#two minutes . . . and counting

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Unsolved Mysteries.

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[missholoska]

happy new year of utdr ❤️

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD and FLORENCE PUGH for Bustle.

“'Ultimately, it’s a story about choosing the life we want for ourselves and making the most of the time we have." Bustle cover stars Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh on their once-in-a-lifetime love story ‘We Live In Time’ - in theaters NY/LA today, nationwide October 18.”

(X)

[smokingcitrus]

Birkin is an ugly crier.

He sniffles and sobs, moans and wails as his face reddens and scrunches up until he's almost unrecognizable, strings of snot uncontrollably leaking from his nose. He wipes it over and over and over, trying to get words out but never quite getting past the hurdle of keeping his mouth clean enough. He resigns himself to curling in on himself, shoulders hunched, and he holds his elbows as if hunkering down to ride out the emotion. In that moment, his world shrinks, incapable of accommodating the impossible size of his distress. It explodes in size, its growth exponential as it rips and tears through him, gouging the edges of his repressed mind like sandpaper in a bullet wound. Frantic thoughts follow it like freshly torn sinew, incomprehensible and indistinguishable from each other, barely forming before snapping in half with a static-like spark that causes his trembling shoulders to jolt anew.

His meltdowns are far and few in between, major stressors acting as a wrecking ball against his mental state where inconveniences have only been able to wear away at the edges like water erosion. The only constant in all of them has been the conviction that he might just die where he lays, wailing and clawing at himself until he bleeds: Wesker presence is always an afterthought as his soul unravels.

Wesker has never been able to do anything other than observe: when he's unfortunate enough to witness another one of Birkin's episodes, he can't do more than stand before him, mentally measuring the distance between his straightened back and Birkin's folded one as he waits for him to be coherent enough to continue working.

The first time this happened in his company, he was young and naive enough to think that he, Albert Wesker, could comfort him. A stiff hand had reached for Birkin's shoulder — a gesture he'd practiced since seeing it in a movie all those years ago — which was promptly smacked away, paired with an incoherent gurgle from a snot-filled throat. When physical comfort didn't work, he tried reassurance, but his words fell on deaf ears.

He didn't know what he expected. Spencer's golden child, someone who had been hand-picked to be as close to perfect as a human could be, was everything but the right person to be doing this. He had never received comfort. He wasn't supposed to give it. So he stood up, steeled himself, and returned to his side of their tiny dorm room. He didn't acknowledge his roommate for the rest of the night, patiently waiting for his palm-muffled screams to subside to sniffles.

He's in a similar situation now. Wesker only watches as Birkin looks up at him, the telltale lip quiver almost making him groan. The fact that he doesn't is enough to snap him out of the déjà vu, uncomfortably conscious of the change in his own breathing pattern. Where irritation would have picked at him, a bud grows in his chest instead, sucking away all of his energy like a tumor until all he can do in his uselessness is meet Birkin's watery, reddening eyes. The bud blossoms. It shoots through him and into nothing as thorns rake his insides. His face hasn't moved, and he only realizes that his vision has started to blur when Birkin brings a shaking hand to his face, wiping his flinching eyes with a tenderness that almost warrants guilt.

Birkin smiles at him through all of his ugliness, as if Wesker is the one that needs reassurance. Birkin whimpers, shudders, and wipes his face, but his eyes train themselves on Wesker's face as if afraid that he would disappear. "I missed you, Al."

He knows Birkin's fear is justified. Wesker's throat croaks, but he isn't trying to speak. He blinks, and Birkin's calloused hand brushes his cheek a second time, then a third, and then it gets so bad he needs to use both hands.

Despite how badly he wants to share the sentiment, Wesker can't bring himself to respond.

