn’t help this family. Filthy ratbags. Criminals. Hornswogglers. The entire village would talk. But he’d made a vow to help, hadn’t he? Ian sighed. Braced himself. Knocked on the door. Rushed into the downstairs bedroom. When pleading blue eyes met his, Ian knew he’d made the right choice. --------------------------------

[tqwnw-archive]

goodnight tumblr 🫶 have my kitty…, his nose is filthy he’s such a ratbag

[besanii]

25 for the bodyguard prompts? For wangxian 🤗

#25. “let me fix you up”

He catches a glimpse of the switchblade hidden in the man’s sleeve just as Wei Wuxian is reaching out to shake his hand. He intercepts the handshake with a firm grip on the man’s wrist and pulls Wei Wuxian to stand behind him. The woman closest to them screams when she sees the glint of the blade as the man struggles against Lan Wangji’s iron grip, and her scream alerts everyone else around them.

Lan Wangji reaches his free hand behind him and is relieved when Wei Wuxian’s fingers press against his briefly.

“Stay behind me,” he tells him, without taking his eyes away from the attacker. “And stay alert.”

“Alright,” Wei Wuxian says. He squeezes Lan Wangji’s hand again and then his fingers are gone. “Be safe.”

The attacker tries to pry Lan Wangji’s vice-like grip from his wrist; when that doesn’t work, he starts flailing his arm about violently. Lan Wangji holds him at arm’s length and drives the heel of his foot into the back of the man’s knee; he buckles and drops with a pained grunt. Lan Sizhui takes this opportunity to pluck the knife from the attacker’s hand, while Lan Jingyi pulls the cap off his head to expose his face.

Except…it’s not a man at all. 

“Wang Lingjiao?” Wei Wuxian moves forward to confront her and is stopped by Lan Wangji’s outstretched arm. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Wang Lingjiao spits at him and hisses, her usually soft, simpering features twisted in an ugly snarl. She lunges at him with her free hand, clawing at the space between them as if trying to rip him apart with her bare hands. Lan Wangji grabs it and pins both her arms behind her back, but not before she manages to gouge the back of his hand with her nails.

“Take her,” Lan Wangji. “Put her in the store room out back and keep an eye on her until the police get here. Tie her up if she doesn’t cooperate.”

“Yes sir.”

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi take hold of her arms and haul her to her feet. She kicks and screams bloody murder, struggling against their hold and refusing to move. The people around them in the function room have mostly dispersed thanks to the efficiency of the hotel staff, but the commotion still turns heads. Wang Lingjiao must have planned for this, because she continues to scream and shout as she is dragged away.

“Go to hell, Wei Wuxian! You filthy scum!” 

Wei Wuxian snorts and shakes his head. “I’ve heard worse.”

“You son of a bitch! Look at you, standing there all high and mighty, putting on airs! You’re just a filthy ratbag with no money, no connections, no breeding! Ambitious little bootlicker!”

Lan Wangji tenses, but Wei Wuxian places a reassuring hand on his arm and shakes his head.

“Let her talk,” he says. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

There is a resignation in his smile that bothers Lan Wangji more than all of the spiteful words coming from Wang Lingjiao’s mouth. He turns so that his body is shielding Wei Wuxian from view, his arm coming up to rest on his shoulder protectively. If Wei Wuxian notices, he says nothing, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he looks up at Lan Wangji is warmer.

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you?” Wang Lingjiao continues shrilly. “These people should know who you really are: a ruthless, cold-blooded MURDERER!”

“Okay, that’s enough from you,” Lan Jingyi says loudly. He and Lan Sizhui open one of the side doors and frogmarch her inside. The door slams shut behind them.

Wei Wuxian’s knuckles have gone white where they clutch at Lan Wangji’s sleeve and all blood seems to have drained from his face. Lan Wangji shifts closer in concern, giving Wei Wuxian’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Wei Ying?” he says quietly. “Are you alright?”

The sound of his name catches Wei Wuxian’s attention and his eyes come back to focus on Lan Wangji with a shaky exhale.

“I’m alright,” he says. 

“You’re shaking,” Lan Wangji points out. “Take a seat.”

He leads them to the deserted seats in front of the stage and helps him into a seat. One of the hotel staff hurries over with a first aid kit, which Lan Wangji is about to wave away when Wei Wuxian interrupts. He takes the kit from the staff member and motions for Lan Wangji to sit beside him.

“Let me see your hand,” he says.

“It’s just a scratch,” Lan Wangji demurs. “I’m fine.”

