#insane crazy people

[dipply]

"Corporate needs you to find the difference between this picture and this picture" "They're the same picture"

[nyancrimew]

you can stop telling me to vote btw or i will be FORCED to commit voter fraud in november and vote as a non citizen and non resident

[goldensunset]

i’ve been thinking about the pokémon memes where it’s like playing off of that one quote that’s like ‘truly strong trainers should try to win using their favorites’ and it’s like ‘ok well my favorite is [something blatantly overpowered]’ and it’s got me curious. how many people genuinely love pokémon that also happen to be really strong competitively?

so if you will. pick a favorite pokémon (for any reason! whether it’s cuteness or strength or nostalgia etc. no judgment) then go here https://www.smogon.com/dex/sv/pokemon/ and look it up

(you’ll see something that looks like this. see where it says tier and has some gibberish afterwards? don’t worry if you don’t know what that means but tell me what the letters/words are)

also if there are multiple forms and the distinction matters to you make sure you get the right one lol cuz the tiering can be different

edit: forgot to mention i mean specifically in SV! which is what comes up by default. rip every pokémon that either isn’t in SV (it’ll say ‘national dex’) or used to be better but has since fallen off relative to new pokémon

[valtsv]

one thing i will always eat the fuck up and never get sick of is steven universe style fusion aus where two or more characters are fused together to create a character that's both a combination of them and an entirely new person

[destroyscythe-heck]

Happy “try to figure out why we’re suddenly getting a huge spike in new users from Japan and Korea” day to the tumblr staff

[borgialucrezia]

tommy & lizzie + 🚬 peaky blinders — 4x03 created by steven knight

[otome-dissection]

Idk man I just think that mizu/ena5 and its progression was really beautiful actually. I just think that the release of the ena5 song was also really beautiful and kind of the nail in the coffin for me and I haven't been able to get the event(s) out of my head all week and that I kind of want to talk about it, actually.

It's about being hurt so deeply and continuously that any kindness that could be offered to you manages to feel like a sin, that it makes you crumble and shatter but for all the wrong reasons, not because of the newfound safety, not out of relief, but something worse and more deeply ingrained in you than kindness ever was. It's about carefully measuring the distance at which you keep others away from yourself, to ensure that it never happens again ("To save yourself the trouble", if that makes it easier).

It's about realizing that the people you've been spending all this time with are drifting closer, that they just might bump up against the unsightly parts of yourself that you've tried to keep locked away, it's about turning around and sprinting at full speed and slamming the door shut and holding onto the handle behind you to stop it from turning, because you're as frightened of the possibility of another wound being inflicted on you as you are of the possibility that kinder, gentler hands will reach out and smooth over the exposed scar. It's about hating eyes that judge and silently condemn you as much as you hate eyes that simply see you and take all of you in without scrutiny, because no matter what they're looking and they're looking at you and they know that your hand's on that door handle and they know that you're hiding something because, as much as you try to keep it shut, they've seen through the crack that you foolishly left open.

(The prominence of eyes in Bake no Hana, specifically eyes looking and searching, and finally landing on you, the viewer, Mizuki, is so fucking. Visceral in my opinion. Every character in the MV stares at the viewer in a deadpan, almost judging way. Even though Mizuki knows deep down that niigo won't really hate them, won't judge them, she just can't stand their kindness either; any gaze directed at her is a loss, another prick in their skin. It screams "don't look at me" while making sure that you know, with horrific certainty, that they're looking for you, that you're being watched. You can't go outside, can't leave your room, because they're searching for you, and while that should be reassuring, to you it's anything but).

It's about not wanting to be dissected, whether it's with hands that want to pull your organs apart or stitch them back together because no matter what they're there, and they're getting frighteningly close to your heart. It's about blinding yourself and covering your eyes to it all because seeing means exposure and exposure means they're taking something from you and you can't do anything about it, much less take it all back, much less have a say in the matter. Everyone's just taking and taking and taking and you wish you could just be alone. You wish everyone would just disappear and you could live in a world all to yourself, for only yourself (but is that really what you want?).