[harpoonsnotspoons]

Another night and I'll see you [Another night and I'll be you]

[froegs]

Jayce “Facebook-Mom” Talis-Medarda

[scribz-ag24]

grovyle going quiet when emotionally overwhelmed by a situation

dusknoir laughing and bluffing and rambling and screaming when emotionally overwhelmed by a situation

is this anything

[ndostairlyrium]

Ankh Lavellan / Cullen Rutherford | 1616 words | Comfort not hurt | CW: depressive episode, mental health discussion, child abandonment

In which Cullen doesn't feel like going out in the world out of guilt and not feeling enough, Lav goes all the way to comfort him

Non Oggi

Laid down, eyes fixated on a small flower pot, fluffy blanket covering his waist.

He could put on the second layer of under armor, before the ennuie hit him in the shoulders. Those relaxed, along with his muscles, but as anticipated, that wasn’t the good kind of relaxation.

It simply wasn’t a good day to be a human, and Cullen felt like dropping everything he was doing and returned to bed. To stare at the void. It just happened to be manifested by a minuscule sprout of basil, cradled by a terracotta vase.

There his brain just started spinning, making every system of his body malfunction until a complete shut down.

And so Lavellan had found him in such condition, after Ser Rylen - who was expecting a report – confessed that he was worried. No sarcasm needed, and that in return worried her.

The ladder wasn’t put down as always, ceiling hatch was sealed shut, so she just went outside and climbed the wall until reaching the hole in the upper ceiling. Descending for her was as easy as climbing, due to her background of perching in the worst places at the worst timing, even though the echo of Ser Rylen’s “Can you check on him?” had reached her feet, betraying her balance a couple of times.

When she landed, Cullen didn’t even flinch.

She took a couple of seconds to observe what looked like the very depiction of Emperor Drakon on his death bed, as pictured in the vestibule of the Winter Palace. Then, her eyes wandered and found his armor, his second skin, scattered on the bed. That painted a more realistic picture of what was going on.

“Can I help?” she asked. No answer. “Hungry?” Again, no answer.

She got closer, to see if the jug of water he kept close to bed was in need of a refill, then she started to collect all the armor pieces, to place them on the mannequin near the window covered in ivy. When the time of lucidity would come, Cullen would hate himself more if he saw them scattered around so carelessly.

That kindness grabbed his attention.

“That goes on the left,” he said, voice crackling like a walk on gravel.

Lavellan rolled her eyes, then moved the arm-guard to the right place. “I was testing if you were paying attention.” “I’m always paying attention.” “Because you’re a control freak.” “Says the pot to the kettle.”

Lavellan would have loved to face him, but she forced herself not to. Instead, she just kept tidying his space like he would, because she knew that the idea of her acknowledging his malfuncioning and giving him – even if by accident – the wrong stare would break him for good.

“I warned the girls to not expect us at Council,” she explained. “Cassandra is covering for us. It’s just trivial matters anyway.”

Cullen took a few moments to elaborate an answer. “You should go back.”

Lavellan turned in his direction, putting on the most neutral face she could wear. No eye contact, just yet. “Do you want me to go back?” she asked.

His weariness looked a lot like apathy. “You need to.”

The thought of holding her back overcame his needs. Lavellan was aware of that. And that’s why she laid down at his side with no hesitation.

She glanced at his back, then sighed. “I’d rather be with you,” she said.

Cullen would usually snap back, scold her, or give whatever retort he would think would work on her. In that case, he just accepted in silence what was happening, too tired to compute.

“You’re the most annoying person I know,” he murmured after a while.

Lavellan smirked. “Ah, you like it!”

He did. Just like he liked being held, which she was, gently.

His brain didn’t stop ruminating, though. A hug was too little to make his thoughts stop. But her arm resting on his hip and her face pressed between his shoulder blades did a good deal of helping.

Lavellan made it sure to avoid being too invasive. Her presence already broke the intimacy of his pain, something he had been guarding since before they’ve met. Trying to talk things out, or force any kind of contact, would do the exact opposite of supporting the man she loved.

Luckily, he didn’t push her away.