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Let me fix you up.”

“It’s fine.”

Wei Wuxian holds out his hand.

Lan Wangji sighs.

He lets Wei Wuxian inspect the back of his hand where Wang Lingjiao had gouged four long, bloody stripes with her nails. The antiseptic stings; Wei Wuxian murmurs apologetically as he works, bent over his task. His hands are steadier now and the colour has returned to his face. There is even an undercurrent of mirth when he sets the antiseptic aside and blows lightly over the wounds to soothe the burn.

Lan Wangji feels his heartbeat quicken at the tenderness of the gesture and hopes Wei Wuxian cannot feel it where his fingers are brushing lightly over his wrist as he dresses the wound. He forces himself to sit still, face schooled into it usual expression of calm indifference, while Wei Wuxian works.

“You’re not going to ask me about it?” Wei Wuxian asks, not looking up.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No.”

“You’re not curious?” Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, surprised. “You don’t want to know if what she’s saying is true or not?”

“It isn’t my business to know,” Lan Wangji says calmly. “My job is to protect you.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Wei Wuxian says with a sigh. He sets aside the gauze and picks up the tape. “You can, you know. Ask. If you want.”

“No need,” Lan Wangji says. “I will listen when you are ready.”

Wei Wuxian regards him with a strange expression that Lan Wangji cannot read: his mouth is parted as if in mid-sigh, his eyes red-rimmed and wet. But before Lan Wangji can try to decipher it further, Wei Wuxian has put down his tools and is cradling Lan Wangji’s freshly bandaged hand in both his—

His brain stutters to a halt when warm lips brush over the back of his hand.

“There,” Wei Wuxian says with a soft smile. “All better.”

// buy me a ko-fi //

[wrongclothingmap]

wrongclothingmap:

“H&M will exploit anything to make a sale – just ask the women who work in its factories. I’m not buying it: the sentiment or the clothing.”

This add represents exactly what is wrong with fashion, and the whole corporate world actually. 

Message is great (of course) but this super power company is the one exploiting women in first place - in their supply chain, in the way they seduce women to shop what they don’t need, in the way this company is destroying the planet and there is not enough feminism to save it.

[internutter]

Can we see Merle being cool about Ming's job vs some random incel?

It was so late it was early. Merle didn’t mind so much. Late shift was always the interesting shift. He could sleep in the early morning when one of his employees took over. Some time in the afternoon, he’d ferry some homegrown pipeweeds to the dispensary down the road.

For now, though, he was watching customers in the liminal hours going about their business. Like La’ming Ton, fresh from a late-night shoot and looking rumpled from some hard effort as she traipsed through the aisles, filling in orders on a list written by her kids.

The one Merle was keeping his eye on was “Young” Jason Hakniid. A kid who should have got his act together a decade ago, and seemed to be living in an eternal puberty where he got all the breaks and none of the consequences. According to his mother, Susan, he was going to be an Internet star just as soon as someone gave him a break.

Merle figured he was more likely to gain fame as yet another ratbag who caused immense devastation to an entire group of people or tried to blow up a building, rather than finding stardom. For the moment, he was more concerned about the twenty-something Humanman brat helping himself to something he was never going to pay for.

La’ming didn’t notice, but Jason was creeping on her. So Merle got in his way. “Help you with something, there, son?”

Typical of his family, Jason decided to stir trouble. “You better watch that [SLUR], m’man. Dirty [CURSE] like that’ll rob you dry.”

“Seems pretty clean to me,” said Merle. “What makes her dirty to you?”

Jason laughed. “Are you kidding me? I browse through hours of porn starring her ass. She’s a filthy [OH BOY].”

“If your looking at her ass made her dirty, maybe you shouldn’t look at her ass,” said Merle. He held out a hand, “And I’ll be having those three phones you put in your pockets or I’m calling the cops.”

The phones came out and so did some interesting words to turn the air blue.

“You’re on tape, bucko,” said Merle, waddling back to the counter. “Find everything?”

“Finally,” said La’ming. “I never knew I was adopting gourmets when I took them in...” She ferried stuff up to the counter, adding a few things she’d added to her pockets, then checked all her pockets and her bag to be certain. “Yeah, that’s it.”

In the shelves, Jason was carrying on a mumbled diatribe about dirty women and whether or not they should be trusted with children.

“He has neither,” Merle whispered. “Ignore him.”

“Already done,” said La’ming. “Sometimes, I wish I could ignore the whole world when they find me out...”

