#ffs this is supposed to be a vacation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

130K people were victims of a chain letter scam that affected Tumblr in May 2011.

#ffs this is supposed to be a vacation

goodassmotherliker · 9 months

Text

Bracing myself for a 24-hour trip from Kyiv to Frankfurt that includes two trains and a plane. My anxiety is always high when I travel, and this is my first solo trip. So fucking unfair to travel like this while living not far from the airport, which does not work because russsians choose to fly missiles and kill people.

#ffs this is supposed to be a vacation #at least my drip is nice and mostly consists of Hawaiian shirts #but will i live to wear it who knows who knows #also why did i not travel 2 years before the invasion the travesty #oh wait i had no money

8 notes · View notes

ungrateful-cyborg · 11 months

Text

I’m usually pretty happy with the English localization but I must admit that every time I have to talk to the Felicitous Furball, I’m tempted to switch to French. I don’t know what went through their head when they decided to make her insufferable in English.

#OOC #I'll be honest I'm still surprised to this day by how little people seemed to be bothered on Tumblr #it's supposed to be chill and somewhat of a vacation for the WoL ffs #(which it is... in French)#(dunno about German or Japanese)

9 notes · View notes

jackgoodfellow · 2 years

Text

Fun, Fun, Fun in the Sun, Sun, Sun

[Image description: a digital illustration in shades of orange and blue, showing the character of Dave Lister from the TV show red dwarf as a middle-aged man, happily relaxing on the beach near the shoreline. He is buried up to his neck in sand, and the sand over his body has been clumsily shaped into a super buff masculine body with pink seashells for nipples. Lister's head, hands, toes, and part of one of his legs are visible above the sand. With one hand, he is drinking a mango juice cocktail with a silly straw, and with the other he is waving to someone off-screen. He is wearing a blue cap and he has white smears of sunscreen on his face.

Small white text on the side of the image reads quote "Jack D. Goodfellow, 2022"

The second image is a close up of the first one, showing Lister's warm smile as he drinks his juice.

End ID.]

#red dwarf #lister red dwarf #dave lister #fan art #fanart #image description #i fucked up several layers in the effort to make this man not neon orange #and i think. i was. mostly. sucessesful. i hope.#it's all that mango juice #turns you orange. probably. dammit jim I'm an artist not a doctor!#i like to imagine they find beaches to vacation on. maybe move in with some other lifeforms idk #give this man some fucking mango juice ffs #the promised land #back to earth #he is supposed to be middle-aged here #my art

46 notes · View notes

bvidzsoo · 1 year

Text

Can I just say...that I'm a chaotic person, but when I get drunk I become absolutely unhinged and crazy and someone should probably keep me on a leash so I don't start doing stupid shit- GOD TELL ME WHY AFTER 4 MONTHS OF KEEPING SILENT THIS GUY SHOWS UP AND SAYS: REMEMBER THAT TIME WE DID *SOMETHING* and I'm like... sorry? We did what? And he goes, u don't remember? And I'm like :D nO because I was absolutely WASTED? and he refuses to tell me what we did even tho I have a feeling about what he's talking about- BUT HE'S REFUSING TO TELL ME THROUGH TEXT AND SAYS WE HAVE TO MEET FACE TO FACE IN ORDER FOR HIM TO TELL ME and then he legit goes, I will have to show you, not tell you :D DUDE just T E L L me I don't need to be SHOWN OKAY?! and we agreed that we'd meet yesterday but he didn't show up?! He's playing with fire rn and if he doesn't tell me until Friday what happened between us I'm hunting him down.

#just bvidzsoo things #the deadline is friday because we've got two weeks of vacation coming up and I can't go on unknowing what happened like come on #I don't even understand why he didn't bring it up sooner??#okay there were some telling signs that we did something while we were at the camp but how was I supposed to know if I don't remember??!#and supposedly we made out at another event like a month later WHICH I DON'T REMEMBER AGAIN but my friend saw us #he REALLY wants to show me instead of telling me and idk man at this point just tell me #we probably made out idk I was really drunk that night I only recall bits and pieces from that whole night #and I want to text him again to tell him that dude we SERIOUSLY need to meet up okay but my friends say I look needy #idk..do I look needy?? i just want to know what happened i really don't understand why he's stalling and refusing to tell me :)) ffs

1 note · View note

mrs-monaghan · 5 months

Note

Shaz now we knows gays are enlisting together but that comes with a great risk isn't it. How they are supposed to calm tf down their jikookery for 1.5 years around those Military men 😭😭😭

THEY SHOULD LEARN TO CONTROL THEIR THIRST AROUND EACH OTHER SO THEY WONT GET EACH OTHER IN TROUBLE 😭😭😭😭

Syllabus for JayGay

Chapter 1: How to control yourself from squeezing a Jibooty infront of you. Ik it's hard especially when it will be growing even more juicy and round now with all that exercise and regular meals.

Chpt 2 : How to control popping heart eyes or boner around him. No one there wants to know you are a simp for your bf. Remember it's not even easy to hide your jungconda.

Chapt 3 : How to stop going putty in his hand whenever his hands brush your. You are supposed to be so called sigma in military not mushy Disney Thumper.

Chapt 4 : How to control your over protectiveness or possessiveness over him. He'll have to carry few heavy things and will be surrounded by diff type of men. Don't jump to carry those things or snap at those men.

Chapt 5 : How to stop saying sex innuendo to him when people are around. I assure you, no one wants to hear a man suggesting some ramen to another inside military

Chapt 6 : How to control your drool when he's talking and keep your mouth closed ffs. There will be many boring classes and days, don't let your adhd take over you and instead of class decides to have mimi stare marathon

Chapt 7 : No stamp collection in Military compound. Don't find stupid ways to get him alone in some room or washroom and get both in trouble

Chapt 8 : Stop trying to sneak to his bed. It might be solo rooms, shared rooms, dorm or even a tent. Don't take your habits there and sneak to his bed..not everyone is a hobi.

Syllabus for Twinkie Mimi

Chapt 1 : How to stop yourself from jumping on your man just because he's built like a tree. He'll grow more muscles...perfectly feeding your muscle and strength kink... but keep your ass on land.

Chpt 2 : How to restrain yourself from riling him up by clingy touches or soft low voice. Ik this is your ultimate way to get what you want from him.