“I’m sorry you’re here,” he said, after a full hour of silence. Lavellan explored the back of his neck with her eyes. “I want to be here, vhenas.” “I’m wasting your time.” “How come?”

Cullen paused for a moment. “You should have a reliable colleague, a decent partner, a… different person to deal with,” he explained. His voice had a little hint of frustration in its overall monotony. “And I’m just here, in bed. Avoiding… avoiding.” “You can’t work on sheer will alone, vhenas. Sometimes laying in bed is enough.” “Not that kind of “enough” I’m expected to be.” “And who set that expectation?”

Cullen had a hard time replying, even though the answer was simple as breathing.

Lavellan helped him out instantly. “Look, you’ve been working harder than anyone here, to prove you’re enough. And trust me, nobody outside your head is thinking that you don’t deserve to be here, or that your work is meaningless.” “Ask any mage I’ve hurt, or any templar that thinks I’m a traitor.” “Do you feel like one?” “It’s more complex than that, you know it.” “Yes, I’m aware,” she paused. “Look, I know you feel like you need to show you’ve learnt from your past, but you’re just at the beginning of your path. Taking a break to just exist doesn’t mean you’re not putting an effort into it.” “I know I’m not or you wouldn’t be here, trying to comfort-” “Go fuck yourself, vhenas.” He sighed. “Thanks," he said. And he meant it. Lavellan placed a soft kiss on the nape of his neck. “I got you.”

They embraced silence again for a while, only thoughts buzzing in the atmosphere. “The work we’re doing here,” Cullen resumed “we’re making a difference and I want to believe that I am different.”

“Speaking from experience, vhenas, nobody changes. Context does, our priorities do. You’re still that person, looking at the world from a different perspective,” she said, her voice calm however firm. “But you’re not entirely there, and I get why it’s so frustrating, but… vhenas, you need to give yourself some grace, or this kind of second guessing will chain you to this bed forever.”

Cullen absorbed her words partially, as he was still drowning in grey matter. He just knew she was right, but pain has pride and his happened to be very inflated.

Lavellan didn’t say a word, elaborating would give him more guilt. She just existed at his side, until he was ready to speak again.

After hours of buzzing silence, he turned around to face her.

Wet cheeks, red eyes, not a single emotion on sight. “Can you stay a little longer?” he asked. At least, that’s what she thought he said, because his voice was so distorted she couldn’t make a distinction of his words.

“You know me, I’m persistent,” she replied, with the warmest smile. That was the exact moment to keep eye contact, and she never broke it.

“Annoying,” he corrected her. “Who’s the one brooding over self-inflicting martyrdom?” “Fuck you, Lav.”

She chuckled, he gave her the faintest smile in return.

“Weird to hearing from you that people don’t change.” “Oh, we do, but not in the way that you’d think. You, for example, will always make a terrible use of irony.” “Not helping.” “And you will always have the same passion you had at thirteen. That’s something you can’t change. It’s like your curls, they’re part of you, even when you straighten them.” “But a shrub can’t become a tree.” “A shrub can’t be as tall, but it can be larger.” “You know what I mean.” “As do you.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to stick with that guy.”

“Well, I don’t want to stick with the girl I was either,” she shrugged. “I’ve been making mistakes since I was born, I myself am a mistake by being born and the only thing I can do about it is to dye my hair, otherwise I would look like my father. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept these things, and sometimes it gets so overwhelming I feel like every person I know would be better if I wasn’t in their life.”

“That’s… absolutely not fair.”

“See? That’s the point. When thoughts like that hit, I can’t stop my brain from spiraling downwards. Eventually, it reaches some kind of climax, and everything resumes as normal.”

Cullen couldn’t hold back a giggle, that he tried to cover as best as he could. The results were horrible, of course. “So, your brain climaxes when you’re depressed. That explains a lot.”

Lavellan kicked his shins playfully. “Next time you have an existential crisis I’m throwing you a bucket of water!” “Sounds about fair.”

