#weird heads 2020

[funkbun]

made a doodle of snorpy and decided to compare it to two other past snorps. 4 fun

[wackydoggs]

season 2 of clone high might have killed joanfk and spat on its corpse but i still love this ship with all of my heart, even if the show does not LOL

[elitehoe]

The parallel of Hangman not going to the hospital to visit Nick when Brandon told him he was there on BTE 195 and Hangman going with Nick in the ambulance to the hospital tonight after Brandon told him to make sure Nick didn't go alone is what you call GROWTH

[chicicherrycola]

i read this book back in like 2019 and i liked it so much i wanted my own copy and then found out it was out of print, despite having been published in 2015, AND there was an article from 2018 saying they were making a movie adaptation of it?????

[ilaiyayaya]

It's crazy how wearing at least 1 piece of clothing that doesn't make me want to hang myself feels kinda good sometimes who would've guessed?

IT'S TOO BIG MAKE IT SMALLER I DON'T WANT IT TO TAKE UP MY ENTIRE MONITOR AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Still kinda look bad, but like slightly less bad than average! If I don't remember to stop walking in circles and delete this within an hour I'll die a painful gory death and my corpse will idk I didn't think of an end to this sentence I'm just procrastinating posting this. I would just, not post it but I NEED to gain more confidence in looking at pictures of myself and mirrors and also not hiding all evidence of my physical existence.

[a-passing-storm]

Oh god I just realized Time to Dance might be inspired by Invisible Monsters? 

[loverboydotcom]

lover boy era felix pov like a worm in my brain i dont know if there's enough to actually turn it into a story instead of random writing bursts but i just wanna write him being silly and whimsical and bisexual

[overbearingstruggles]

I really wanna understand your love for kieran culkin, I loved him in Scott Pilgrim.

Oh my god this is so nice you really don’t have to ask but I love that you did!!!!!!!!

I wish I had a less lizard brain answer to attribute the spark to but sometimes you need someone to do something sexual in order for your brain to unlock that interest in them and the Roman/Gerri phone scene takes the prize. When I rewatched the show I had zero recollection of the emotional scene that happens right after because apparently I blacked out lol. So then I’m watching the rest of the show through new eyes which of course leads to huh, I definitely love this character and am attracted to this being, but do I also love this person? Anon, he’s so lovable! The pro and con of Kieran & Roman is there is A Lot of Kieran in the character. Uh the best parts, we hope. He’s this secure short king with quick wit who talks fast and can require a bit of attention but is humble as heck about how good he is at his job and has this quirky decorated right appendage and isn’t afraid to crack jokes when someone broaches the subject of his irl family or politely shut them down when he thinks they’re off base about something. I love the little bit I know about him and his wife’s relationship and the way they can publicly poke fun at each other. I love that he lived in the same tiny apartment from 19 to 39 until his wife finally said “you’re on a hit TV show.” I love how sweet and diplomatic he is when someone tries to poke him about Jeremy Strong being weird. I swear you can feel interviewers become infatuated with him for being a real and funny, charming person. In conclusion, I think he's neat!

[smalleevee]

thinking about how mcr has like 15 million monthly listeners but i have been in the top .5-1% for the past two consecutive years...this is what mental illness and growing up catholic does to a person

[imaginationinstitutes]

reading the disney at dawn rewrite because it's what the library gave me and trying to assemble a mental timeline without losing my mind

[mydr3aminvi0let]

it is weird to grow up disliked then have people think you're stuck up in your 20s because you're quiet

[everymlmhybrid]

the intrusive thoughts love me because i'm so beautiful and sexy and that's why they never leave me alone

[cantquitu]

.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (iv)

SUMMARY: With Soldier Boy alive in the 2020’s, back in America, he starts his mission of vengeance. Of course, his first stop is to you; the only woman he’d truly wanted to start a relationship with, who’d taken his spot only months after his supposed death. And you don’t exactly expect your old lover to appear in your home, with the intent to kill.

WORD COUNT: 2238

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Typical Soldier Boy behaviour, gore, heavy violence, canon divergence.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Finding you was difficult. They were beginning to think Ben had been wrong, that you were six foot under in some unlabelled grave, rotting away. But, Ben was sure. And arguing with him seemed like signing their death warrant.