Chapt 3 : How to stop bragging about your man. Fellow soldiers doesn't wanna know he will protect you, cooks for you and visit you 4 hours 3 times a day to collect stamps.

Chapt 4 : How to control your hands when jungtiddies are at your eye level. Your mind will chant : squeeze squeeze squeeze but mimi ? Won't do it.

Chapt 5 : How to stop fucking blushing whenever he sounds/ does something hot. Your inner hoe may ask you to spread your legs then and there but nope, get as much as dick these days and if you are lucky, when you get vacations too... even if it's illegal.

That's all I can think of now.. in short Jikook abstinence era ☝🤓

to_Jimin

to_Jungkook

@BigHitMusic

#he he he he he #ask shaz #bts ask #jikook #kookmin #minkook #jimin and jungkook #jikook military

86 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 10 months

Text

The latest installment of "literally nobody is happy about Bill being the Mystery Shack's prisoner," chapter 8: Bill attempts to manipulate the humans with the only weapon he still has at his disposal: grossing them out. Also featuring: dramatic arguments with Ford, a surprise bath, and me trying my level best to convince you all that hair is the most disgusting substance in the universe, let me know how I do at that. Chapters one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven if you missed them.

A few days into summer vacation, just before dawn, Dipper and Mabel were woken by a series of thunderous crashes and pained screams, followed by Bill's piercing, maniacal laughter. They were armed and out the bedroom door in seconds.

Mabel said, "Who did he kill?!"

"I think he blew up a wall to escape—"

They skidded to a stop at the top of the attic stairs. Bill had tumbled halfway down, crashed into the wall where the stairs made a ninety degree turn, and was now sprawled upside-down on the steps, giggling.

Dipper lowered his weapon. "What."

"I ff—" Bill was interrupted by a wheeze of laughter. "I forgot how stairs work."

He spotted the kids—Dipper holding a metal claw hammer, Mabel holding a kitchen knife longer than her forearm—and abruptly stopped laughing. "Wow, you kids came ready to commit murder! Just waiting for the first excuse, huh?"

"Shut up." Dipper looked at Mabel. "Wanna go back to bed?"

"I think my blood is all adrenaline now."

Dipper sighed. "Yeah. Let's get breakfast, I guess."

They trudged down the stairs, shoulders pressed to the wall to stay as far from Bill as possible. As they passed Bill, Dipper muttered, "You could at least get out of the way."

Bill—who'd been about to gingerly sit up—lay back down and spread out across the landing. "Think I'd rather mildly inconvenience you!"

Mabel threw in, "And take a shower! You smell like an outhouse."

"That's my human-repellant forcefield."

The twins headed for the kitchen for a snack they could take out of the shack—and were blocked by Stan in the doorway. "Hold on. Don't go in there. You smell that?"

Dipper and Mabel sniffed the air, and grimaced. Mabel stuck out her tongue. Dipper said, "Ugh. We thought that was Bill, but it's worse down here."

"One of two things happened here," Stan said. "Either a squirrel and a raccoon fought to death under the fridge and started rotting; or the space demon cast some kind of stink curse. Personally, I'm hoping for dead wildlife. But until I find out, you two stay out of the kitchen."

There were several more crashes as Bill tumbled down the second half of the stairs, a groan, and a muttered, "What am I getting wrong?"

Stan rounded on Bill. "Hey! Demon. Don't suppose you happen to know why the kitchen smells..." He gestured vaguely, "like that."

Seated on the floor, Bill had been absorbed in prodding his limp left arm; but at the question, he looked up with a worryingly bright smile. "It just so happens I do!"

"Explain."

He twisted his left arm with his right, jammed it back into its proper position with a pop, and straightened himself up. "Funny thing—you know how I can't open doors? Because of the curse your brother put on me? Of course you do. Well—darnedest little quirk of human architecture—I don't know if you noticed, but it just so happens that all of the toilets in this house are behind doors!"

Stan's face blanched. "Oh no."

"At any given time, this body I'm in is freely secreting about half a dozen different bodily fluids—snot, spit, sweat, I could go on—and you humans are perfectly comfortable with that. But you think one bodily fluid is special and can only go in the special white bowl. Me, on the other hand—I'm an energy being that doesn't leak all day! Your fluids are all equal to me! I don't care about your special white bowls!"

Hotly, Stan said, "You're in my house—"

Immediately twice as angry and twice as loud as Stan, Bill said, "So if you think I'm going to lower myself to asking three times a day for permission to use a STUPID TOILET for YOUR COMFORT—"

And that was when they started screaming.

Dipper looked at Mabel. "Let's eat out."

Mabel nodded. "You know that burger place where Wendy gets breakfast—?"

"If we hurry, we can probably meet her there."

By the time they'd changed and come back downstairs, Ford had joined in the argument, Abuelita had set up a folding chair to watch it like a wrestling match, and the volume had doubled. (Bill: "BE GRATEFUL I USED THE SINK INSTEAD OF YOUR CEREAL BOXES! NEXT TIME I WON'T BE SO MERCIFUL!" Stan: "I'M GONNA INSTALL A DOOR KNOB ON THE KITCHEN FAUCET AND THEN YOU'LL NEED MY PERMISSION TO DRINK, YOU LITTLE—") Dipper and Mabel squeezed around the crowd, slid out the door, and biked into town.

They decided they'd just stay out the rest of the day.

They'd been doing that a lot lately.

####

When they made it home that evening, the first person they ran into was Soos, relocating a detached door. "Oh, hey dudes! Okay so, update on the Bill situation." Soos leaned the door against the wall. "We removed the door on the downstairs half bath and nailed up a curtain instead, so, now it's curse-accessible, but Bill can't lock himself in and do—" he wiggled his fingers, "secret Bill things. So. If you wanna use a bathroom with a real door, you've gotta go upstairs now."

Mabel considered that. "The bathroom with the tub still has a real door, right?"

"Yeah dudes, it's fine!"

Dipper said, "So... do we have a way to get him to shower...?"

Mabel said, "Yeah, whatever Bill's been doing in the kitchen sink—"

(Soos said, "And the trash can, it turns out.")

"—it hasn't included sponge baths, and it's getting obvious."

"And I'm not really comforted by his 'human-repellant forcefield' comment," Dipper added.

Mabel nodded. "I'd kinda like Bill to clean up before he gets as bad as Dipper last July."

"Hey."

