#he's so fiiiiine

[movielosophy]

The Snow Moon | Bo Qiu

[itsfootballbih]

It’s giving tall, tan, and sexy🔥

[djevelbl]

Quick question — how old is IM!Mugs supposed to be? Cuz in my mind he's IM!Cup's twin (even tho they're really not), yet I vividly remember this point in The Labyrinth Arc™ where IM!Cup is reminiscing about their parents and through his memory we're shown he was at the youngest a toddler when IM!Mugs was born, maybe even a little older (my headcannon is that he was 5 years old, but to each their own)

So yea. I'm very curious now (it WILL affect a story I'm making. probably at least)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ok Wild Angsters, you wanted a continuation, so here you go :)

Four already knew what he would be walking into. His phone had been blowing up for hours. He’d come in to work early. Whether he was assigned to take care of Wild or not was another matter - Vaati loved to try and take all the admissions, convinced he was the best nurse on the unit. If Four could just keep Vaati out of Wild’s room, he’d consider it a success.

When the charge nurse told him he would be admitting the trauma alert, he knew who he was getting.

Pre-admission jitters always made Four anxious, but this was an entirely other level of fear. He almost wanted to request a different assignment, but it was too late now. What if he couldn’t take caer of him because he was his friend? What if that impair his decision making? What if he just wasn’t skilled enough to handle it? He knew Ezlo wouldn’t give him an assignment he couldn’t handle, wouldn’t be there to support him, but still…

Four went over the supplies in his room once more. Safety checks were fine—they had suction, they had a bag valve mask, the code card was nearby—and he had all the supplies he needed. It was just a waiting game.

Four paced the unit at least three times before he looked at the OR status board again. Wild was still in surgery. He poked in his chart, glancing at injuries, looking at vital signs and anesthesia notes. The last update he saw was that Wild had gotten another unit of blood. Estimated blood loss so far was around 2200mL.

2200mL. That… wasn’t too terrible, Four supposed. He’d… seen worse.

Please don’t get worse.

Four knew for certain that Wild had been mass transfused in the ED. Warriors, his primary nurse when he was there, had told him as much. Between that and the multiple blood products he’d gotten in surgery, as well all the crystalloids he was likely getting as well…

Four took a breath. Then another. He grabbed his phone, texting Warriors. You doing ok?

Wars didn’t reply.

Four wasn’t entirely sure where everyone was at this point. Hyrule had stayed at the hospital, lingering in the emergency department and then the operating room waiting area, but Four hadn’t seen him since he’d clocked in. Warriors and Legend should be getting off shift now, but whether they were going to stay up was another matter. Time was obviously in the OR (Wild’s wreck had been around 10pm, he’d arrived in the ED around 10:45, and he’d been stabilized for surgery and gone to the OR by around midnight - it was 7am now… he wasn’t sure how long this was going to take, but it couldn’t be much longer). Malon should be getting on shift now as well - she had come in last night when everything had gone down, alongside Twilight. Wind had been cautiously left out of the loop until Wild had gone to surgery, simply because nobody had really had much information at the time, so no one wanted to worry the kid until they could figure things out. Everyone had their hands full as it was. But by now, Four knew Wind was either in the OR waiting room, harassing every respiratory therapist he knew, or in the hospital library pacing anxiously. As for Sky, the last Four heard he was bouncing between different people, checking in on everyone.

He clicked through more anesthesia notes, looked at flow sheets for blood products. There wasn’t much to go on, as charting was sparse. What Four did know was that Wild had been obtunded, got mass transfused, had gotten a chest tube, had been intubated, blood was evident in his abdomen, and he had an open femur fracture. He’s been taken to Time’s OR for a ex-lap. Head CT had shown a bleed, and they were monitoring it. That was all the information Legend had told the group when he’d had a moment to spare.

Four’s vocera activated, telling him he had a call from the charge nurse. When he answered, he was told Malon had called and said they’d be finishing up in about thirty minutes and were likely to come up open.

Why was he coming up with his abdomen open? When had they gone from exploratory laparotomy to a full on open abdomen?

