#lets fuckin GOOO

[thealiveweapon]

[kitsuna21]

GUESS WHO LEARNED HOW TO USE SHADERS

@karinsnightmareparty @doublebubblr @raineyraven @insomniwillow @pusheen-loves-food @dazewashere @garlic-sauc3 @straymongrel @winter-evenings @winter-mornings

[kidcore-mason]

We did it boys💛

[duderosiers]

things are improving - or, at least, on the surface they are. matty has healed nicely, asks when he needs a pill or two and jean-claude is only too happy to distribute them. the ugliness of christmas has settled down, and the vampire has settled into what can only be described as domestic bliss. his sister has arrived, he knows in his cold heart that he is madly in love, his boyfriend holds the key to this and one to his apartment, so he may come and go as he pleases. touch is no longer an issue, j.c is building the foundations of trust with a troublesome father-in-law. it should seek to reason that this unbridled happiness cannot last long. that, eventually, the spell should break and all involved tumble down into horrid reality. such a revelation comes doing something as mundane as getting rid of a dead houseplant that hands by the door, leaves brown and falling onto the floor - jean-claude plans to replace it with a fake one and see if matthew notices when he finds the little clear bag squished between pot and plastic. little white rounds inside, their indents in the middle, familiar because they're the same ones he has in an orange bottle in his pocket - what hurts more? the fact he isn't trusted, or the lying, or for all jean-claude's effort to be supportive and there it doesn't matter. that maybe, it never mattered, and all his boyfriend knew was setting himself alight to feel warmth. but jean-claude didn't want to get burned. the plants in the bin, the bag of guilt sits upon the countertop. there had been the need to do something dramatic, something big and showy, crush them up onto of food like parmesan, serve them in a tic-tac box, mail them to the pottery studio with a note saying 'i know'. yet, it never manifests, because he's still in the kitchen, staring at the counter in the dark when the front door opens. "matthew, mon cher," voice unsteady, sitting somewhere between anger, and sadness, and disbelief. "come tell me what i'm looking at."

@matthewbaudelaire

[maxwellendowed]

Tom 30 Day Challenge Tumblr Thingy Cruise

Howdy Y’all! So just for funsies me and a couple of cool cats are gonna do this 30 day challenge thing we found, mostly made by the best of us, @below-average-fangirl, and then we added an extra 5 days at the end to make it into a whole challenge for the month! Yes Febuary is a short month (The LOVE month) and it’s not exactly 30 days, but fuck you shut up. We’re starting it now so bite me. Anyway, like, reblog, join along, whatever you want. Oh yeah here’s this.

Day 1: First movie of his you remember seeing.

Day 2: The last movie oh his you watched.

Day 3: Which movie of his have you watched the most?

Day 4: Favorite Movie

Day 5: Least Favorite Movie

Day 6: Favorite Character

Day 7: Least Favorite Character

Day 8: Underrated Movie

Day 9: Most Overrated Movie

Day 10: Favorite Haircut

Day 11: Least Favorite Haircut

Day 12: Which Movie would you like to see a sequel to?

Day 13: Favorite line from one of his movies.

Day 14: Favorite scene from one of his movies

Day 15: Favorite Mission Impossible movie

Day 16: Favorite stunt

Day 17: Favorite run

Day 18: Which Character did you relate to the most?

Day 19: Which Chracter (from books, comics etc. or a possible remake) would you love to see Tom play?

Day 20: If you could only watch one film of his for the rest of time, which would it be and why?

Day 21: A director you would like to see him work with.

Day 22: A scene where “he does that thing with his face that makes you die inside” the most

Day 23: A sleeper hit. A movie that on the first watch you only thought of as okay, but over time it’s become a favorite.

Day 24: Out of the three films in which he was nominated for an Oscar (Born on the 4th of July, Jerry Maguire, and Magnolia), which one SHOULD have won him the trophy and why.

Day 25: What’s the performance that you think should have been nominated for an Oscar and why?

Day 26: Favorite 80s era Movie? Like besides Top Gun because that’s obvious.

Day 27: Favorite co-star?

Day 28: Favorite fight scene? Like in everything counting M:I!

Day 29: Actor you’d like to see him work with. (We know he’s already been with everyone else ;))

Day 30: Favorite TOM era in General?

Wow you can definitely tell we made up those last 5, but you know what? We got the job done so I don’t wanna hear any whining. KBYE!

@lovesickmermaid @pixlerelish and @below-average-fangirl again because they are so cool ;)

[sinha-ri]

guess who's finally gonna get diagnosed for ADHD!!

[sinnabee]

lmao making a NEW STREAM POST because i got uuuuh. distracted with moot shenanigans on the original one. the sandwich of time.... rate my set up... cats..... u had to be there. ANYWAY we're watching spirited away!!! and today is the day i finally kill @bamsara for real and finish my attack on them (<- could be lying, doesn't know if she will actually finish it today)

LETS GOOOOO

oh shit don't tell bam okay? okay cool <3 we're playing russian roulette to see if this gets lost in their notifs or not <3

hee's where we left off last time!

[aceakutagawafan]

Knew that he couldn't have died 🙏 Never lost faith in you, rat man! Next chapter can't come soon enough, I have to see more Fyodor right now omg

[mizzyislost]

the sequel: guess which boss i finally radianted

get fucked idiot

[ricksanchez-z420]

@plugrick

The sun started to set on the house as Rick and his pal Z-137 sat on the steps of his back porch. The air was nice and cool, which was a relief since the rest of the day prior to that moment was hell on earth. The two looked out at the scenery that was his backyard as they passed a blunt back and forth; most of it was shaded by trees, and as the sky darkened so did the woods. That paired with the blueish purples and pinkish oranges that streaked the sky made for amazing visuals to get absolutely blitzed to.

Out of nowhere, with his entire chest, Rick confidently stated, "Yo, Rick. Didya know that you can pretty much de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'are we about to kiss?'"

[kitsuna21]

GUESS WHO LEARNED HOW TO USE SHADERS

@karinsnightmareparty @doublebubblr @raineyraven @insomniwillow @pusheen-loves-food @dazewashere @garlic-sauc3 @straymongrel @winter-evenings @winter-mornings

[stillnotajedimaster]

Shove your head up my pussy so you can wear me as a hat

bet

[emmajeanned]

passed the portfolio part of practicum

[iwinniepooh]

[ghost-proofbaby]

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!” 

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly. 

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.” 

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.” 

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed. 

But it hadn’t. 

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over. 

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon. 

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours. 

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving. 

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.” 

“And why would you ever do that?” 

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee. 

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.” 

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you. 

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well. 

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil. 

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?” 

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you. 

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose. 

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees. 

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more. 

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner. 

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?” 

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it. 

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.” 

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this. 

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least. 

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed. 

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?” 

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically. 

He wants you to kiss him. 

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too. 

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose. 

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him. 

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.” 

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him. 

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out. 

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?” 

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss. 

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life. 

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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[c-kiddo]

you know how caleb goes around asking everyone something before they go to sleep sometimes like hes in a video game? that but he walks around each morning asking everyone if theyve taken their meds or done their t shot or taken their oestrogen