Soos pointed toward the attic. "Ford's working on that right now." He whispered, "He's got a theory that Bill's just just too proud to ask for permission to use the facilities? So maybe if we ask him to take a shower, he'll go, 'oh, okay, I'm doing you guys a favor,' and then he'll agree to be let in and out of the bathroom."

Dipper grimaced. "I don't like the idea of begging him to shower."

"Uh... I'm fine with it." Soos shrugged. "Better smug than smelly."

####

"All right, Cipher."

Every time Ford came upstairs, Bill was curled up in the window seat, one side pressed against the glass. If it weren't for the crumpled jerky and granola bags and the empty energy drinks scattered beneath Bill's window seat—or the occasional downstairs argument—Ford would have suspected Bill hasn't budged in days. It made him nervous. There was an ice pack on Bill's left shoulder that had sat there so long it was completely melted.

"You got the bathroom you wanted. Now, would you take a shower?" Ford mustered up all his willpower as he prepared to mortify himself, and added, "Please."

It was important to note that Ford had spent his youth as the golden child; Stan had been disowned before his desire to please his parents had a chance to wilt and die; and Ford had barely seen Shermie's teen years. He'd spent his own adolescence isolated from his peers, and hadn't gotten to know any youths except Dipper and Mabel since then.

All of which was to say, the look Bill Cipher gave Ford, shocking in its ferocity, was utterly alien to him; but would have been familiar to millions of humans around the world.

It was the same look received by authoritarian parents whose tyranny had squeezed a little too tight, and whose offspring had realized they were grounded so severely they no longer had anything left to lose. It was the wrath of the defiant teenager.

And then the most pleasant smile snapped on Bill's face, quick as flicking a light switch. "What's in it for me?"

Ford blinked in disbelief. What needed to be in it for Bill? It was a shower. "Being... clean?"

"Eh."

Ford's shoulders sagged. "At least use deodorant?" he pled. "Change clothes? Brush your hair? Something?"

"No, no, absolutely not, aaand no. What's the matter, Stanford? I've been staying out of your way! You don't even see me up here. The stench can't be getting to you that much, so what do you care what I do to this body?" Bill's grin widened. "Guilt starting to set in? Must be hard to pretend you're a hospitable host rather than a kidnapper when your 'guest' is living in squalor—"

"Enough," Ford snapped. "So this is what, your way of protesting your own captivity? You have to realize how stupid this is."

"Buuut it's wooork-iiing," Bill said, a singsong lilt to his voice. "It's getting on your neee-eeerves."

"You're going to cause yourself problems in the long run! Diseases, infections—don't tell me I have to explain germ theory to you, you're smarter than that."

Bill scoffed. "I'm flattered you're so concerned about my health, but you can relax. I've been washing my hands and brushing my teeth like a good little potential disease vector. But you humans are so safe inside your modern fortresses with minimal carnivorous bugs and flesh-eating fungi—most of your hygiene expectations are cosmetic! I'm more willing to put up with itchy dandruff than you are to put up with the smell."

"Are you listening to yourself? This is—" Ford paused. "You've been brushing your teeth? Where did you get a toothbrush?"

"I've been using the dish brush and liquid dish soap in the kitchen." Bill laughed. "Wow, look at you—lecturing your prisoner on poor hygiene when you didn't give him any way to clean up! That's not a good look, pal."

Ford made a mental note to find a spare toothbrush for Bill. He flung his hands out in exasperation. "But—why put up with itchy dandruff at all? Why refuse to shower, of all things? And don't say to be annoying—you're cutting off your nose to spite your face!"

"Because cutting off my nose is the only bargaining chip I've got, and you know it."

Seeing expressions on Bill's face—smiles and scowls and smirks and sneers, mouth and tongue and cheeks and eyebrows—still felt wrong. No matter what expression Bill put on, it always felt to Ford like he was using his face to tell some sort of lie. But his eyes—Ford was familiar with Bill's eye, and doubling them didn't banish that familiarity. He knew this heavy, hard, emotionless look. It was the same look he'd seen just before Bill had shown him, through his own eye, the sight of his home dimension burning. Of all the looks he'd seen in Bill's eye—curved crescent with sadistic glee, literally red with fury—something about this heavy look chilled Ford the most. It was, somehow, the cruelest he'd ever seen Bill.

Bill got to his feet, wincing as he uncurled his hunched back. He stretched, spine cracking, as he sauntered lazily toward Ford. "Can I speak frankly with you, Sixer? I can't do a lot of tricks in this body. Heck, I'd try to tell you I don't have any tricks right now—but I'm sure you'd just say I'm lying to get your guard down, blah blah; so let's agree that, at least, I don't have the power to escape or kill you all, or I would have by now! This body—" he gestured grandly down at himself, "—as far as I'm concerned, is a dirty sticker stuck on the bottom of my shoe. It's trash. It's disposable. It's worth less than nothing to me. But it's all I've got at my disposal. So I'm going to be disgusting, until you start doing me favors to make me stop."

"Favors," Ford said. "And if we don't?"

Bill shrugged, hands raised. "Then I guess I'll keep being gross! But I cannot overemphasize just how little I care about your species's ideas about minimum hygiene standards, or how far I'm willing to go to irritate you all. This morning's hazmat crisis in the kitchen was just a warning shot. You will cave first."

As unnerving as that heavy look in Bill's eyes was, simply seeing it wasn't what rattled Ford. It was knowing that Bill could wear that cruel look while talking about committing quiet, passive violence on himself.

Bill stared Ford down for a moment; then apparently took Ford's silence for a small victory. "I want a drink strong enough to rot a bootlegger's guts, a hot meal that hasn't been cooked by Grandma Guilia Tofana down there, or—" Bill pointed toward the attic window that his curse prevented him from opening, "a breeze and some fresh air. I'm flexible. Let me know when you're ready to negotiate." He returned to his seat in the window. "I won't be far."

Giving Bill "a breeze" would obviously give him an escape route, and Bill was no doubt angling to accumulate tiny, "harmless" favors until he tricked the humans into doing something that would let him escape; but... Ford eyed the empty junk food bags on the floor. He tried to remember whether he'd seen Bill eat anything except for unrefrigerated factory-sealed snacks he could forage from the open kitchen shelves—or if the last fresh food Bill had tasted had been Abuelita's cyanide cooking.