It's about the way that, near the beginning of the Yoka ni Mitoreta MV, Mizuki and her loneliness is represented as a dark, splotchy stain in the shadows. No colors, no patterns, no way to clean it or wash it all away, just raw ugliness marring a blank canvas. It's about the way that Ena reaches out to it anyway, the way she startles when the glass shatters just when she finally starts reaching forward, the way that the rest of the MV/song represents her searching for and reaching only further out to Mizuki, even if the broken shards of glass will only cut her fingers, potentially leaving scars.

It's about how, in every way, subtly, directly, consciously, and subconsciously, Ena shows that she fucking cares.

It's about the way that Ena lets Mizuki have autonomy, despite the situation being so horribly out of their control. And it's such a delicate thing: If she really wants to, Mizuki can take the opportunity to just run away, keep running forever, repeat the cycle over and over, and maybe she'll just destroy herself with it again, but it can't be denied that it's something important to them, something she can't quite live without just yet, their means of survival. Mizuki's autonomy is their identity, it's her tailoring her own clothes and choosing her own ribbons and styling her own hair the way she does. Ena letting them have that is as much about trust as it is about understanding that Mizuki of all people should have this right, when control was something stripped from her throughout so much of her life. She couldn't control how she was born, how people look at her or why, can't control what they think of her; lacking control has only left Mizuki vulnerable to the cruelties of others, has only caused them to suffer, which is why it's so important that it's given to them now.

She had the control to make the choice to see niigo's welcoming love and run away instead of staying, and she has the control to make the choice now whether she wants to keep things the way they are or take a step forward to be at their side again. She has every right to have it, and I think the fact that Ena realizes and respects that, even if it's subconsciously, is really beautiful (there is an entire fucking Verse about this in the new song and just. God Look at this. It's so caring, unconditional, and for fucking What. I think there is something to be said about how much Ena is willing to put aside for Mizuki, and maybe deep down it isn't healthy, but for now I'm just kind of in awe)

It's about how insanely patient Ena has been this whole time. Mizuki says that she basically lied to Ena's face about telling her their secret, even after Ena said with such conviction that she would wait for Mizuki as long as it takes, and Ena is just kept waiting and waiting and worrying like this seemingly indefinitely. It's about how Mizuki danced around it, avoided it, kept the distance, straight up ran when she was finally pushed, but Ena still chased anyway when she saw that she couldn't wait anymore, kept chasing just enough to intervene and get a straight answer out of Mizuki when she really needed to, but still leaving her enough space to leave if that was truly what she wanted. It's about how relieved Ena is the moment that Mizuki finally says outright how much they want to be with her and niigo, how much she wants to try, how much more light Ena's voice sounds when she grabs her hand, relieved, the way that the relief she feels can be felt through the music, throughout the entirety of Yoka ni Mitoreta, the way that warm colors always follow her when she chases after Mizuki, just to hold onto her and stop her from running away completely.

It's about how that careful combination of Ena's directness, Ena's persistence, Ena's warmth, her patience, her bluntness about her feelings, the way she chases and holds on but not too tight and her regard for how unsafe and exposed Mizuki feels actually works and breaks it all down. It's about how she really did reach through to Mizuki, despite the thorns and broken glass shards and nearly-unfulfilled promises, the way that Mizuki did finally let her turn the door handle and step through to see what she'd been hiding all this time, the way that Mizuki's hand, limp, when Ena first grabs onto it, shifts to hold hers back as they cry in the face of Ena's gentleness.

Despite how harsh Mizu/Ena5, and even Ena herself as a character can be (or at least was in the very beginning of pjsk), everything is somehow gentle and warm in the end, blindingly so. And you know what, I think that's beautiful. And what's even more beautiful than that is how Mizuki allows themself to crumble and shatter under that kindness, that warm light, but this time, finally, out of relief.

