#what i live and breathe for

[kittykatstiles]

me when derek calling stiles “kitten”, “angel”, “baby”, “princess”, “love”, “sweetheart”, “little one”

[knifearo]

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A procession of confessions.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bunnieswithknives]

I feel bad for neglecting Hazel so much, I do have many thoughts about her.. and also a mermaid au that im probably not going to do anything with

[paint-it-dead]

YOU EXIST WITHIN THE CONTEXT.

[communistkenobi]

is this not going to lead to increased violent resistance in countries whose governments are participating in genocide? if people see that calling your reps and voting won’t stop your own government from openly supporting and sponsoring genocide then what other conclusions are people going to come to? This comes directly after watching millions die from a global pandemic because our governments refused to do anything. it felt like we’d been building to an explosion of violence even before October 7 with all the massive increases in right wing organised violence as well as the reams of labour strikes, but that seems quaint now. Palestine appears to hold global popular support. in one protest last week in london alone there was 100k people demonstrating in support of Palestine. Where is that energy going to go? It’s not going to drive people to the polls

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

ian constantly on the lookout for stupid petnames to call mickey because he loves being silly and he loves annoying his husband.

kitten. baby boo. pumpkin pie. the list is endless and so is the fun, a couple of them ian uses so often that they start worming their way into his regular rotation, sticking without either of them realizing before it's too late. ("baby girl can you pass the smokes?" "what the fuck'd you just call him?" "why don't you mind your business lip - he ain't talkin' to you.")

of course mickey protests in the beginning - eye rolls, cursing, the whole shebang. but ian can tell he gets a silly little kick out of it too, which fuels his proverbial 'taking a mile' after being given an inch.

it's been a while since a new nickname has cropped up in the wild, so ian's itching for some fun. which is probably why it's so hard to fight his giddy smile when they both hear it on the tiktok, the girl's voice-over ushering in a brand new era for them. "making dinner for pookie after his twelve hour shift."

the beat that follows settles over them like a ton of bricks. something breaks in ian's space/time continuum as he tries like hell not to smile, especially as he feels mickey flick his eyes over to him. warning. unflinching.

"no," mickey declares. and then when ian attempts a look of innocence, "don't even fuckin' think about it."

"think about what?"

"don't gimme that shit." but there's a little tug at the corner of his mouth. "ian."

"i'm not thinkin' about anything, pumpkin." ian squeezes mickey's thigh for good measure, and then gets to his feet.

"where ya goin'?" mickey cranes his neck after him, clearly wary. this can't possibly be over so soon, he's probably thinking.

and he's right, of course. he always is when it comes to these things. "just gonna get a start on dinner." ian backtracks to leave a smooch on top of mickey's head, and then move to the kitchen. but not before trying it on for size for the first time, the pure joy bouncing around in his chest when he says it. "you stay here and look cute, okay pookie?"

he's just out of range of mickey's flail of retaliation. the protest, though, he hears loud and clear. even over his own giddy laughter. "motherfucker i'll show you pookie!"

damn, he hopes this one sticks.

[hauntedandmurdered]

The sexiest touch in movie history and no, nothing's ever gonna change my mind.

[apple-pie-fly]

and it only took many hours of looking at the wall

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

one has to laugh

[inkskinned]

am i gonna put you in the book acknowledgements am i gonna be able to say your name without flinching am i ever gonna get a word in edgewise am i ever gonna recover the time i spent with you. computer virus kid; i arrived in your life already begging to be let in. somehow insecure i could even be your friend. like you had a line outside the door and we were all shifting our weight, begging.

you're so fucking good at that - at making people feel like they need to earn you, like you're a commodity none of us can afford. no kindness or careful communication could work on you - you were so good at just going-ghost, about deciding someone just wasn't cool-enough. something about that is super ironic. even the parts of it that weren't romantic felt like a romance book. i wanted you to like me so badly i scrubbed myself clean just so you'd spare me - what. your favor? a look?

okay okay okay. it's just a friendship - if it was even true that we were friends, if you even saw me as someone you trusted. on reddit someone would tell me girl literally just cut her out of your life, it's not that difficult. even i was aware of how fucked up the whole situation was. like, why the fuck do i even care about your approval? you're like, not even that fun to be around. you are often a little bit cruel.

but for almost four years of my life, i thought i had found someone like me. somebody who liked the same things i do. someone who liked to read and who liked making jokes with esoteric references and who spent maybe too much time on the internet and who was absolutely a little bit pretentious. i don't know, something about that was powerful and addictive.

i keep thinking about our last conversation. about how i said - okay, enough is enough. you pushed me too far, you really hurt my feelings.

and how you laughed and said - you think you're the victim?

[werewolfsmile]

Watching The Corkscrew Job and just ...

Eliot trusting Parker and Hardison enough to go into a situation where he's about to have no oxygen. He would hear over the comms that they're facing down henchmen who are trying to stop them. He doesn't know how long it'll take for them to get air flow happening again.

But there's an innocent person to protect and he has faith in his partners. Faith enough to willingly risk his life time and time again - not just in this instance, but all the others we see over the course of the show. Because Eliot knows that Parker and Hardison will do whatever it takes to protect him, just as he protects them.

There's just something so profound about not even having enough air to draw breath - but it doesn't matter, because you know your partners are out there, fighting to get that next breath to you. And it might take longer than expected. It might not go smoothly, hell, it might not even work at all. But it doesn't matter because your faith in these people is greater than the instincts screaming for oxygen.

Eliot can't breathe without them. But he's used to that - he's been living this way for years already. So he holds his breath and trusts.

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[thecitybee]

Five pizzas and a wedding ring...

Y'all this man's SWEETEST dream for the past six years has just been getting to meet her, share a meal with her, and fall in love with her in a world that never died.

Like real people do.

[realbeefman]

stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!

wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end

[the3rddenialist]

What is wrong with him