Bill wanted Ford to pity him. That was what this whole charade was about. Ford hated that it was working. Not because of Bill's performative filthiness—but because Ford knew, too well, what it was like to be trapped, powerless, and hungry in an alien dimension; and because even when Bill was all but confessing he was trying to exploit Ford's pity, he was still trying so hard to pretend he wasn't afraid.

"I'll let you know what Stanley says."

Bill didn't turn away quite fast enough to hide his smile of triumph. "I'll be waiting." He settled back down into the same position he'd held for half a day and stared out at the night sky.

####

After several days in this body, Bill could definitively conclude that sleep was the worst part of being human.

Repeatedly blacking out and coming to, only to realize he couldn't remember anything for the past several hours. Usually he didn't even remember dreaming, even though he knew he must have dreamt for at least a couple hours. He hated not knowing what had been happening around his physical body for all that time, and he hated not knowing what he'd been doing in his dreams. Anything could have happened to him during those missing hours in the mindscape.

The few dreams he remembered were little comfort. Nightmares about dying, about faces and places he was galled to find out had been lodged in this human brain's subconscious—but the subject matter wasn't the important part. What mattered was that, while he was dreaming, he didn't know he was dreaming.

He didn't know how that was possible. He couldn't remember how the dreams started, what trick they must have pulled to persuade him that this was reality even though he couldn't remember what had happened five minutes earlier, or how they hypnotized him into unquestioningly playing along with their bizarre impossible Wonderland plot lines. Waking up was more terrifying than his nightmares, as he reoriented himself to reality and he had to grapple with how helplessly delusional he'd just been—and the knowledge that it would happen again, and again, and again.

Bill knew how human minds worked. He knew how humans dreamed. He'd been swimming through their dreams for millennia. This was normal for humans, and the knowledge that it was normal was the only thing keeping him from going mad with terror.

But the fact that it was normal for humans didn't mean it was normal for him. Because he was not human, and he hated blacking out for hours at a time, and he hated being so foggy-minded and vulnerable in the mindscape.

Most of his diet of the past few days consisted of energy drinks. His throat constantly blazed with heartburn. He needed a better solution—and maybe he could think of one once he got a decent meal or a drink that could help him sleep without dreaming.

He was hungry, he was tired, and he was weak.

####

But in spite of the caffeine, at some point Bill must have fallen asleep—because he woke up.

For once, he didn't wake from the searing heat of psychic fires.

He woke from the deadly chill of ice cold bath water.

"HELP!" Bill flailed, bashed both elbows and a heel against porcelain, and went under. He came up spluttering. "Mayday! Charybdis! Carpathia!"

The bathroom door slammed shut. From the other side, Stan shouted, "We considered your terms, and uh—we decided we're rejecting your demands, you get nothing, aaand you've gotta bathe."

Bill heaved himself out of the tub, flopped on the floor, and lay there wetly. Like a fish out of water, if the fish had given up the will to live. "Texq exmmbkba?"

"We dropped you in the tub," Ford said. "And we're going to do that every time your stench becomes intolerable, unless you bathe voluntarily. Is that clear?"

("What the heck language is he speaking now?" "Not a language. Caesar cipher." "You're tellin' me Cipher was Caesar, too?")

Bill coughed out a mouthful of water. "I'll drown myself."

"No you won't."

"I'd enjoy it. It'll be fun."

Ford hesitated. "Knowing you, you probably would. But you could only do it once."

"I'll slaughter you both."

Stan laughed. "Sure, if you ever reach us!" He jiggled the doorknob tauntingly.

Bill dragged himself across the floor and pounded on the door. He hollered, "I'll make meat linguine out of your skins with an orange peeler! I'll cook it in bone broth made by boiling your teeth!"

There was an awkward pause. Stan said, "I don't have teeth."

"You two are a loser who was only ever likable when you were pretending to be your brother and a puffed-up self-pitying nerd who never learned that no one's impressed by a child prodigy after age twenty-two! The biggest impact you'll ever have on each other is derailing each other's life dreams, and all your friends are worse off for knowing you! Your father died ashamed of you both and if he knew the truth about your lives he'd have been even more ashamed! Sherman has no positive memories of you, your obituaries will spell both your names wrong, and I'm going to feed your souls to an ouroboros that will repeatedly digest and defecate you for ten thousand years!"

After a couple more minutes of threats and insults, when Bill had to slow down to catch his breath, Ford calmly said, "Have you got that out of your system?"

A pause. "Think I'm good now." Bill slumped back to the floor, his cheek pressed to the cool, damp floorboards. "Okay. You win. Name your terms."

"You're not coming out of there until you've bathed," Ford said. "We'll let you out when you tell us you're clean. If you're not clean, we close the door again. If you want to sit there and sulk, then we'll leave, and once you're clean you'll have to wait until somebody feels like checking on you. Is that clear."

"Clear as crystal."

"Good. On the cabinet by the tub, you'll find a towel, washcloth, brush, comb, bar of soap, and shampoo. Are you familiar with how to use all of them."

"Sure! Course I am." Bill picked up the bar of soap, dipped it in the water, and experimentally rubbed it on his forearm. He pursed his lips dubiously at the results of this experiment. In a flash of brilliant inspiration, he peeled the cardboard box off of the soap bar. "How hard can it be?"

"Fine. There's a clean change of clothes next to the supplies. If you can get this over with in a timely manner, without wrecking the bathroom or wasting all the toiletries, we can talk about letting you choose a shampoo brand for next time."

Bill considered pointing out that that was a pretty stupid bribe to offer a creature who didn't have the slightest emotional attachment to organic toiletries; but then he remembered one of the cults he was affiliated with in New England made a shampoo line using its traumatized worshippers' tears, and he grudgingly decided he'd like to support them if he could. "You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"No." Ford was enjoying this.

"Gimme an hour. I've never done this start to finish before."

"Fine. We'll be back in sixty minutes."

Bill could hear the creak of the floorboards as the Pines left, and the fading sound of Stan's voice as he quietly asked, "Do you think what he said about Shermie..."

Yeah, Bill hoped that haunted him. He reached for the towel, and then jerked back his hand, startled, at the sight of another person in the bathroom.

"Oh." Bill experimentally waved a hand at the human, confirming that the strange alien staring at him was a mirror. "Hey, there." He stared glumly at the face he was trapped inside.

He'd never seen it before.