On a final note, I just want to say that I also appreciate how all that didn't have to solve everything. The scars haven't disappeared, haven't gone away, and Mizuki knows that their desire to run hasn't gone away forever, and maybe it never truly will. But for now they've calmed it, at least a little. She's learning to allow herself to be seen, learning that when someone's fingertips brush over their scars the way Ena's did that it's only out of care, and that maybe taking in that care and allowing herself to feel kindness and safety is okay. They're safe, for now, somehow. They're learning. They're trying. And I think that's cool :)

[mellohiizz]

dropping off some of my unstable universe art because im going insane and we got 3 episodes in like one week?? below is just some sketches i dont feel like finishing but you guys can have them too i guess

[ojbrush]

OJ and his paws . 🧡

Yap warning in the tags

[obibail]

"He said that's your style. Never quite lies, clever half-truths that let you convince yourself you're doing the right thing."

[dayurno]

robin cross and kevin day parallels actually go so crazy. they both spent their formative years in a basement underground with exy-obsessed captors. they both saw exy as freedom. they both were isolated even within the foxes’ group of outcasts. they were both under andrew’s protection. it cost kevin jean to leave the nest and it cost robin another girl’s life to escape her kidnapper. robin carried her racquet with her to self-soothe and kevin restrings the net of his when he’s anxious. they’re even bird coded

[slasherscream]

Hello Bee! First I want to say that I really love your writing and your characterization of the characters. I've read so much of your stuff over and over again, it's so good! Thank you so much for writing it all!

Secondly, I wanted to make a request. Sorry if this sounds dumb, but could you please make a crazy ass husbands with an artisitic s/o? Like someone who may not necessarily create art, but is really passionate about like painting, and music, and just all the types of art? I saw you added Vincent Sinclair and thought of this 😄.

If not its fine, I still want you to know that I adore and enjoy your writing! Well wishes! 🩷🩷

Qimir (the acolyte) - Qimir likes the way you get carried away by music. The way you close your eyes when you walk into a cantina and musicians are playing. The little songs you hum to yourself when you’re piloting the ship, or fixing something. Music awakens something in your soul. You feel it deeply. Love songs and tragic laments alike light a fire in you. Every now and again he’ll have the two of you go to planets known for their music, their unique sounds, and singing styles. It’s always under a false pretense. The training or mission he sends you on are usually extra grueling before you’re given your “reward”. Otherwise, he feels like a slave to the whims of your joy. What wouldn’t he do to see you smile? To relish your little gasp the first time you hear a new instrument or song? He likes to reach out, using the connection you two share, and feel what you feel. He’s so glad he freed you from your shackles of repression. The way you indulge your passion is beautiful. 

Norman Bates - You’ve always loved flowers. The first thought you had about the motel was that it needed some nice flowers outside. You’ve traveled the country, visiting all sorts of gardens. It’s an odd hobby, but one you chased relentlessly. Until you met Norman, and settled into the hotel with him. But eventually you start to crave those gardens again, so you decide for the first time not to just admire gardens, but to cultivate one. There are a few false starts. Miserable failures. Mixed successes. But Norman is encouraging every step of the way, and eventually your little motel begins to shine. Ivy creeping up trellises you place against the house. Roses, peonies, lavender, poppies. All in ranges of colors and sizes. You repaint the motel when it begins to look shabby in comparison to the garden blooming around it. For the first time the motel starts to look… welcoming. Like a true home. People in town begin to stop by and spend the night just so they can have breakfast in the garden the next morning. People propose to each other at the Bates Motel. Get married there. Honeymoon. Have the celebrations for their baby’s christening among all your flowers and saplings. Norman doesn’t have a green thumb, but he brings you lemonade and kisses your cheek and thanks you earnestly for bringing color and life into his world. 

Hannibal Lecter - This is one of the ways you and Hannibal bond. You could talk about art for hours together. He’s a wonderful conversationalist, and your raw passion for the topic makes it so that you always have something new to say to one another. Date nights consist of going to art galleries for big and small artists. Something about being in one another’s presence sweetens the art itself. Hannibal often surprises you with trips to other countries just so you can go to their art museums and partake in new art scenes. Money is a small thing to Hannibal. The conversations you have about art? Those are priceless. 

