#so here have this

[formyhyperfixation]

Collection: Plushia Shenanigans

[leyza-haide]

Love? Love? Just like Mob!

[tonyscottchord]

Jerry Maguire + my first watch live reactions

+ bonus:

[ddarkcrown]

one night in helsinki moodboard

[all-or-nothing-baby]

i saw the tv glow and took a breath that was the and biggest most satisfying lung-full of air in forever and a day oh that O² oh me oh my and oh hell how i simultaneously choked asphyxiated suffocated so utterly and so completely to the sound of my own slow death but somehow still managed to drag my stiff bones home to the place that is safe though that word has a different meaning for me yet now here i am i am here stuck like a pig on a spit roasting myself in the very room i allegedly live in and can't stop won't stop staring at my notself my very wrong reflection in the cruelly mirrored on/off too-big screen friend and am crying and crying and smiling and smiling because maybe just maybe there is still time for me and for him there is there is there is is there is there is there though where is it i can't see it can't see that time and what if it's because it's run out actually run away from me what then what then what oh how about this i could just stop time again and make art of the way i've been destroyed and put back together a billion times a day all day everyday ad infinitum for my too-many years on this mad spinning rock yes what about this and what about that how about if i draw something write something with all of the snot and the tears and the sweat and the blood and the piss and the shit all of it because it is everydamnwhere all over the place hanging around or hanging on wait no no wait i know i'll just sit here instead and write this void post to my phone from my head to my phone like i'm dead dead already then i'll scramble myself like the egg that i am to wipe my face clean and put on an old shirt and comfort show and some graces whilst having at it and apologising more and again to everyone all of them every thing living dead in both worlds real and not both the ones in my head and in each and every universe the multi quantum static channel and say sorry so sorry i'm so so sorry for that and for this and for hernotmehim for your fiction and mine and for the terribly simple and complex horror that is my hellish existence a blight on all yours but it's okay even though it's really not really no more please i can't well okay just one more time yeah it's okay it's alright i'll just keep smiling keep breathing and keep dying again yeah just like this just like that because hey it's okay as it is always 10.30pm on a saturday night somewhere, right?

[beyourownanchor6]

*buck looking to eddie suggestively as they brush their teeth*

buck: are you a bottle of toothpaste? cause i’m squeezing out every last drop

eddie: buck it’s 7am

[bardicbeetle]

Damask, 2005 - vee the vampire

Angelface had walked away to the back room for something—she’s been assuming it’s a storage room of some kind, hasn’t been back there yet as so far she hasn’t needed anything. And thus far being left alone at a well stocked bar before there are even any patrons has been plenty entertaining. Mainly because she doesn’t get to touch anything otherwise, mostly she washes dishes in the bar sink and listens to Angelface chat up patrons all night. It’s not glamorous, but it’s also not being cold on the fucking street.

Notes from this latest foray into digging through the back bottles: Whatever that green label one is tastes fucking awful, like melted licorice. Disgusting. Conversely, there is something down there that reminds her of toasted marshmallows and that’s making up for the awful one.

The next thing she picks up is in such a dark bottle she can’t even see what’s in it. Which isn’t fully abnormal, some of the bottles are frosted or opaque. Rather than dirtying cups she’s taken to putting the little shot spouts on and then giving them a quick rinse afterwards. It’s saved both time and suspicious dishes.

This time is no different, after double checking that she is still—in fact—alone, she tips the bottle up holding the spout a few inches from her open mouth—she had missed the first couple times but the spout is surprisingly consistent no matter what’s in the bottles, and she learned fast—and gags.

It’s thick like some of the creme bases are but—fuck—it’s salty and metallic and the bottle slips out of her hands with the shock of it and shatters on the tile behind the bar.

Sending bright red spraying across the floor and the bottom shelf glasses.

She doesn’t really process it, busy heaving over the sink.

It’s not until she hears the door open and shut at the far end of the room that she looks back at the floor in panic.

So whatever it was sucked, but it was probably expensive and—

—no.

No that was blood.

Something about seeing the way it’s spreading on the floor. The color it turns as it soaks the bottom of her jeans. The taste. When she wipes a hand across her mouth it paints her skin the same way a nosebleed would, and she’s stuck staring at it, feeling very suddenly like she is going to be properly actually sick—what the fuck.