He was sure there used to be more mirrors in Ford's shack, but they must have been among the "potential weapons" the Pines had hidden away. Up until now, he'd kept imagining himself as a triangle. Some half-dead shape fraying golden curls around the edges, fused atop the rib cage of a humanoid puppet. Seeing the reality felt wrong, disorienting, like staring at an optical illusion but not being able to pick out how it worked.

He searched for any sign of himself in the face staring back at him. It was like trying to find something reminiscent of Chopin's piano Nocturnes in the shape of a lawnmower: a task so impossible it was unintelligible.

The only thing at all familiar was the color of the hair; not quite as bright as the dazzling electric gold of his true form, but still achingly similar.

Gold formed into lines—gold lines that bent and curled with acrobatic, contortionist flexibility.

"Well, whaddaya know," Bill sighed. "It only took a few dozen eons—but you finally grew up to look like your mother. Ha. Ha ha." The joke left a bitter taste behind his eye. (Eyes.) "Ekoj kcis a fo aedi ruoy siht si, Ltoloxa?"

The Axolotl didn't answer. Bill didn't expect him to.

He tossed the clean shirt over the mirror, discovered the bathroom had a second mirror, and took off the shirt he'd been wearing for almost a week to cover that one, too. He unpeeled the rest of his clothes, trying to avoid looking too close at the human body as he did—it seemed worse now than it had when he'd first gotten this body, with the image of that alien face seared into his memory, knowing he wasn't on this body but dissolved inside it.

Once he'd cleaned this body to the humans' satisfaction and gotten out of here, he could handle future hygiene issues by scrubbing off in the sink in his curtained bathroom downstairs. He'd only have to go through this indignity once.

So just get it over with. And use the time to think up new ways to irritate the humans into doing what he wanted.

####

He tried first bathing in the filled tub, until the cold water had him shivering so hard he couldn't properly coordinate his hands; then drained it and tried showering; and then filled it with warm water and attempted bathing again.

Most of him, he supposed, was clean enough for a human's tastes—any signs of peeling dead skin scrubbed off, no visible dirt, no noticeable smell but the smell of soap—but he doubted the hair would pass muster. It still had asphalt dust in it from almost a week ago, not to mention whatever his scalp had been shedding since then.

But, unfortunately, the hair was the worst part. He could scrub skin with no trouble; but when he was bathing, sunk down to his chin, trying to feel weightless again, the hair floated around him like a grotesque ghost, closing in. When he was showering, it dangled on his face, clinging to his skin, like it was trying to creep under his eyelid and down his throat and choke him. Just knowing it was there made his stomach turn; touching it made his throat burn as energy drink bile tried to escape his stomach.

Maybe if Bill brushed the tangles out first. That would knock out some of the dirt without him having to touch it himself. He sat on the edge of the tub, letting the growing tingling pain in his legs as his circulation was cut off distract him from the feeling of hair sticking to his cheeks and shoulders.

He tried to brush it out with his eyes shut, and his knuckles accidentally dragged across the filaments, wet, clammy, clingy. He yanked the brush free and felt hundreds of hairs jerking against their follicles. He forced himself to try again with his eyes open, holding the brush by the very tip of the handle. The bristles sank into the lumpen tangled mass of dead curling skin, and, as he tugged it down, slowly peeled the soggy strands of flesh apart—

His stomach hurt with the force of his retch. He clapped a hand over his mouth, dropped to his knees, and barely managed to get his dinner on the floor instead of on himself.

Voice a shaky, plaintive whine, he said, "Stop doing that to me." He shut his eyes, pressing his sweaty forehead to the cool rim of the bath tub. (Should he have aimed for the tub? Maybe the toilet? Were the humans going to get on his case for getting sick?) "It doesn't help," he hissed. "If I'm already neauseous, purging a load of bile does not help. It makes—it—worse. Why are humans built like this."

The Pines were tyrants. If he begged to be let out with his hair still grimy, the best he could hope for was mockery. Any pleas for mercy would cost him dearly. He wasn't getting out of here until he'd dealt with the hair.

He pulled the makeshift curtain aside on one of the mirrors. His vision was bleary from soap; the soggy hair draped in a loose, disheveled triangle shape around his head, like a mangled corpse. He shuddered and let the fabric drop.

A knock on the door. "It's been an hour, Cipher."

Ford. Bill rubbed his throat and hoped he didn't sound like he'd just been sick. "Gimme another hour."

"That's ridiculous. It takes less than ten minutes to shower, how could you possibly need two hours?"

"So I haven't had the practice at scrubbing skin folds that you have! Give me a break! How many hundreds of showers do you take a year? Do you know how hard it is to hold a bar of soap for more than half a second, or are you so used to it that you've forgotten these things are slippery?"

There was a pause. "You can't hold soap."

"My hands are small, Stanford."

"Fine. One more hour, but that's all you get."

"Fine, I don't care! If I'm not done in an hour, kick down the door and call the hygiene police on me." Bill was pretty sure you couldn't even get a call through to the hygiene police from this dimension. "Go away. I'm focusing."

Why had the Axolotl given him hair. Why hadn't he dumped Bill on Earth bald and balloon-smooth, let the patchy human fur patterns grow in over time? Why hadn't he at least given Bill less hair—why did it need to be so long—

But his hair didn't need to be long, did it? Bill didn't need to have hair at all. Hair was the easiest human body part to self-amputate, easier even than fingernails or ears. Inspired, Bill started searching the bathroom cabinet drawers—et voila. The Pines had no doubt removed any razors or scissors before leaving Bill in this bathroom, but he managed to find a bottle of hair removal cream. Probably courtesy of Question Mark's girlfriend. Cosmetic acid: one of humanity's many endearing little quirks. This would liquefy the roots of the hair, and Bill could get out of here.

It was easier to touch the hair when he was powered by rage, sliding his cream-coated fingers through the clingy filaments in service of burning it all away. The tingle on his scalp was a welcome distraction from the feeling of the hair itself, and feeling the tingle gradually blossom into a full blaze was a relief. Chemical burn. That was a luxurious pain—it tightened his lungs and squeezed rapturous tears from his eyes, so good he almost forgot there was another goal to this pain.

Maybe it would damage some of his follicles enough to prevent the hair from regrowing. Maybe he could wring some pity out of his captors—see this damage, isn't it hideous, look what you made me do—how long could he milk that? A few weeks?

He tolerated the burn as long as he thought he could get away with it without requiring hospitalization, then turned the shower on again. The ice cold water didn't wash the dead hair off fast enough. Some of it stuck to his skin; some was brittle, but not quite fully dissolved.