Shane Walsh - He’s never been too interested in the arts. Not before the end of the world and certainly not after it. The only art that matters now is the art of survival. He tells you this often. Tells you to look to the future. Focus on surviving the day. On perfecting the skills he tries to teach you, day in and day out, so even if he’s gone, you’ll be okay. But you make him soft. For all that he bitches, he’s always giving in. Always looking to keep you alive, yes. But he wants you to be happy too. So he takes detours, and looks for libraries and bookstores that are beginning to cave in on themselves and smell of rotten pages and wood. He’s risked entire hoards of walkers to retrieve a book he knew was your favorite. He doesn’t mind when precious bag space is taken up by whatever paperbacks you can get your hands on. One day he might find a town that he likes enough and decide to go through the trouble of turning a library into a home for you. It will be well fortified, and he won’t like how many entry and exit points it might have. But he’d love to see you in your element, surrounded by what you love. 

V (from V for Vendetta) - So much art has been ruthlessly crushed beneath the boot of the fascist government you live under. Admiring the arts, any form of it, is like trying to hold sand in your hands. Your grip grows ever more desperate to hold onto anything. But there is no rhyme or reason to what is outlawed or taken away. Little bits of your soul are chipped away, with each new restriction, with each new burning or banning. Until V whisks you away to his hideout, and suddenly the world is made anew again. You are surrounded by art, art you didn’t even know existed. Things you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams. You inhale everything the gallery has to offer. You feel nearly gluttonous. In each room there is something new to see, hear, read. A feast for your senses anywhere you turn. You feel alive for the first time in years, maybe ever. V, in turn, feels his own form of gluttony. He cherishes every bit of delight he brings to your world. He feels like the worst kind of miser. The lowest of villains. What could be more precious than your smile? Or your laughter? Nothing. And by keeping you here, with him, he deprives the world of you and all you have to offer. But the world isn’t kind to precious things. So he keeps you like all the other treasures of this world. Hidden. Safe. Loved. 

Candyman - You collect book nook shelf inserts. Your home is covered in shelves, just to fit them. You have more book nooks than you do books separating them. Daniel is charmed to death by the collection. By the tender, diligent way you take care of them all. You spend hours of your week dusting. Fiddling. Making tiny adjustments. There must be something meditative about it, because you never complain. The joy he felt whenever he held a paintbrush is the same joy that flashes across your face when you open a new kit. He watches you assemble your precious, miniature worlds and ask you quiet questions, every now and again. He doesn’t want to break you from the beautiful trance you fall into, but he loves to peek into your mind. “What drew you to this scene, my love?” / “This one has an enchanting gloom to it. You have such an eye for art.” / “This one looks especially fragile, you might have to be more gentle, love.” He enjoys watching you lose yourself in your hobby. He loves the way you are unashamed in your joy. How you take pride in this work. You curl up into his side, after you’ve spent hours assembling one of your nooks, and the two of you will stare at it in all its completed glory. 

Robert Neville (I Am Legend) - At first he thought you were a hallucination. He’d been hearing things more often. Seeing things too. The human mind wasn’t built for isolation, as a scientist he was well aware of that. He tries to compensate as best he can. With his mannequins. With entertainment. By focusing on his research. He only has to stay sane long enough to fix the world he couldn’t save. That’s all. But then he sees you, while he’s hunting. The sun is still high in the sky, and you don’t move like a dark seeker. You’re cautious, slow. You also don’t move like a hallucination. You don’t really look like one either. He almost doesn’t approach you, afraid he’ll discover you were a mirage. He follows you all day long, until the sun is getting too low for comfort. Then Robert approaches you, fumbling through the obvious (it isn’t safe out here), barely remembering to introduce himself because people have names. Hoping desperately that you’ll trust a strange man instead of taking your chances with the dark. But the entire time he talks to you his eyes keep drifting to all the jewelry you’re wearing. Earrings. Bracelets. Necklaces. Rings. They glint in the light. Hypnotizing in their imperfections and intricacies. You move into his home, but you two drift around each other like ghosts. You’ve been alone so long, the both of you. You dreamed of meeting another living person. But faced with the reality of it, you’re overwhelmed. Until one night after dinner he finds you in the living room, making more of your jewelry. Slow and careful. He asks you about it, and you tell him it kept you sane while you were alone. Made you feel human. Then you look up at him, and he freezes under your gaze. (It’s been so long since he’s looked into someone’s eyes. It almost hurts. He can’t imagine ever looking away.) You ask him what kept him human. He’s not sure he still is. But he moves to sit beside you on the floor, hands you beads, and tells you he's been pretty fond of movies lately. 