So, they kept searching. Despite the fact they could have located at least two other Payback members, and had them dead, by now, Ben was insistent on killing you first.

So, they kept fucking searching.

And then they found it.

It was a tiny discrepancy. Something most people would simply brush past. But, Hughie found it, and it was all they needed. They followed the rabbit hole, down and down, finding hidden documents and details not even Ben knew about.

It only took two days to pinpoint your location.

The Appalachian Mountains. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Smack-bang in the middle of one of the largest forests in the entire USA. But, to Ben, that fact was whatever. He had your location. And he was going to find you, even if it meant spending weeks searching every inch of that forest.

Butcher and Hughie knew it was a dumb idea.

But, they got Ben in a car, and started their roadtrip.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

The quiet life was nice, you’d decided. You’d forgotten about Queen Maeve’s uninvited visit, going back to your routine of feeding the animals and drinking coffee on the balcony every morning.

It was weird. You used to be one of the most famous people on the planet. There was blood staining every inch of your hands, and families who were likely still trying to gain justice for the people you killed. You had decades of history. And, yet, you now lived out your days as some sort of Disney princess.

You couldn’t complain. It was better than willingly running into gunfire every week.

Padding through your dark home, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the floors, you headed for the kitchen. You were never too old for a midnight snack. Especially in the comfort of your own home. You turned into the kitchen.

And you saw it. A dark figure, shadowed in the corner.

But, you kept moving, playing oblivious. In your mind, your old training make itself own. Ben’s critiques and advice played like a movie, as you pulled the cabinet open, standing high on your toes to reach for packet of chips. Your senses were on fire, focused in on the quiet breaths, the soft squeaking of boots on the tile.

They moved, and so did you.

You ducked under the fist swinging towards your face, snatching a knife from the block beside the fridge. Holding it tightly in your fist, your stance ready to attack, you looked at the intruder. Every muscle in your body froze.

“Ben?”

He didn’t pull his punches. Ben grabbed you by the throat, using your momentary distraction to his advantage, shoving your back against the sharp edge of the counter. Instinctively, you swiped the knife towards him, but a rough hand caught your wrist, slamming it down onto the counter.

A cry of pain slipped past your lips, fingers releasing the knife. It was his turn to grab it, tossing it from your reach.

No words were spoken, just heavy breathing.

You’d never seen Ben look at you like this before. This look was reserved for those who got on the wrong side of him. Those who disappeared mysteriously overnight and were never found again — but you knew what happened. And so did he.

He was here to kill you.

“Ben—“ You choked out, through the tightening grip his hand had around your throat. The grip tightened, and your breath caught with a squeak, broken gasps for air trying desperately to pull in oxygen.

“How much did they pay you?” He demanded, his voice low and gravelly. “Huh? How much, did they fucking pay you?” There was something about him that was so different. A new edge to him, maybe. But, what caught your attention, was the look in his eyes.

Hurt. He was staring at you like you’d ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.

You clawed at his wrist, unable to bring any air into your lungs. Your nails bit into his skin, the scratches down his wrist quickly repairing themselves. He let you go. Not out of mercy. No. He grabbed your collar, lifting your head up, and then slamming it down onto the counter.

Your vision went completely white, all remaining breath knocked from your lungs with a gasp. Blinking desperately to clear the stars, you tried to struggle. But, he slammed you down again. And again. And again. Until he tossed you to the floor like nothing more than a rag doll.

The counter was cracked from the force of it, blood staining the white marble, and splattered across the counter. Your own kitchen. Stained with your blood. You could feel the warm liquid dripping down the back of your head, matting in your hair.

If you weren’t a supe, you’d be dead.

He didn’t let you get a word in, brutal with each of his attacks. As you desperately tried to scramble away, body on fire, he put his foot down on your ankle. Leaning down, staring intently at you, with dark eyes, Ben snarled. “How much?”

“Ben—“ Finally, words escaped. In a pathetic whimper that made his lips twitch in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your breath hitched with pain.

That answer wasn’t good enough for him. You swore you could feel the bones in your jaw crack, as his fist met your cheek. You cried out in pain, the force of the impact whipping you around, hitting your head against the ground.

His hand curled into your hair, forcing your eyes on him. “Don’t fucking lie to me, you bitch.” Your breaths were ragged, with pain and terror, staring up at the man you thought was dead. He seethed, nothing but anger and disgust (and hurt?) in his green eyes. “You whored yourself out to me, huh? Put my dick in your mouth? For what? Fuckin’ soften me up like a weak pussy?”