And that one, last, tiny inconvenience was more than he could stand.

The hair stuck to his chest, his arms, his hands as he ripped it off. Dead flesh, peeling apart and rotting, dead flesh all over him. He ran his hands over his head, fingers trembling with disgust, and tore out clumps of hair to fling to the ground. His eardrums boomed with his heartbeat. If there had been anyone else in the room he would have murdered them with his bare hands just to purge some rage. Over and over, desperate, obsessed, get it off get it off—

Until his head was so smooth that the pain of the chemical burns masked what few fibers were left. Until the icy shower left his skin so cold it hurt. He stepped out of the shower, triumphantly tore the shirt down from the mirror to see the results—and froze in horror.

When a cloud of gold hair had dangled down from his scalp, he'd looked like a triangle rotting apart—the corpse of Bill Cipher.

Now, he looked at his face, and he didn't see Bill Cipher at all. He'd destroyed the last of himself.

At his feet was a murder scene, all mangled golden gore.

####

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #bill goldilocks cipher

157 notes · View notes

jingsyuans · 8 months

Note

Sub/bottom Jing Yuan but like he wants to be spoiled and ruined because ffs he has to be responsible for so much stuff and act calm and collected 😤

He deserves to not have to think, it's your job to do that however you deem necessary. It could be fucking him yourself or strapping him to a very advanced sex machine that just rails him how he needs it after you've tied him up 😤😤😤 doesn't matter, he deserves to get fucked senseless and his back blown out for all the hard work he does without fail even if he does procrastinate a little bit, he's a good boy and you need to spoil him rotten because he's earned this!

Listen I am frothing at the idea of Jing Yuan mentally counting down the days until he gets absolutely wrecked by you as a reward for his hard work, listen if he could have it his way he'd get ruined by you every single day and night but noooooo he has be the general for Loufu and make sure things stay safe and sound.

He can't exactly do that if he's fucked senseless and lowkey in his sub/bottoming headspace smh smh he hates it and occasionally he acts like such a brat about the situation that you have to punish him by pushing back the date of when he can just let lose and not be anything more than your good boy (he gets so weepy and pouty when it happens but he'll acknowledge that he did break major rules that both of you agreed to before this started, just cuddle and baby him and he'll be able to hold out those extra days/weeks), listen you want everything to be safe sane and consensual bdsm practices.

Jing Yuan cannot wait to retire so he can get ruined by his darling spouse more often in smaller time frames.

Listen you guys have a bdsm dungeon in your place (you treat like a vacation home since you two are married now but in your youth hed sneak over to be ravaged hehe) the place is so secure and gets updated with every major tech security update Loufu gets its hands on, he couldn't exactly have it in the shared house you two have because of well Yanqing accidentally finding it.

Jing Yuan loves discovering you've added something new to the collection of toys and whatnot you've amassed over the years.

Though his most favorite thing is a simple red leather collar with a name tag and a very intimate but inconspicuous pet name engraved on the metal, he's especially giddy when you have him wear it under his general attire. Always seems to get more work done when you have him wear it.

Sorry I was possessed by the horny smh I gotta calm down

Good good good!!! Good food!!

I love your detail about him counting the days -- i can definitely see that happening. It lacks romance having to schedule your times together so much that you even have to schedule intimacy as well, but ah, it only happens during critical periods, not all the time. But you do in fact schedule those intimacy periods specifically for the reason that it helps clear Jing Yuan's head and he actually does a much better job at work afterwards. JY texting you casually like you're a whore what time you're going to be servicing him in the future.... you ask him if that's his intention the first few times, feeling a little surprised, and he just looks at you. "You're not going to say no, are you?" An eyebrow raised. "If that's what you really want... I suppose I can pay you." (He doesn't really mean this, says these sorts of things for your reaction and then laughs so sweetly, cooing at you that he wouldn't ever treat you that way.... (he does))

I also love the idea of pushing the date back as either a precaution because you don't think it's appropriate timing or as a punishment. If he's not the one pushing back the date, he acts scandalized, as if you ripped something precious from him (your cock). Definitely tries to sweet talk his way into convincing you otherwise. But if you really don't want to... you're absolutely right. He'd pout. A lot. A ploy at first to get you to fold for him and then it becomes genuine when you do not give in. But you coax him so sweetly with other pleasures- a nice hot bath, massage his back a little bit, hold him in bed... this is relaxing too. Not the same, but still good. JY is just a little spoiled, that's all.

(And since he's spoiled and always gets his way, he probably goes to sleep with you warming his cock. You have to give him SOMETHING... he was looking forward to today, you know? It's not the same, but at least let him ravage you a little bit instead. He won't take no for an answer.)

#jing yuan smut #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #honeyed gifts #hsr #Honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan reader insert #smut

92 notes · View notes

cfs-yogi · 6 days

Text

I've been doing a qi gong routine, mostly in my head with bits of physical movements as I am able, not every day but reasonably often.

Anyways. Today's was nice in that I got a view of fluffy clouds. I also found it hard to stay focused because I had multiple insights as I went.

The second was about boredom, that boredom indicates a need, like thirst or the feeling of needing to use the bathroom, and the need that boredom signals is a need for challenge, to do something that is hard for you or that you could improve at. (I am bouncing off that post about the difference between distracting yourself from boredom, where the boredom comes back full force ones the distraction is removed, and sating the boredom, where the boredom stays away for a bit when you're done.) And I got this really intense flash of anger, because no one told me, I am learning so many things as an adult -- I'm over 40 ffs -- that no one ever told me and it feels like someone should have told me. Boredom means you need enrichment, something equivalent to a toy to chase for cats or frozen pumpkins or a tire swing for zoo animals. It's not something to be driven away with a wide enough range of distractions, it's not a sign it's time to fall as deeply into a video game as possible, it means you are missing a specific kind of "interesting" or "hard" that you need. It is a psychological hunger.

(Another thing I wish I had been told is any useful advice at all about how to get yourself to do things that you don't want to do. Basically all I got as a kid was "well you have to do it whether you like it or not," an attitude that has not served me particularly well in life. Compared to things like "if it's scary, you can get better at facing scary things by facing it" or "sometimes unpleasant things feel better if you think about how it benefits you or makes you a better person to do the thing". Granted I did pick up on "sometimes you can pair a thing you like with the thing you don't like", aka the spoon full of sugar approach.)