Cullen curled onto her, burying his face on her shoulder as he wrapped her in a hug. Something would come out of his mouth, but she wasn’t entirely sure of anything else but its practical meaning. Lavellan held him tight, as his body seemed undecided if accepting to be comforted or refusing such an undeserved favor. “Just let it spin. I’ll keep you from falling,” she said. He nodded, lightly. “I’m sor-” he paused. “Thanks for being here.”

Relieved, Lavellan let out a sigh. “Thanks for letting me in.” “You broke and entered.” “You know what I mean.” “As do you.”

She held him tighter.

[post-punk-revival]

Which song is your #6 or #14 or whatever isn't interesting to me; I wanna hear where in your list the first song from each of your top 5 artists shows up. Or the last one

[daryslaytonramblings]

SUCCESSS

it's so rare that two miis you made and wanted to fall for each other ACTUALLY fall for each other BUT IT WORKED. IT FREAKING WORKED. SPINNING IN CIRCLES RN

[whiskerknittles]

No one in the universe is doing it like them. Absolutely unreal

[shaotie]

my masterpost

🐢 FAQ: how do you write so fast?

🐢 Tags Are Hard (a brief guide to ao3 tagging)

🐢 I'm a married woman diagnosed with adhd, autism, and other neuro-spicy disorders who likes ninja turtles and is never growing up 😃 (please only pm me if you're an adult)

🐢 I mostly write Leonardo-centric Rise of the TMNT angst, usually heavy on the angst and I love fanart/fics based on mine! But I don't like t-cest or sexually explicit scenes so for anyone who wants to make fan art/fics based on mine please don't include that stuff.

🐢 most of my fanfics are rated mature or explicit for graphic depictions of violence, discretion is advised

🐢 not all my aus have happy endings but I always tag my works so you know what to expect

🐢 unless drawn on paper, all art is done in Ibispaint, and credit goes to Nickelodeon and the wonderful artists who worked on Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

🐢 Most of my Rise music videos are based on older songs I like, some might be from old trends, I think? I don't know I don't follow trends 🙂 I'm open to taking requests for songs to put rottmnt art/clips to!

🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷

random rottmnt stuff:

🔹random art and comics

🔹 random videos

🔹random rottmnt stuff (not mine)

🔹 other ao3 fanfics I like

🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷

my rise of the tmnt fanfics:

My Short Stories Masterpost (a place where I keep all my 10 chapters or less fanfics together)

What D.I.D I Do Wrong? Masterpost - ongoing on tumblr

Where You Belong Masterpost - ongoing on ao3

Seven Years Masterpost - ongoing on ao3 & tumblr

Sometimes tragedy can split a family apart. And sometimes it can bring them back together again. If it isn't already too late.

Leo was rescued on the same day he went into the prison dimension. Wasn't he? And nothing bad could possibly happen from being shoved into and ripped out of an alternate dimension.

Right?

Where Loyalties Lie Masterpost - complete on ao3; ongoing on tumblr

Raised as Baron Draxum’s assassin slave, Leo (X, Experiment Alpha 002-2) comes in contact with his brothers and wants to draw close to them, but his only father-figure wants them dead.

Thrown in the middle of two worlds, will X carry out the will of his master, or will the lives of his family be precious in his eyes?

Also, as time progresses Leo must find the answer to some hard-hitting questions, such as: Who can he trust? Who is steeping him in a cesspool of lies and deception? And...

Where will his loyalties?

Two Minutes . . . And Counting (series) - complete on ao3

- series summary is in this post (contains spoilers)

- 'Loss' art (cover picture)

- 'Loss' speedpaint (with sad Rise music)

Alternate happy ending for Two Minutes (first fic in series):

a. Doing the Impossible by DiresNightmare

b. Healing From the Impossible by Shattered_ontheInside (me)

Life: The Ultimate Sacrifice - complete on ao3

- my art dump

- fanart by @magisav (thank you!)

- more fanart by magisav (thanks some more!)