“Ben—“

“Don’t.” He tugged your hair, hard. “I loved you.” His teeth grit together.

Your heart broke, tears in your eyes as you stared up at him. He loved you. And he thought you’d hurt him? He was dead. He was dead. That’s what they said. They said he was dead. Your mind worked at 100 miles an hour, heart constricting.

He loved you.

Soldier Boy loved you.

You didn’t even think he was capable of that. Sure, you knew you had something special with him, something unique. But love? It’d never crossed your mind. You’d always loved him somewhat, always throwing yourself in front of bullets and danger to protect him. Always following his lead and teasing him.

Always pushing your luck with his temper. Because he never snapped. He never hurt you. He never hit you. You knew you’d loved him, when your heart would dance when he chuckled at your jokes. The way your body reacted to his hands on your hips during your first training session. You knew there was something. But, for sure, you thought it was one-sided.

That, to him, you were a good fuck. Just a hole, as he liked to say about some women.

But, you’d been so wrong. And, all this time, 37 years, he’d been alive. And you’d done nothing.

“I loved you.” He repeated, in a broken seethe. His eyes were less angry now, but still held that hint of vengeance. “I would’ve died for you.” You could’ve sobbed, right there. “We were gonna start a family.”

Your voice was shaky. “Ben. Please. I don’t know what’s going on.” You begged, pathetic and weak. Ben scoffed, emotional. “I thought you were dead. I swear it, Ben!” It was practically a plea; a desperate cry for him to believe you.

He was too blinded by his rage. “I waited every day for you.” He hissed, reaching over and grabbing his discarded shield. “For you to come and get me. To save me. You never came.”

“Ben—“

He shoved you down, head slamming against tile once more. Knees on other side of your hips, Ben gripped the edge of his shield, raising it high.

He was going to kill you. You couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t fight it. All you could do was look at him, tears running tracks through the blood on your face. A silent plea, begging him to not do this.

He rose the shield higher, lined up with the juncture of your throat.

And then he saw it. A glint of metal peeking out from under your shirt. He could recognise them from a mile away. They were his, after all. His dog tags, sat delicately just above your chest, resting on the skin like they were made to be there. His brows furrowed, movements faltering.

His dog tags. You were wearing his dog tags.

Ben hesitated, unsure.

He looked down at you, meeting your teary eyes, and his brain ran wild. Of memories of being a couple. Of the memories of when a big question mark had hung above your relationship, neither of you sure of what was going on, but treating each other like lovers anyway.

Your soft touches; the way your fingers would trace the contours of his muscles in the morning. The way you’d kiss each of his scars, muttering against his skin how perfect he was, despite the flaws and the imperfections littering his body. How gentle you were. He’d never felt a gentle touch before you.

How you’d giggle at his jokes, smile blinding, pretty dimples, cheeks flushed.

God, and those eyes. How they’d shine and shimmer when you looked up at him, like he was made of the stars themselves. He always used to melt when you propped your chin on his chest in bed, looking at him with that cute smile, and he’d trace your face with his thumb, cradling your cheeks like delicate glass.

Those few nights spent together, in the limited time you’d had together as an actual couple. The way you’d move together; perfectly in sync, like you were made for each other.

The way you’d hold him. Laugh with him. Smile at him. The passing touches. The lingering stares across red carpets and events, subtly checking each other out, and then meeting up in the supply closet. The quiet moments together, cooking dinner or merely holding each other. All those times you forced him to dance, and he’d begrudgingly spin you in the kitchen. The dates, and the movie nights, and the silly fights, and how warm his cold penthouse felt when you were with him.

Every memory, every moment, replayed in front of his eyes, as he stared at you. He lost his breath, muscles stiff. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring this shield down and kill you. His chest ached and burnt.

He couldn’t kill you.

So, instead, he hit the blunt edge of shield against your head, and watched your eyes roll back.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Coming to was disorientating and painful.

Every inch of your body ached, from the beating you’d received from Ben. You cringed as the light made the throbbing in your head intensify. Through squinted eyes, you made out the sight in front of you.

You were in your dining room. And there were two… unfamiliar men stood by your table, leaning over files and papers. Movement caught your attention.