Ten minutes later, Malon called back to give report. When Four answered, the first thing he asked was, “How’s he doing? Is he okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Malon said, even though she sounded exhausted. “And he’s… hanging in there. I’ve seen worse, I’ll say that. I’ll give you the full rundown, okay?”

Four listened as Malon gave report, feeling his heart settled into his stomach, which was tying itself in knots. Multiple spots of bleeding, possible compartment syndrome in his abdomen, a likely kidney injury due to compression from the bleeding on some major vessels, a small hematoma in his brain… they’d had to call neurosurgery to do an emergency craniotomy out of overt concern of swelling, given that Wild had apparently had previous head trauma, based on what they saw in the OR.

Open abdomen, craniotomy, ICP monitoring, bleeding, one chest tube… this was a disaster. Four swallowed as he wrote, feeling his hand shake a little as his heart raced. He was not qualified enough to be admitting this. He was not.

But the turnaround on his unit was pretty insane, and he was the most experienced nurse on the unit today. At least Ezlo was charge; he knew he’d be well supported.

This was a nightmare. But Four had dealt with nightmares, and he would deal with this. He wasn’t going to screw up taking care of any patient, but especially his friend.

Sighing, he hung up the phone after thanking Malon, pushing worries for her and Time aside, trying to focus on what he would need, who he should grab to help him, and how he should prep his room.

It was time to get to work.

When everyone arrived from the OR, Four made brief eye contact with Time. He couldn’t read much from the man, who was stone faced, aside from the exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. Four got to work quickly, assessing Wild from head to toe as he looked to see what IV medications he was on. A coworker wrote the note while Ezlo helped detangle his lines (the OR always brought up a mess, after all). Time gave an overview of the surgery, and Four listened along as he checked pupils, as he zeroed the arterial line and the ICP monitor, as he listened to lung and heart sounds, as he checked the chest tube and stripped it with his fingers to ensure patency, as he checked peripheral pulses, as he looked at the abdominal dressing to get a baseline in case there was swelling from bleeding later. One of the techs connected the chest tube to wall suction, and Four looked over his drips. Only having levophed at 2 wasn’t terrible, and he was getting a unit of red blood cells, which was in a transfusion set that was y’d to some lactated ringers fluid. He was on propofol for sedation. Another nurse grabbed a blood gas from his arterial line and sent off labs. His foley he had was temp sensing, and Four quickly ascertained that Wild was cold, so he set up the blanket warmer and covered his friend up.

His friend. His friend.

Four shook his head. He had to focus.

As Time left the room, he put a hand on Four’s shoulder, making him freeze. The surgeon didn’t speak, just locking eyes with him. Four wasn’t entirely sure if it was for his own benefit or not. But he had no more time to let his emotions make any decisions for him. He nodded to the doctor, who nodded in return, and then the two went their separate ways.

This was going to be a long day.

[chrisbunnys]

i think i just fucking came.

[moeblob]

I changed my mind, you guys can take the doodle page of OCs on main.

A villain, his wife, and their daughter. There is so much info I could ramble about them but I think the biggest thing to know is I got so angry at someone acting like a wife holding a husband responsible for things he said is a reason to not get married. And I decided in my spiteful rage at the spousal hate for no reason... what if there was a husband who loved his wife and the fact she held him responsible? They're just super in love and she's willing to be the memory bank and he appreciates her so much.

So here's a family that loves each other a whole lot because I got mad at a tacky "i hate my spouse" meme.

[princelancey]

Lance Stroll | Las Vegas GP 2023 media day

[millennium-queen]

🎃Trick or Treat! 👻

TREAT!!! … well it’s red syrup so I guess that makes it a treat haha

Peeta is an artist and I think much like me he would want to put a lot of effort into his costume but have too many ideas and always end up as “murderer” or “witch” for like 5 years running

[lobotomizedpunk]

Who doesn't love long-haired Alan? <3

[sparksabove]

God damn he fine

[krazycartoonist]

Not my usual content but WHY CANT I FIND COWBOY BJ ART ???