“...mumblemumble shouldn’t act like a [WHOOPS] on the daily mumblemuttermumble...”

“You have a good night,” said Merle.

“Give my love to Mavis and Mookie.”

“..muttermutter give your love to everyone with two dollars, ya [CRIKEY] grumblegrowl...”

Possibly prompted by this, La’ming added a kiss to Merle’s growing bald spot before leaving for the remains of the evening.

Jason wasn’t far behind. “Frigid [GODS],” he rumbled.

“Empty your pockets and learn to tell the difference between sex workers, there, Junior. LIke, if you got the money, a [GODS] will hand over the honey.”

Jason went on a half-hour diatribe that boiled down to his bemoaning the fact that he never got near a lady’s anatomy, and all the pretty ones thought they were too good for any decent fellow.

“Show me a decent fellow,” said Merle. “You? You’re the next best thing to pond scum.”

Insert half an hour for the how-dare-you rant.

“I apologise to pond scum,” said Merle, ringing up the purchases. “You got no right to complain, pal. You’re paying her rent, you’re paying for her clothes, and you’re filling up her retirement fund. If she wasn’t doing what she’s doing, you’d have to find something else to do with your hands.”

Half-hour opinion about how he should ‘get some’ if he’s paying for everything, then.

“Pal. She doesn’t owe you jack. You choose to pay for what she makes. That’s the product. That’s your fair exchange. Anything else she does is her business.”

Of course, he had another opinion in regards as to women going for assholes rather than decent folk.

“Son,” said Merle, “if that were true, you wouldn’t need the porn.”

“I’m never shopping here again!”

Merle wished him a good evening. Then muttered, “I wish you wouldn’t...”

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 5]

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for details on how to support this artist]

[sarahperfectgirlmichelle]

Filthy Ratbag with their debut album "Secret Purse Vodka".

Don't go out there without it. Fireball works too. Cinnamon-y

[harveyrutter-blog]

Loving her work at the moment. Seen loads of her images floating round the internet, but never looked in to who had made them or where they came from. Rox told me about her and now i’m obsessed! She’s 17/18 years old and super cool, making work that speaks to our generation. 

[gutterballgt]

weekend-writer replied to your post: For the fanfiction work in progress: Boat

Ha, got it on the first try this time! And this was great, I can imagine Raleigh threatening Chuck with a shotgun is probably hilarious

It really, really is. Raleigh can be such an asshole. For example:

[Chuck] was not hiding behind the last tree separating the woods from the not-quite-clearing. He was... assessing the situation. Thus, when something cold settled against the skin just behind his ear, he didn't scream like a little girl and run away.

He did, however, freeze as if his slightest move would be his death, because he'd never felt the wrong end of a double-barreled shotgun before, but he could never mistake it for anything else.

"Who are you?"

"Just a hiker, mate. Didn't mean to intrude."

The metal pressed in a little harder. "Who. Are. You."

He swallowed, gripping the bark of the tree he was standing next to. "Name's Chuck. Chuck Hansen." Don't do it, moron. "You are...?"

Jesus. He was absolutely going to get his head blown off.

"What are you doing here?" The barrel nudged again. "And don't say hiking."

He couldn't help it. He scowled. Yeah, he didn't want to die, but if he was going to get his head blown off anyway, it might as well be for pointing out the obvious.

"What the fuck am I supposed to say, asshole? You think I'm wearing this backpack 'cause it's trendy?"

A long, quiet, dangerous moment stretched out. His temper simmered, but he didn't quite let it flare up yet. Finally, the gravel-voiced asshole with the gun snorted, and the cold press of the barrel disappeared.

"Turn around."

He did so, but not because of the order. Mostly, he just wanted to face his fate straight on. And yes, he was curious. Which would bloody well be the death of him one of these days.

Maybe today.

The gunman still held the shotgun pointed at him, but the stance was fairly relaxed. The bloke was filthy, bearded, tattery-layered, and generally hermit-in-the-woods chic, especially with the battered fedora pulled low over his forehead and shadowing his eyes. And was giving Chuck the same sort of once-over.

And looking equally unimpressed, the bastard.

"So, Chuck Hansen. The hiker."

He couldn't tell if the wanker was smirking or not, but it sure as hell sounded like it.

"Exactly how much are you shitting your pants right now?"

He had a few reasonable options here, but fuck them. Every last one. "Why? You got an outhouse I can borrow?"

To his surprise, instead of shooting him, the hillbilly-looking wanker laughed. Hard. Thankfully, he also shifted his grip on the gun to uncock it and prop it against his shoulder. And, oddly enough, he appeared to have all his teeth, and it even looked like he'd brushed them sometime this century.