Ben. Setting his shield down by the table.

“Ben.” You choked out, instinctively trying to reach out and grab him. To check if he was real. If he was actually stood in front you. Living, breathing. Your hands didn’t move. You looked down, frowning at the sight of tattered rope tying your wrists of the arms of your chair.

The noise drew over the attention of the three men. They exchanged a silent look, and slowly, and rather intimidatingly, approached. You whined a little, at the throbbing pain that made a tremble run it’s course through your body.

One of the unfamiliar men pulled up a chair. “What d’ya know abou’ BCL-RED?” Was that an English or Australian accent? You couldn’t tell through the buzzing in your ears.

“Wha’?” You slurred, blinking rapidly, trying to orientate yourself. “BCL-what-now?” A grunt slipped past your lips. They didn’t look impressed by that answer. “I— I saw it on a file. Back in ‘84. Never figured out what it meant.”

The man learnt forwards. “Neva’ found out?”

Your head shook, and it made the pain increase. Your face scrunched up in agony. “Mm, no.” You groaned, breaths hitched. “It was all classified. Edgar never told me. Mallory and I— we tried to figure it out.”

“Grace Mallory?”

“What? Yes. Grace.” You groaned again. “Jesus. Can you turn off the fucking lights? It feels like there’s a drill in my head.” You tried to push your face into your shoulder, hiding from the light that made your eyes burn and your head feel like Ben was slamming it against the ground again.

There was a beat of silence. “Did you know?” That was Ben. He sounded hesitant.

“Know what?” You peeked up at Ben, eyes squinted to be able to look at him. He looked tense, face expressionless. “I thought you were dead. I don’t know what else to say to convince you. I thought you were dead.”

“How did you not know?” He demanded, his short fuse lit. Ben and his fucking temper.

“I don’t know, Ben!” Your own yell made you wince in pain. “They never told me shit! I tried for 15 years to get answers!”Ben didn’t look convinced. Of course he didn’t. He was so set in his heartbreak and rage, by your supposed betrayal, that he’d utterly convinced himself. “I didn’t know.” You echoed in a broken whisper.

“How’s ‘bout this?” You blinked rapidly, trying to focus in on the accented voice. “We track down the otha’ girl. See what she ‘as to say.” There seemed to be a group-wide agreement.

“Countess?” You grunted, confused. Your gaze flicked between the three men. “I know where she is.”

And that got their attention.

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[celibibratty]

(sigh), yesterday was the day, the day that changed everything, the day I saw that damn story, whenever December 23th arrives I always think about that, i will talk about this day cuz i think It's important for me to talk about this💨, I even remember the clothes I was wearing that day, I was wearing a blue tank top with flowery purple short, it was 2019, I was in the bedroom and it was almost night, I was watching this ao3, checking to see if there was any new sean x daniel story, and I updated the page and with that a new fanfic appeared (which was this damn story), I looked at the tags and saw that the story was happening in blood brothers and there was something to do with rape/abuse, I thought "hmn, this must be just another story of Sean acting like a freak (and I also i used read all of the stories,so)", I put it on, the story had started with the first red flag, which it was the fact that the person put the homies from ep 3 (cough, cough cassidy) in it and made daniel being supeer okay with that 💢🔥, and i get super pissed because in the story the person put that daniel was jealous of finn stealing sean from him tho in the game daniel is jealous of sean WITH CASSIDY NOT WITH FINN!!!💢🔥(and in the story there was cassidy in the middle), i thought it was so stupid, but keep reading, well, then we got to the shocking part, I got to the part that is close when things...start happening, and I realized that daniel had some weird dialogues and a very strange way for being the victim, I just remember that I felt a pain in my stomach, a bad feeling and thought "wait!?, is daniel who going to do this to sean?, no, no, it can't be, it can't be that", then I went down and I got to the naughty parts, I realized it was really Daniel and I thought "yeah, it is", I was so shocked, so disgusted, it never crossed my mind to invent Daniel doing this to Sean, I never pictured Daniel that way (he was my bratty💧, the sassy pretty kid💧), i never thought of daniel like that with sean, i didn't imagine them like that even in redemption (even daniel being more masculine), imagine then in bb, never!, I got super anxious, I started to shake, my breathing was so labored, I couldn't even breathe, but my mind forced me to keep reading until I finished, because I thought that if I kept reading, if I endured it maybe it would hurt less...