It’s frustrating I need to see my boy in his sexy fit (joke) (kinda) (not really)

sigh..I guess I’ll have to do it myself…

[jongside]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

oooo it's been a while since the last snippet :]c it's another fantasy au one where I'm! Putting! Barnaby! Through It!

a minor warnings: implied/referenced major character death <3

 No one eats dinner, and Frank won’t stop tapping his spoon against his bowl. Tok tok tok it goes, over and over again.

Poppy made a simple stew from their provisions, but only Eddie and Sally make an attempt at tasting it. Their halfhearted ‘it’s good’s don’t pierce the pressure weighing down on them all. Barnaby swears he can taste it, thick and cloying. 

Already he keeps catching himself looking for Wally. Where is- he starts to think, and then he remembers the moment Wally fell with a spear piercing his chest, and the grief rises so fast it nearly drowns him in a heartbeat. Barnaby can’t bring himself to try and hide it behind anything but a stony mask. In any other situation he might try to put some levity into the group. Cheer up the sad and empty faces staring into their meals. 

He wouldn’t be able to think of a single lighthearted thing even if he wanted to. He doesn’t.

Tok tok tok-

Shuffling from Howdy’s tent has everyone glancing over at it, and Frank’s spoon stills. Howdy briefly woke up while Poppy was cooking. All he did was sit up, look at everyone, then pitch to the side and vomit. They got him into a tent before he passed out again, mumbling something about puppets. Frank made a comment about how Howdy was supposed to be a bit out of it, not at fae-drunk levels of hazy. Eddie had muttered back a dejected apology, and after that the camp was silent until Poppy’s announcement that dinner was ready. The spoon continues tapping when the shuffling stills.

Tok tok tok-

Since Eddie and Sally saying that dinner is good, there hasn’t been a noise beyond the occasional sniffle. It’s a good thing Julie isn’t trying her stew - it must be disgustingly salty from all the tears dripping into it. 

Tok tok tok-

Barnaby sighs through his nose and puts his bowl down, sick of looking at everyone’s misery. He would say that he’s going to go sleep, but he has a feeling that none of them are getting a wink tonight. 

Tok tok-

Before he can stand, Frank blurts, “We shouldn’t have attacked it. It was a mistake.”

“Please don’t,” Julie begs.

“There’s no need to rub salt in the wound,” Sally says firmly, her stew starting to sizzle from the rising heat in her hands.

“Not right now, Frank,” Eddie mutters. 

Frank visibly bristles, and he launches to his feet. “I refuse to pretend not to have seen what I did! The truth is a terrible thing, but someone needs to say it. Wally lied to us.”

“Frank…” Barnaby warns.

“We shouldn’t have attacked the demon,” Frank barrels on, ignoring him, “because there was no need to. It didn’t eat Wally until the end because the demon is his patron. Wally was never a wizard at all, he was a warlock-”

Barnaby lunges with a deep bark that echoes against the trees. The crickets symphony falls silent. Frank trips backwards over his seat, staring up with wide eyes as Barnaby stalks around the fire, growling. Eddie and Sally slowly stand, inching between him and Frank. 

Barnaby stops, snout bunched and canines bared. He jabs a claw at Frank. “Don’t you ever say that again. Ever.”

Frank’s mouth flaps uselessly for a moment. When he speaks, it comes out as a whisper, “I’m-”

“If you end that with right instead of sorry, I’ll make damn sure that you are.”

Frank wisely keeps his mouth shut. The crickets continue chirping.

Barnaby glares at him until Frank looks away. Barnaby straightens his vest with a sharp tug and strides away from the fire, towards his and- his tent. Just his, now. Murmuring breaks out at his back. He yanks the flap open, grabs his pipe and herb pouch, and heads towards the forest. He pauses only to listen by Howdy’s tent, waiting to hear proof of life before continuing on.

Once he can’t see the firelight anymore, Barnaby chooses a random tree and sits heavily in front of it. Rough bark digs into his back through his vest. A night bird hoots overhead. Crickets continue to make their music, but Barnaby wishes they would shut up for good. 