“Cassidy?”

Her gaze snaps back up to Angelface, who has made it all the way to the little half-door blocking the back of the bar before she even noticed he was there. “I—I didn’t—”

“—are you hurt?”

Relief.

He looks more—amused? Than anything else. But there is genuine concern in his tone. She thinks.

“Was that—that was blood—what the fuck is that doing under—”

“—Cassidy.” That word is sharper. She’s still getting used to connecting it to herself. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. Hop up on the bar, I’ll take care of the glass.”

“Answer my question first.”

“Blood is a medical hazard, Cassidy. Get on the bar.”

She plants her feet, the tile slick under her boots, arms crossed. “No. Answer my fucking question.”

Angelface sighs, stepping carefully around shards of glass until he’s close enough to—is she really that small or is he stronger than he looks?—pick her up and set her none too gently onto the bartop. It happens so quickly that she doesn’t really have time to react until it’s already done. “Ridiculous. It’s like you don’t have a goddamn survival instinct at all.”

The reaction he’s having feels so out of place that she’s struggling to find any sort of response. She just watches him start picking up the larger chunks of glass from the floor, listens to the little plopping sounds as blood continues to drip from the bottom shelf.

In the end it takes until he’s fully cleaned the floor and filled the sink with blood spattered glassware for her to speak again.

“Am I fired?”

He gives her a look. It’s the face he makes every time she asks a stupid question.

She’s pretty sure that isn’t a stupid question though, so she repeats herself.

“Am I?”

“No,” He tells her, “you will not be left alone back here again though.”

It startles a laugh out of her.

“So…” She’s still sitting on the bar, the blood on her jeans has dried dark and stiff. “I’m still waiting on an explanation.”

“You’ll be waiting forever, Cassidy.”

“Is it like—sketchy?” She asks, “Like—is there some sort of black market thing going on—are there organs down there too? Is that what you keep in the back room?”

“It is not like—sketchy,” Angelface repeats, faintly mocking and ignoring the latter half of her question. “and it isn’t your concern.”

“I drank blood,” She insists, “that’s concerning.”

“You didn’t drink blood—you spit it in the sink.”

“I swallowed some of it.”

“And?”

“Didn’t you say it was a medical hazard?”

“Would you like me to take you to the hospital?”

She glares at him, and for a moment both are silent. She’s putting it together though. Between his reactions and the rest. Or maybe she’s crazy. That’s also possible.

“We’re only here after dark.” She says finally.

“It’s a night club, Cassidy. We’re only open at night.”

“There’s blood under the bar.”

“There is. You spilt it.”

“It was there before I did that.”

“Is this little train of thought supposed to be impressive?”

“I don’t think you should be able to pick me up that easily.”

He does look mildly offended by that one. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve read books.” She’s treading dangerous waters now. She knows it.

“I should hope so.” He replies, and maybe she’s imagining the slight quirk to his expression, the sour little smile. “Are you going to start making sense any time in the next few sentences?”

“Promise you’ll answer one question?” She asks, voice suddenly very quiet. “Honestly.”

Angelface gives her an appraising sort of look, like he’s weighing a risk. “One question, Cassidy.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He smiles.

It’s sharper than it should be.

It’s almost like he’s suddenly got too many teeth.

“I certainly hope not.”

[everoutoftouch]

[wheucto]

novocaine* or whatever his name was

[steeplescollapsed]

its a strange thing to know yourself.

to understand what's happening in your head,

to recognise the patterns you're retracing again,

and know that you will do nothing about it.

to know that you'll still follow the same path each time.

like red riding hood, walking her way to the wolf

in the same way every time you hear the story.

like its all pre-planned, all written down,

and i'm just re-reading the script.

here we go, down the path into the forest,

watching the world get darker,

never changing the direction my feet take me,

always heading to granny's house.

and i know i'll escape, because i always do.

the wolf always gets split down the middle,

and i always crawl out of his belly,

and my cloak will stay stained red with his blood

for the next time i decide to go walking in the forest.

28th April 2024, by me

[cnadianintegrity]

Kaidan allowing himself to be happy in me3 cause life is too short to not. Winning against the reapers seems very slim, he already almost died on Mars, why spend the rest of what he has left not letting himself enjoy things?