The earlier one had to do with happiness. I'd been fairly spiritually inclined as a teen and young adult (well, I still am) and definitely picked up on the idea that happiness doesn't come from having stuff or looking attractive or being popular. But none of that was really a challenge for me anyways, and what I don't think I got explicitly told is that happiness does not come from what you do either. There aren't intrinsically fun things you can do and intrinsically unpleasant things. Anything can feel good with the right mental framing, or at least can make you feel good about yourself for having done it anyways.

I don't know, maybe that seems obvious. But it's breaking my brain right now. I got too much work put on me in high school, and I got overly attached to having time free to do literally anything I felt like in the moment as a result, even though I've known for a long time that having long stretches of just doing whatever I feel like moment to moment does not reliably make me feel good and actually tends to make me feel worse than having work or school, unless it's for a limited period of time during a vacation or holiday.

Which makes sense if there's something about intentional effort that's sort of like, I don't know, protein? An emotional macronutrient, something you need a lot of, that should exist in balance with the macronutrient you get from leisure time. (Which probably has fuckall to do with paid work or doing what you're "supposed to" be doing. And does not necessarily have to be high spoons, like I said I got this insight doing mental qi gong, I wasn't moving and wasn't even concentrating especially hard.)

#Ray's personal journal #ray's ramblings #(tag for finding purposes it's ok to reblog)

7 notes · View notes

spoiler-alert-andabunchofnumbers · 2 years

Text

Okay but like,

In the beginning of the game, Nora (Estheim) is killed by a Skytank explosion behind her while she's kneeling to help Snow after saving his life.

There are those who hate on the scene for quickly killing her off, but like man that's a woman who just went on vacation with her son and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, who was brave enough to join the other Purge victims in trying to fight back because yes, she's a mom, but she'd rather go out fighting with the people actually willing to help keep them alive in this desperate situation where there own government and entire planet turned against them for no reason other than bad luck.

Snow failed to save her because he didn't manage to keep his grip on her; Nora was injured and she gave him her last request because she had given up at that point. Snow looks at his hand in the aftermath because letting Nora fall alone was his biggest mistake.

Some point out that Snow survived the exact same fall as Nora, but barring the fact that he's a 6 foot 7 inch man who is also a fit fighter and she is a mother who lives in a peaceful city, the idea is actually supposed to be that if Snow hadn't let her go and had shielded her body with his - MAYBE SHE WOULD HAVE SURVIVED.

We don't know, certainly, and Snow is definitely still injured after his fall and stumbles as he gets up. He's traumatized by all of the people who died under his command; NORA the gang is equipped to fight, but they've never fought in an actual war before, much less against their own government. But Nora is the one who died closest to him, to the point that she told him she had a son she wanted him to protect. He needs to keep going for Serah, but he and Gadot specifically go and check to make sure all the kids are okay - under the logic that if he instructs his crew to keep all of the kids safe, that'll keep Nora's son safe by default. He can't do any more than that for her, and it's killing him, but he has to shove it down because there are more people - especially the one he loves - relying on him to keep going.

And then he has to keep going. He uses Serah's wishes to give himself a reason to keep going. No time to process his guilt because he has to keep going.

But then, the beautiful scene in Palumpolum happens.

Hope is blasted by a Skytank explosion from behind as he's kneeling to end Snow's life, a direct parallel to how Nora DIED.

In that moment, Snow doesn't care that Hope is trying to kill him. This time, he doesn't hesitate to dive off the ledge after Hope to catch him and shield him with his body and make sure that Hope isn't falling out of his grip. The fall is brutal, Snow is nearly crippled from the damage, but Hope is ALIVE, and can you imagine how that makes Snow feel?

Sure, the drop was probably shorter than in the Hanging Edge, but beyond the regular reaction to Snow finally facing his guilt and acknowledging he was running, still picking himself up and dragging Hope up a ladder back to the apartment levels, I just love the parallels in that scene. Snow finally got to save Nora's son, and he's fully willing to face the consequences of his actions.

Then, Hope is able to come to terms with his own running and denial. He had admitted multiple times that killing Snow won't bring her back, but he needed to keep going. And Snow knew his optimistic attitude led people to their deaths and smiling even in horrible situations was awful from other (Hope's) perspectives, but he had to keep going.

Don't ever tell me that there aren't great character arcs, developments, and nuances in FF XIII.

#final fantasy xiii #hope estheim #snow villiers #nora estheim #character development #parrallels #ffxiii

257 notes · View notes

widespot · 5 months

Text

Back in Bigg City, not only is the house ready, but Andy has a job offer! All he has to do is accept and move in.

"It's a little dwarfed by the neighbors, but we can add a second story." "Are you kidding? It didn't look this big on the plans." It's all been a little dreamlike to Ida Juana till this point - sorority, wedding, honeymoon, all fantasy scenarios, vacations from real life that would come crashing in on her sooner or later, to remember when she's squeezing the budget to pay the rent or buy a new - anything. But nope. Andy - they - own this. It's full of furniture. It has a separate dining room FFS! As much room for parties as the sorority almost! And this is somehow her life!

Wowsa!

---

So, yeah, this happened. The mod that lets me select the amount taken out of or left in a family happens at move-in in the neighborhood (I had an option to decide how much Ida Juana brought with her) and on move-out from university. When part of a household Finds Own Place, it's supposed to default to vanilla. But this time - they took Andy's family for every dime!

Well. That wasn't the plan, but I'm sure they'll manage, and if they don't, rich families fallen on hard times are good for story. Meanwhile, Ida Juana gets to start life in a good house with room for partying.

#bellum #andy & ida juana

7 notes · View notes

bobbiworks · 6 months

Text

Beyond the Bell's Chimes | Part 3

riize ff: wonbin, eunseok, seunghan, sungchan, sohee, anton, shotaro, original characters genre: youth, romance, teen, fluff, angst, slice of life note: you can check my asianfanfics.com/jayxhobi for this story.

The entrance of the light brown-haired guy sent a flurry of rose petals swirling through the room, leaving the girls in awe of the sudden influx of handsome boys in their class.

"I can't believe Jung Sungchan and Song Eunseok are in this class," one girl gushed to her friend, her face flushed with excitement.

"But weren't they enemies? Did you ever think Eunseok had a chance against Sungchan?" her friend wondered.

"The brains and the brawn?" they mused.