Light from the full moon pours through the branches to provide just enough light to see by. Barnaby holds up his pipe and quickly puts it to the side to take off a grimy glove. The heart-pad and blue fur underneath contrasts vibrantly with the dust-grayed rest of him. After a moment he removes the other glove, wincing as the leather drags over his injured knuckles. He turns his paw over and scowls at the dirty black edges of the red-raw scrapes. He should have punched harder. He hopes it scars, even though he knows it won’t.

The gloves themselves are scuffed up, but not beyond use. Barnaby folds them into his pocket and gets to work lighting his pipe. He packs it and instinctively opens his mouth to ask Wally to light it for him. The words die on his tongue as he turns only to see dark forest. Empty woods save for the tiny blue lights of night wisps floating on the breeze. 

Barnaby stares into the darkness with yawning dread. He keeps looking. How long will it take him to stop? How long until Wally’s face starts to smudge in his memories, until his voice is gone and Barnaby doesn’t even remember what his smile looked like? How long until Barnaby only thinks of him in passing? 

He doesn’t want to reach that point. He desperately does. 

Will it hurt more or less? Does it matter? He wants it to ache until he dies.

Barnaby frantically fishes his sparkrune out of the herb pouch - only there for emergencies, when Wally or Sally isn’t there to light it for him. It will wear down to a nub within the month. He strikes his thumb claw against it, and sparks fly expertly into the bowl of his pipe. It takes a moment to catch. Barnaby lifts the bit to his lips and takes a drag before enough smoke forms for a lungful. 

Maybe he should have grabbed the stronger stuff. If he breathes enough of it, maybe he’d be able to see Wally. 

But Barnaby doesn’t get up in the end. He sits against the base of a tree and hugs himself, the pipe’s intermittent glow betraying the shine in his eyes.

[cerealmonster15]

rewatched That One Scene to get the Vibes for this. it’s fine. okuyasu just needs 2 have his mind palace moment 😌

ref:

ty @gaminegay​ for sharing the cool pose refs post w/the world ily

[the post in question] [send me some suggestions if u so desire]

[ummm0pi]

Pretty Girl (not proofread) pt. 2 maybe?? soon?? idk

For the past few weeks you’ve been paranoid… there’s a killer thats been making the rounds. The entire town is struck with fear, especially you… all alone in your tiny house. ”fuck…” you mutter to yourself. You worked closing shift, it’s 12:25am, and your coworker who was SUPPOSED to be a safe buddy and walk home with you ditched you to hang with her “boyfriend”. You gather up all your courage and walk down the dark alley that leads to your house. “i’ll be okay. i’ll be okay. i’ll be okay. what are the chances anything will happen to ME”. you turn quickly when you hear a rustle and gasp, your eyes focus in on a figure… a cat? “pst pst pst, cmere pretty girl…” you let out a sigh when you realize it’s just the cat that lives in the alley. you’d take her in but she seems to love being outside. you bend down and giggle when you think how trivial it would be to think you were being followed by a killer. “where’ve you been pretty girl… i haven’t seen you in a while”

you tilt your head and mutter to yourself… “pretty girl… when will i be someone’s pretty girl”. you quickly shake the thought away as you realize you shouldn’t be out so long.

you unlock your front door quickly and shut it behind you as you walk in “mm..” you stretch your arms and legs as you place your keys down. right when you’re about to sit on your couch your phone rings… UNKNOWN CALLER ID. A shiver runs up your spine as you get a bad feeling… you quickly decline the call and look to make sure you locked the front door. “hah.. it’s okay, i’m being dramatic… it’s just a phone call”. Not even a minute later you get another phone call… UNKNOWN CALLER ID. You frown and muster up the courage to answer.

“Hello?”

“…”

“Is anyone there… look it’s almost 1am and i’m tired. if this is a prank call it isn’t funny, i’m blocking your fucking num-“

“you shouldn’t do that.”

you feel the blood drain from your face, you feel like there’s a huge pit in your stomach… you wanna hang up, but you can’t. you’re paralyzed with fear.

“cat got your tongue? mm?”

“who… who is this. this isn’t funny.”