Lestat De Lioncourt - You were a tailor in life, before he turned you. In death, in this eternity he’s given you, fabric is nearly your religion. With your vampiric eyes, you see even the tiniest flaw in stitching. All colors look more vibrant. The world looks more alive. Even though you can never see the way certain fabrics and colors catch the light of the sun, moonlight and starlight can be just as beautiful. You drag him to fashion shows in order to soak in the new styles, and cuts of clothing. You are as endeared by couture as you are the various counter cultures that arise throughout the decades you spend together. You spend exorbitant amounts of money on the finest bolts of cloth and thread. Sewing and tailoring and designing can be done entirely on your own. In fact, you’d probably be done quicker if you were just left to your work. But Lestat gets lonely when you lock yourself up in your work room for days on end. He likes to drape himself against your back, push himself into your side. Trail teasing fingers up your arm, to see if he can get your ever steady hands to falter (he cannot.) Looking over your shoulders and seeing what latest fashion has caught your eye is his hobby. You don’t mind the company of your muse. Sometimes you even sit him in front of you as you sew, and let the sound of him talking guide your needle and thread. He hardly wears anything you don’t make. Not only is your work superior, but every piece is made of love. 

Abe Sapien - You love everything about movies. How they’re made. Sound design. Light design. Set design. The difference between digital and film cameras. Abe was caught in your orbit the minute you were recruited. Talking to you, trying to form a connection, however, did not come as easy. Awkward nods as you passed one another in the hall. Stilted, dry conversation as you ate lunch at the same tables. It was enough to drive him mad. He didn’t know why he alone was unable to form any sort of acquaintanceship with you (especially when he wanted far more than that). This all changed during movie night. You were watching the voted on film play out on screen, entranced by every individual frame, it seemed. He’d never seen anyone smile so fetchingly, or blink so little. He bravely, and quietly, asked if you were enjoying the film. You began to eagerly whisper to him all sorts of details about how the film was made, the difference between the final product and script. Apparently, it was one of your favorites. With one conversation, the bridge between you two was crossed. Abe had been so caught up in enjoying literature, he hadn't explored much of the diverse realm of cinema. Happily, you appointed yourself the esteemed position as his guide. Somewhere between sharing your tastes, late night discussions, and dry eyes from sleepless nights, you leaned over to kiss him. He kissed you back, and you both forgot all about movies for a little while. 

Vincent Sinclair - You were an avid admirer of sculptures. You went to museums, and had to curl your hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch the statues. There was something so beautiful about someone taking the time to carve human shapes out of stone and earth. To make marble resemble fabric as delicate as silk. It was breathtaking to you, really. Until you came across the House of Wax, you hadn’t really thought of wax as a means to make sculptures. Instantly, you are captivated. You forget that your car is being “repaired”, so closely do you look at every sculpture. You admire each one from several angles, for long periods of time, face giving away nothing. Vincent watches you, wanting to know what you’re thinking about his art so desperately he feels as if he’ll die. He interrupts Bo from the preparations to kill you and makes him ask you questions. Bo asks each one through gritted teeth, irritated to be playing a game of telephone, but even he is a little charmed by your thoughtful answers. When Vincent insists on not killing you Bo just shakes his head and washes his hands of the situation. You fall asleep in the town’s only motel, but when you wake up you’re in Vincent’s workshop. You’ll be able to admire his art for as long as you like now. 

