#truly insane...

[f1-stuff]

carlossainz55 🔋☀️Fully recharged and ready for the 2nd half of the season

[madnessiseverything]

oh hermes, fluttering bird in a gilded cage:

Your love is scheming, irritable, angry; a man forever itching to pull the strings of those around him. Coins spent here, a thread tugged there, lives cut short with but a look—your love wears Atropos’ mantle like his own birthright, his self-claimed destiny a shield against those with other plans. His eyes never rest, forever calculating even in the dark of night, with only fire to reflect his ideas.

Your love is terrified.

You see it plain as day, though the words never make it out into the tentative space between you and him. Fear stretches across his skin like spiderwebs, floats in the air around him like ash. He paints it red, calls it justified fury, wields it like a knife—but your love is afraid.

He shakes with it, wine spilling past his lips like blood—like he’d finally bitten off his brother’s head only to find it as poisonous as the viper lurking in his brother’s home. For once, no plans rest in wide eyes, narrowly escaped death carving deep enough to show bone.

Your love snarls like a caged beast, like his beloved ghost lion rattling the bars somewhere below, mouth bloodied and eager for more. When he turns to face you, his teeth seem sharper in the firelight.

You abandon warm silk for cold marble floors, dig out his reasons from between growled threats and despair. Your hand reaches over the snapping fangs of his mood, soft and gentle when it finds his throat.

Your heart rests on your tongue. All you can think of is the frantic beat of a bird’s wings, never fast enough to escape your love’s bow, forever doomed to try still.

Your love is a schemer, a smith of usurpation and bloodied paths. His fires of ambition sputter between your hands. With a bird-wing heart and your own ambitious words, you make yourself a spark for his flame.

Your love kisses you gentler than ever before. His lips curve in a smile you can’t help but replicate, relief and hope filling up your lungs like ocean air.

You lock your fears of the man you call love away behind them both.

[murataesque]

How I found out about trump getting shot

[thetrialsandtribulationsofeb]

inspired by this:

[slightlyartist]

It amuses me greatly that the most normal day at the lab probably looked like this...

[professorfcknmoriarty]

Also shoutout to the contest winners for Vic's pin sweepstakes who travelled all the way to the Dropout Studios only to find out WHILE THERE that Sam Reich did not know they were coming or that they'd had been promised an appearance on the show (also who had their tour led by an animorphing squid michaelis)

[adam-scott]

SEVERANCE + TRIVIA (part 1) from the Severance podcast & interviews

[stevenrogered]

Are you wearing the- The Chanel boots green breakup shirt? Yeah, I am.

[zondearts]

au au mizuena

[haleyusesherwords]

Normal people trying to coordinate a project with their talented, hard-working friends:

"Hey man, can you help me with this project?"

"No, I'm really busy with work right now. I can't, sorry."

The Intrepid Heroes:

"I live in a tent outside Murph’s house, and every morning I wake up and bang on the door and beg Murph, beg him to join"

"My ghosts whisper,” Murph says, and then he goes into a dark cavern of his room.

(Link)

[cspcrashing]

rejoice, for you have doomed a lover

[mangosandwichs]

thing i did during the mizu5 era

[beaulesbian]

peak romance

[prlssprfctn]

Dick watches as the newly proclaimed crime lord, Red Hood, storms off on his bike, without a care in the world. Logically speaking, Nightwing should try to chase after him — he was an awful headache to his family lately, wasn't he? — but he had no power to deal with this right now, not when it was useless anyway; Red Hood escaped Batman as if it was his hobby, there was no way Dick himself would succeed, especially while he is wounded.

'Stuck-up,' he still murmurs faintly.

'You hate him?'

Dick almost flinches. Almost, because he is already used to the ghost of his little brother appearing out of nowhere, in day and night. Even now, little Jason is sitting atop of someone's car, swinging his feet in the air mindlessly. He flashes his brother a smile once their eyes meet, and Dick mirrors it in the instant.

'Hate is a strong word, Little Wing.'

'Well, I hate geometry. That's not that complicated,' Dick snorts at that.

'Why does it matter, anyway?'

Little Jason hums mindfully. There is a hint of hesitation in his actions, before he admits:

'I like him.'

Dick blinks a few times.

'You like Red Hood? Why would you like Red Hood?'

This doesn't sound like something Jason would say, right?

...Then again, Dick knew very little about his brother, and these things he knew, he started to forget a long time ago. It would be probably easier, to keep these details in mind, if only he had someone to talk about it — someone, who knew Jason, too. But Bruce is stubborn in his grief, and Dick cannot speak about Jason with no one else but his own ghost.

'He protects Crime Alley people in the way they need it,' Jason insists firmly. 'So, I like him. Can you not hate him, too?'

This is so fucking strange. Why Dick's consciousness tries to reassure him to like that red asshole? Isn't that just... bizarre? Is he finally going insane?

'Uh,' Dick rubs the bridge of his nose. 'Listen—'

The comms crack faintly, catching his attention. Barbara asks about the status of the mission, and he reports it quickly before turning around again, to look at Jason once more and resume their conversation.

But the ghost is gone again.

And Dick is still puzzled.

Maybe he should go through Red Hood's case one more time?..

[captmuldoon]

Black Sails really tapped into a very specific kind of ghost story where your ghost is not actually you but someone else's perception of you - the person they thought you were and should be. Imagine hating knitting and embrodiery, and you're no good at it, but you do it because you're a governor's wife and people expect you to be at his side, quiet with your head bowed over your needles. You buy a new wardrobe of dresses because your role necessitates it, but you keep your old clothes hidden in your rooms because you can't bear to let go of that part of you yet. And then you die and you come back as a haunting and you're faceless and voiceless, and you're wearing a dress that means nothing to you, and the only sound you can make is that of your knitting needles hitting each other again and again. And this is how the person you love brings you back: a voiceless, faceless thing in the corner.

[agentromanoffsir]

kirk & spock in star trek: the original series (1966— 1969)

I fail to understand why it always gives you pleasure to see me proven wrong. An emotional Earth weakness of mine.