[fatummortem]

@positivelybeastly continued from x

ㅤㅤWhile waiting for Hank to get a moment, Bobby realizes it's be a very long time since he's heard his friend sing. He's always sung while working hasn't he? Bobby's lips press together in thought as he pulls his smoothie away. Visiting Hang at work after he left the X-Men had been a different setting entirely, not a lot of time of feeling comfortable in private or with your friends around.

ㅤㅤBobby's blue eyes jerk upwards when he hears the shock in Hank's oh. The fact his friend looks utterly floored, any other time Bobby would take it as reaching an unknown challenge. Just to get that expression on his friends face. But the fact, Bobby thinks, it's just from his appearance? The realness of the disbelief causes him to realize just how much of a bad friend he's been.

ㅤㅤSure, life's been busy. Being on separate teams makes everything more difficult. Takes a lot of effort to rearrange things. Make the time. He's done it, he has that ability. He should have made time for Hank too.

ㅤㅤA cheerful smile curves over his lips. " I'm getting the hang of it, it's nice . Krakoa's different from the school, more enjoyable. More ways to help other mutants... " He pauses a few moments to get his thoughts together.

ㅤㅤ" I feel that I'm actually getting a handle on myself. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHow about--? "

ㅤㅤHe's doing it again, pretending he doesn't notice something. He thought he'd gotten better at not doing it.

ㅤㅤBobby let out a breath, the only sign of his nerves is a faint icy vapor trail mixed within his exhale. Another glimpse of it shows seconds later as Bobby looks down, gripping his straw & tugging at it gently, making it look like he's stirring it instead of it being a tick.

ㅤㅤWhat does he even say? Words only go so far & he's found actions are better or a mixture. Would words even matter? Which ones? There are so many jokes or light japs that flow through his mind, he has to push that urge back before they start popping out.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤHe's gunna wing it. He's good at that right?

ㅤㅤ" I'm sorry, Hank. " Bobby gives him a sad smile, it slowly reaches his blue eyes. " Do you have time to talk? I have a few hours before I have to head out... " His hand raises to rub the back of his head bashfully. " It feels like we should. "

[gallawitchxx]

🖤 barber!mickey & (not so) shaggy!ian 🖤

here's the 37th installment for this week's @galladrabbles prompt: spoiled by @very-sleepy-head

catch up/read in full HERE -- updates weekly! [ read scenes one & two in their entirety ON AO3 ]

- - - - -

“So, you, uh, like tacos?” Ian asks and immediately regrets.

Mickey’s head snaps up, his expression still largely unreadable. “Sure,” he says, licking his lips. “Wouldn’t trust a guy who doesn’t.”

He smirks, and the sea foaming within Ian catches fire.

They’re no longer touching, just standing awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk, so Ian takes a tentative step forward, watching as Mickey mirrors his movements.

“What’s your go-to?”

“Steak. You?”

Ian thinks about it. “Al Pastor.”

Mickey makes a face like he’s smelled spoiled milk. “That shit with the pineapple? The fuck is wrong with you, Gallagher?”

[mischiefmanifold]

I actually think it's really weird that Tourette is the only neurodevelopmental disorder with a diagnostic cutoff age.

It's common knowledge, medically, that tics can be dormant until triggered by environmental factors such as trauma/stress. Additionally, individuals can have a sudden increase in tic frequency in adulthood after a period of few/no tics since early childhood when tics are usually less noticeable.

Scientific evidence says that tics are caused by tic disorders and tic disorders alone. Other involuntary movements may be mistaken for tics, however, which is why it's important to increase public awareness and knowledge of other types of involuntary movement (like dystonia or myoclonus).

I had my first tics when I was 7 or 8 that I can remember, and I may have had other tics before that as well. My theory is that my Tourette was triggered by traumatic events in my childhood and when the trauma and stress died down, so did my tics (they didn't go away though). When the quarantine first started in 2020 (I was 15) I was so stressed with school and my boyfriend being in the mental hospital that my tics came back full force (unfortunately, this was during the height of the "functional tics" craze) and have been significantly present ever since.

[sparkveins-a]

@thenextchapterbegins gets a 42 miles starter!

"do you have to be so loud? i have a major headache right now.."