(it's almost like I knew that from now on this version of their pair would be more frequent, so i should get used to it, a-and I didn't wanted to sound boring, or different, I don't understand why I thought that way, I don't care what others think, but at the time I remember that I didn't wanted to be different, i didn't wanted to be the only one), I felt like snow white in the scene with the trees, I had finished reading, totally devastated and a bit numb, I saw that there were some comments, I wanted to see even for maliciousness, i wanted to see if someone was complaining about this shit, but no, and to my surprise every single person that i knew that were the ones that "enjoyed" sean x daniel was praising it, i felt (sigh) so betrayed, the comments people saying things like "possessive daniel is so hot", " oh, daniel topping sean is such a concerpt that should be more explore" and I was like "no, what do you mean?, daniel is not like that, I thought you liked it them together because it was cute💧", I felt horrified, it was everyone, I remember throwing the phone on the bed in horror, then I got up and went to do my tasks to reflect a little, before I talk about this part I need to talk about another situation/fanfic that have a great influence on that day, but sometimes I forget about it (well, before this damn fanfic appeared, the most recent and famous story was a story that had a kinda of lolita vibe, that's what I call this story, the lolita story vibe, this fanfic was also one that had/has a kinda of heavy/nonsense vibe, but I had read it and thought it was okay, I even kinda of...liked it at the time💨, but then one day someone made a comment saying that they didn't like the story very much, because they thought sean didn't seem like sean, he was very pervert and that the story had a kind of strange vibe, very heavy, and the person didn't like it very much, I was so ashamed, I hadn't thought like that, I thought it was okay, I got like "yeah, y-you are right, this story is do weird💧💨"...

continuing, I remember cleaning the cats' potty and mentally saying "I hated this story, I thought it was disgusting, horrible, I want the person who invented it to suffer, I thought it was horrible" but then another voice appeared saying "no ana, don't say that, it's not cool to talk like that about other people's work, the person probably worked hard on it, the story was huge), but I thought "i don't care, I thought it was nasty, I hated it, that was horrible", and then the other voice said "oh, ana, but the lolita story was also horrible, and YOU liked it!, you don't have the right to complain, if you liked that one, now you'll have to like this one too" (it seemed like a dispute between my mind and my heart), I felt so bad, I wanted to take it away from me, but I couldn't open up to anyone, I was thinking about marina, what was I going to say to her?💧, I didn't wanted her to see these dolls like that, I didn't wanted that she sees them like that now too, I didn't wanted her to remain like me, I think it's horrible, but I swear I would give this story a kudo even though I hated it and it made me feel so sick, but it was because I thought that maybe giving a kudo I would feel less bad for having hated it, I finished doing what I had to do, I went to the bedroom and when I updated the page of this ao3 the story was gone, it gone in the same day(it seems like it only appeared to mess with my head cuz it gone right after it), the story had been deleted (and thank god it was gone, i swear i would have given a kudo if it hadn't and i would never-forgive-myself-for-it), i got so relieved, i even felt...happy, but what had it done to me , it was done, even relieved, I still felt strange, I felt that I had lost something, and I say, I feel that on that day I lost my love for these dolls, after that it was never the same, tbh i feel like i lost everything, everything that meant to me (my love for this dolls, my confidence, my stability, a-and my creativity)

[wilwheaton]

The centerpiece of Trump’s post-presidency is the wicked conceit that he never stopped being president at all. At the most basic level he never admitted that he lost the 2020 campaign. His most ardent supporters believe he is the legitimate president and some of the most febrile actually believe in a funhouse mirror, QAnony way that he still holds secret reins of power. But much of it is more immediate and open. He still calls himself president. He demands and universally receives that billing from his followers. He moves through the country with the trappings and insignia of the presidency. He continues to meet with foreign heads of state, not as an elder statesman but as though he never left office. He even argues that national secrets and presidential documents are his personal property. This has been an open, weird and much-discussed feature of Trump’s post-presidency since the first weeks after leaving office. If Trump and his toadies are now complaining that Harris is treating him like the incumbent it is because in ways vast and small he has acted like one and demanded to be treated like one for almost four years. She’s taken his most perverse and vainglorious conceit and turned it into a massive liability.

How Kamala Made Trump the Incumbent