“oh i never said it was baby… you sound so scared… so quiet”

your entire body is shaking, you chest feels tight, you can’t breathe.

“you gonna say anything?? how about you tell me about your favorite horror movie, hmm?”

you gasp and break out of your paralyzed states. you hang up the phone and quickly block the number. “fuck fuck fuck fuck what do i do”

you run around like a headless chicken, not even sure what you’re trying to accomplish. you halt all your movement when you hear a knock. you snap your head to the front door. no… it didn’t come from there… you feel your heart drop… it’s coming from inside… the bathroom? the bedroom? you stand there for a second, unsure of what to do. run out the front door or look… “i’m just hearing things, i’m being paranoid”

before you could make a decision you hear the bedroom floors creak then a figure quickly lunge out at you.

“WHYD YOU HANG UP THE PHONE. I TOLD YOU THAT YOU SHOULDNT DO THAT”

your body reacts before your brain. you scream and run for the front door. it’s so close, only a few feet away, just one more step. no no no wait i’m so close. your vision becomes blurry, your head is pounding. so close yet so far… he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you down, head smacking against the ground.

“p- please…” you groan and bring your hands to your head, trying to soothe the throbbing. your vision clears and you gasp. a white mask… the mouth elongated… like a scream, right before you.

“awh baby… if you had just listened you wouldn’t be in this situation”. he spits out baby to you in a mocking tone, it should be filled with love and warmth but you’re focused on the large knife that he’s waving in front of your face, glistening in the moon light.

“m’sorry… please don’t hurt me… so sorry…” you let out pathetic sobs as you beg for your life, terrified of the masked man’s intention… the killer… the infamous ghostface.

“too late… whatever happens now is your fault”. His tone hardened. Chills run down your spine. This is the end.

“nono please i’ll do anything, please i… i don’t wanna die”. you go silent as he hold up his index finger to his mask in a shushing motion. he suddenly grabs your chin, squishing your cheeks so hard it’s bound to leave bruises if you even make it out alive.

“anything..? mm…” you stare up with doe eyes, hoping that he’ll let you live. “don’t move.”

you groan as he harshly pulls your head to the side, exposing your neck. you squeeze your eyes shut and quietly sob as you feel his knife make contact with your skin. He winces as he adds just enough pressure to break skin and draw up beads of blood. you gasp when you feel his tongue makes contact with the cut he made.

“god… maybe i’ll be nice since you’re being so good now…” you hear the knife hit the floor as he throws it across the room. you gasp when you feel his hands slowly trace the sides of your hips then harshly grip them.

“no- no wait anything but this… please don’t i’ll do anything, ANYTHING but this”. your body quickly reacts and your hands lunge towards his to stop his advances. how you quickly regretted that. you watch as he pulls a plastic bag out from under his long black robe. You thrash and try to push him away. This is the end. You feel him adjust his knees to either side of your waist, his weight keeping you pinned down as he places the bag over your face. you scratch at his hands and attempt to pull his face off, to no avail. your vision slowly starts to fade to black, stars painting the back of your eyelids. suddenly you feel yourself being pulled back to life. you swallow down as much air as you can, coughing and tears stinging your eyes in the process.

“your only other option is to die baby… you really want that?” he places the bag over your face again before you can fully catch your breath. your limbs starting to become weak, your body giving up on you. you don’t want to die, but oh you’re so tired. then he pulls that bag off again. you cringe as you cough so hard your nose stings. he lets out a hearty laugh. if it were under different circumstances you think your heart would’ve melted at such a laugh, but no. He’s laughing at your suffering.

“you already giving up so easily? that’s borinnnngggg” he sounds almost childish, as if it’s a game to him. it is a game to him. “mm”

he tilts his head to the side as if he’s thinking. before you know it the bag is over your face a third time. the same sensations coming over you. he’ll take the bag off again. he’s messing around, but the bag never comes off. you feel yourself fading off into black. “is there an after life? hah… at least i don’t have to go back to work”. your thoughts start slowing down. it’s dark. it’s quiet.

[fuzzypuppybuddie]

Real time blogging my slow descend into madness on tumblr.com but they give me life