- Ninpo Connection (watercolor art)

- "I'm Sorry Tiny Mikey" (comic & fanfic dialogue)

- Blame it on My ADD (music video comp of my different fanfics)

- Let's Be Friends art and excerpt

- Let's Be Friends art (zoomed in on Leo)

🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷 ◼️ 🔷

unpublished works that may eventually make their way to ao3.

A Ninja’s Greatest Weapon series

(complete series but rewriting into my current writing style before posting)

- summary (for books 2 & 3) is in this post

- my art dump || page 1 || page 2

- Blame it on My ADD (music video comp of my different fanfics)

- "Who Said I Was A Hero?" video || comic

- "Does That Make Me Insane?" (music video)

- "Fun" art and excerpt

There Must be Something in the Water

🔹🔹🔹

(Stuff for me)

🔹next chapter preview and divider (for ao3)

🔹 au idea I don't want to forget

[chimerafeathers]

actually i still have thoughts building on my interpretation of the timeline question from this timeline post

two main things. first, what Isabeau says about his Change

it's a metaphorical death, of course. Isabeau is still alive and did not literally, physically kill himself in order to Change. but even so, the person he "would" have been without that Change is "dead." he's still him, he's always been him, the kid he was is still in there but he's still Isabeau. there is only one timeline.

but, second, it's like. sometimes you remember a turning point in your life—an opportunity you took or didn't take. a coincidence that led to you meeting your best friend, or a choice that led to some of the darkest moments of your life, or a circumstance that you could have never controlled at all that, nevertheless, you can see how it shaped you as you are now, for better or for worse.

and maybe sometimes you are overwhelmed with something about how your life as it is now. and you find yourself mourning, deeply and sincerely, something that never existed. the death of that possibility, that "timeline" where you made a different choice, were born into a different family, had met a different person, had met the same person but at a different time.

would you be happier? would you still be "you"? would it be better if you weren't? would you be better?

there's no way to know. you are you, and have always been you. there is only one timeline.

...but for Loop...they make a choice, and their continuity is cut. they become the circumstances that change how the story plays out. they get to watch, from the outside, the "what if" scenario that would have led them to the happiness they sought.

it doesn't matter if the party or the world "literally" died and were rewritten in the wake of their wish. they are mourning something that never existed—a world where they are the one who is embraced and accepted without hesitation by a party who knows them. the party that could have given them that is dead, the version of themself that could have had that is dead, they are removed from the happy "what-if" even as it plays out before them. the grief and guilt are real even if the deaths are metaphorical.

there is only one timeline, but they can never again be THE Siffrin who loves their party instead of A Siffrin who changed beyond recognition. their choice destroyed something they can never get back. a party who loved them, and not their replacement. they're dead, they're gone, they're replaced with people who only know to turn that love towards someone else who wears their face.

but of course, of course the opportunity for reconnection still exists. no matter what details change, no matter if the party from the Prologue and the party from ISAT are the same exact people or some rewritten version of them, the fundamental cores of them prevail. and they are predisposed towards loving each other. their happiness is still within reach—it will just look different than they had thought.

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD & FLORENCE PUGH

Interview Each Other for the Buzzfeed UK

[Buzzfeed UK video]

[no27-chilis-honda]

This is the mf that jt miller decided to start a fight with for no reason. If you even care.

[see-arcane]

Something that I am rotating in my head after the Crew has written their wills is... They are all together, in a lunatic asylum. Mina's eyes are harder. There is no train to Varna for a week. They all share the same space. In a madhouse, going insane. Mina's fangs are sharper. Seward feels another cold shiver. She shares a bed with her husband. They all have written their wills. The vampire is away and the vampire is right here.

Each night the clock ticks like a hourglass of blood.

They are sitting trapped between two Hells.

Tick.

One is fully formed. One is growing around them.

Tock.

Each night makes the latter bud a little redder, a little sharper.

Tick.

And the Harkers sink a little deeper into its Pit.

Tock.