Joel Miller - You tell him stories. You’re an avid collector of them. Wherever you go, you collect a story from someone. Sometimes they’re fantastical. Some myth or aesop fables that will be lost to the sands of time and the chaos of the apocalypse within just one more generation (if humanity makes it that long.) Other times they’re heartbreakingly real. The taste of an apple pie someone’s grandmother used to make for them. The memory of someone trying on their wedding dress for the first time. You have a way about you. It’s your eyes. The warmth in them. The understanding. Even after so many years of survival and fighting, you possess an empathy that should have gotten you killed by now. Instead you’re the keeper of people’s stories. You’ll be riding side by side on your horses, and Joel won’t sense any danger nearby, so he’ll say the magic words: You got a story for me today, L/N? And you always do. The sound of your voice keeps his head quiet. 

A/N: i blushed bugs bunny curled ears style. thank you for the compliments, made my day! i think yours is the first crazy ass husbands gang request i’ve written! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[introspectivememories]

too many of you guys think nico is the loser and not lewis for letting the divorce go on for so long. like they're both losers about each other. emotionally constipated idiots who can't talk about their toxic homoerotic friendship that imploded on itself like 8 years ago and are now making it everyone else's problem. yeah nico's on television or in beer gardens talking about lewis all the time but like every other month some reporter is like "lewis, what's your favorite moment in your career?" and lewis no hesitation is like "oh man, karting, y'know? everything was simpler then" and then spends another six months skirting around nico's name. like this whole thing they're doing in the media isn't some kinda extended foreplay for them. they're both still pressing on the bruise to make sure it's still there!!! every few months, they're literally just asking on public television, does it still hurt for you like it does for me? and like clockwork, someone will release new information about them or one of them will say something about each other (in my heart, he's still my best friend/yes... and teammate) and the answer will remain the same, yes, of course, always.

[ashstfu]

gnawing at the bars of my enclosure etc

[gpsunday]

i loooooove watching an F1 recording and immediately knowing there's going to be some bad shenanigans

[mummer]

just saw asteroid city last night, pls explain the proposed significance of the kiss!!

answering this publicly hope thats ok! cant do a readmore im on mobile *****asteroid city spoilers below beware*****

i dont remember anyones names so this is gonna sound partly unhinged. okay so the edward norton playwright and jason schwartzman actor (not character, in the black and white parts) are lovers right. tbh i thought this was kind of a gag and forgot about it. but later we find out that the playwright died 6 months into the production. i didnt make the connection that THAT’s why the actor-jason has to suddenly leave the stage and freaks out backstage about how he’s not sure he’s Doing it right. hes not talking about acting!! because he himself is literally grieving his lover while he’s playing a character who’s grieving his wife written by his lover so obviously it’s too much!!! actor-jason is trying to find meaning in his death through his writing but there isnt any meaning in death [gerris drinkwater voice] which is what the play is trying to say anyway. he doesnt think he’s performing grief right even in his own life!!! (and tbh it’s the 50s so he wouldnt be able to perform grief publicly anyway!!!!) the play starts with a car accident… anyone would search for some hidden meaning there, some sign…. so when he talks to margot robbie outside it’s not really about finding the CHARACTER’s motivations it’s about the actor himself being able to process the playwright’s death! and adrien brody director was probably also dealing with that too (him and norton seemed to be good buddies) so the whole “sleeping backstage” thing gets a bit sadder maybe? maybe everyone else got this in the theatre and im just stupid lol but crazy making stuff to me!!! the whole story is about sublimated gay grief that cannot be expressed?!?!

the tweet that caught me onto this was here which posits that the playwright’s death was a suicide but i think that’s pretty stupid and unnecessary because the whole thing about the play asteroid city is that death is random and meaningless. im pretty sure that’s what the alien represents— a shocking and absurd event that isnt outright evil or menacing, not something anyone can predict or make sense of, it’s just a thing that happens to you out of nowhere, it doesnt mean anything. he’s a little black figure, he’s death! giving and taking! aagh