"Jesus. I did not expect that." The wanker shook his head. He sounded less gravelly, so the earlier low growl might just have been for effect. Or because the creep wasn't used to speaking. "So, what, are you lost or something?"

Eyeing the bloke with understandable wariness, he realized he sort of had his hands up and let them fall. "No. I do know how to use a map and compass, ratbag."

He was pretty sure the filthy sod's eyebrows rose. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Jesus, mate. You're not on the dark side of the fucking moon. I saw the roof through the trees and got bloody curious. End of fucking story."

The bloke's head tilted, the gesture exaggerated by the stupid hat. "You're really touchy. You know that?"

Incredulous, he snorted. "I just had a gun to the back of my head. What the fuck do you expect?"

[fknshema]

[lorcanodonoghue]

Celebrity Big Brother: Spencer, Heidi And Jessica Cunningham Get Evicted

They're dropping like flies in the Celebrity Big Brother house right now. Following Stacy's exit earlier this week, Jessica Cunnigham and Speidi became the seventh and eighth housemates respectively to leave the Elstree compound.

Copyright: [Splash]

Former Apprentice candidate Jessica was the first to leave on Friday night, losing out to Bianca Gascoigne, Kim Woodburn, Jedward and Speidi.

Grilled by host Emma Willis following her exit,     Jessica spoke up about the most talked-about person in the house this year – Kim Woodburn.

She said:"I think she's alright, she went in there with a different persona. I just felt sorry for her as the other housemates didn't gel with her.

"She went in with all guns blazing, but none of them have bothered to sit down and have a conversation with her. I think she's isolated herself and she's going to struggle.

Copyright: [Splash]

"If you don't have anyone to talk to and anything to occupy yourself with, the days are really long."

Later on that evening, it was time for the eternally nominated Spencer and Heidi to face the jeering crowds outside after they received the second-fewest votes – losing out to chicken liver enthusiast Kim Woodburn.

It was a remarkably drama-free time in the house for the pair – something they touched on in their post-exit interview:

"We love most of the house this time round. We had run-ins with but loved Nicola” Heidi said.

"We wanted to win until we met James Cosmo – it's like having a unicorn in the house. We tried to play along, play the game, but James C to win" added Spencer.

"I think Kim's an incredible game-player, as much as I want to be like, 'you're a vile, filthy ratbag', I can't because she loves Big Brother,"

"She was all like, 'I can't wait to fight with you guys to get my scene' – she went in on Nic right away, and everyone was like, 'woah', but she played the game."

You can catch up with all the action inside the house and see what the housemates made of the evictions tonight on Channel 5.

[shiicn]

‶ down 'ere, everyone's a filthy ratbag. includin' you an' me. ″ blows out a puff of cigar smoke, staring off into the gloomy distance. ‶ take it from me, kiddiwink, bein' a dear in hell will get ya torn a new arse. that's why we cheats n' thieves n' sins n' all that shite, yea? ″

🏵Give my muse unwanted relationship advice!🏵

                      ❛   That may be so, but                 ”

              there’s a quiet sort of private DIGNITY in the stubborn line of his mouth, fingers clenched tightly by his side as if to fight off invisible enemies by the sheer BELIEF in his voice alone. 

                     ❛   I know I’m a flawed person, there are qualities in me that frighten and make me wonder as to who I really am. But that shouldn’t dictate how I treat those around me, even the dead deserve respect and honor. I know you disagree, but that’s just how I see things, I can’t imagine them being any other way.” 

[heteroflexiblecastiel]

like i can't get over this..... he's rude, standoffish, emotionally constipated, physically intimidating, literally always FILTHY and stinking of horse and rotten monster guts, and he is a WITCHER which these people are supposed to fear almost as much as the monsters they kill. how does every character look at this man and think "oh god i can't NOT fuck him." the bard decided to shoot his shot in that tavern and ended up a lifelong travel companion. the queen was giving off major vibes before the party went a little sideways. that magical ratbag man honestly seemed like an old flame with those soft eyes and shoulder clasps... yennefer just went ahead and climbed on top of him after a near death experience. LIKE U GUYS HES STINKIE!! AND MEAN!!!!

i love how like. People In General hate and fear witchers, despite them doing really important work. but conversely, anyone who gets to know geralt one-on-one just like immediately falls a little bit in love with him, despite the fact that he is a huge asshole. like these equal but opposite forces