Sungchan and Eunseok exchanged knowing glances as they settled into their seats, then turned to their classmates with a hint of annoyance.

"Seriously? Can you cut it out? It's annoying," Eunseok waved his hand dismissively, rejecting the compliments.

"Come on, Eunseok, these are the rumors the new students are spreading about you. Don't you enjoy having so many fans?" Yuri, the queen of Class 2-A, chimed in.

Eunseok rolled his eyes and turned to Yuri, his girlfriend since summer vacation, who had suddenly become famous for being his girlfriend. It was rather peculiar for everyone to know about it, especially considering that Yuri was known for attaching herself to popular guys to maintain her status. She had a reputation for not letting go of men.

It had come as a shock to everyone when Eunseok became her boyfriend. Many believed Eunseok was leagues above Yuri.

"Okay, you should really avoid touching him," Sungchan interjected, nearly glaring at Yuri's public display of affection on their first day. "And you're not supposed to wear the uniform like that," he added.

"I'll wear what I want, Jung Sungchan," Yuri retorted. "Besides, my Eunseok likes it."

Sungchan glanced at Eunseok, whose expression appeared cold and distant. Sungchan couldn't detect any affection toward Yuri at all.

Lunchtime arrived, and Sungchan couldn't help but speak his mind. "I wish I knew what's going on with you right now," he remarked after downing half of his drink in one gulp. Eunseok leaned against the wall, sipping on his orange drink. He struggled to find an explanation.

"She's pretty," Eunseok replied. "I don't date ugly girls," he added with a chilling tone that sent shivers down Sungchan's spine.

"I get that, but aren't you worried about the trouble she can cause? She has people who can make your life miserable, Eunseok," Sungchan reasoned, but his friend remained unfazed, even grinning.

"It's more fun that way," Eunseok replied. "Relax, man. Let her enjoy the moment." He tossed the can into the bin.

Eunseok was about to head back to their classroom when he noticed a girl by the window, sketching someone's face on her sketchpad. The subject seemed oddly familiar, and he found himself watching as she focused on drawing the nose.

"My nose isn't that big," he commented, startling the girl, who then dropped her belongings. Eunseok was taken aback by her reaction and moved back, clutching his chest in surprise.

"S-Sorry..." the girl stammered, her panic evident. Eunseok and Sungchan began helping her gather her things.

"Here," Eunseok said, handing her the eraser.

"Thank you," the girl smiled, looking up at him but freezing upon seeing his face.

"You."

"M-Me?" Eunseok stuttered. The girl started to search through her sketchpad, revealing numerous sketches of his face.

"I saw you the other day, and I couldn't stop thinking about you. Your... your face is incredibly handsome," she spoke rapidly as she flipped through her sketches.

"What?"

"Stop!" she yelled, cupping his cheeks. "Don't move." She stared into his eyes intently for five seconds before pulling away and running off, leaving Eunseok dumbfounded. She left some of her sketches on the floor.

"That was completely bizarre," Sungchan remarked, witnessing the entire scene.

"It's the first time I've met such an absolute weirdo," Eunseok said as he picked up the pieces of paper. He smiled when he saw a rough sketch of himself walking. "She's good."

"Wow, she drew you?" Sungchan asked, examining the drawing. "But the nose..."

Eunseok frowned as Sungchan pointed it out. "I know, my nose doesn't look like that," he admitted, crumpling the paper and slipping it into his pocket.

#riize #riize imagines #riize fanfic #wonbin #eunseok #seunghan #shotaro #sungchan #sohee #anton #original character #wonbin x reader #eunseok x reader #boy x girl #beyondthebellschime #beyondthebellschimes

11 notes · View notes

storiesofsvu · 1 month

Text

Alright. It’s Thursday let’s see how tonight goes…

Weird opening that’s for sure

That blue suit on mechad is fucking gorgeous

Wtf is happening?!!!!?? Is this gonna be one of those twisty episodes? We’re only halfway through…

YES! SAM! Give her more screen time PLEASE

The like, main thing here would be finding the dancer, yes?

The lawyers have a good point with this recording, but it’s all speculation at this point…

I KNOW I know this defence attorney from somewhere… hold pls while I try to figure it out lol

Goddammit it’s not on imdb yet…

Okay so defence found the witness and honestly that just made everything way more complicated. YES, he killed the guy in (self) defence/trying to help/save the girl, BUT he’s still a racist pos who strangled the guy for three minutes after he stopped breathing. Also what was going on with the vic on the train? Cause he defs seemed out of it…

Ohhkay, an asthma attack, that makes sense. Reaching for the inhaler. Got it

Okay, y’all I’m sold on the new DA guy who came from scandal.

What is it with cop shows having very racist/sexist people/witnesses and choosing to send in their poc/women to figure details out.

OOHHH WE LOVE A GOOD UC STORYLINE! IS THIS GONNA BE A MULTI EP ARC?! A CROSSOVER?! (I know im clowning over a crossover, you don’t need to tell me)

That was a really good ep tbh.

Okay we all know I’m ignoring TO.

If anyone has any good ideas for a relatively affordable vacation over July/august that wouldn’t be too fucking hot, pls lmk.

Svu time!

Woof talk about a dark open

Also… it’s giving little mermaid…. The whole hazy can’t see her but she’s rescuing him and keeping him safe??

…pants around the ankles? Okay wait so something else happened in there?

WHERE! IS! VELASCO!

FFS

“EVERYONE IS ON MANDATORY OT” REALLY?! I REPEAT WHAT I JUST SAID!!

If they’re gonna be fucking rotating cast members, they should be rotating the ones who aren’t officially part of the squad. Curry was on last week, she should be gone this week.

Oh it was a man in the little mermaid vibes, my bad lol

….at least bruno’s here..

Okay… this girl’s apartment layout is the same as olivia’s (old?) one? (the one where noah was a toddler and up on the counter stealing cookies..) they really all about reusing sets aren’t they? Yet they make olivia’s apt completely different each ep…

Also I lowkey love all the fairy lights and art she’s got up, she’s made this place super cozy and calming and I dig it. Like I legit want that little tree with the fairy lights she has… catch me on amazon later.

Okay but like, if you were beat that bad and fighting for your life, there’s definitely a chance of hallucinating someone..

Bruno can yell at me any day…. Just sayin.

Why cant the girl with agoraphobia just fucking zoom/face time into the trial??? Like, they did that shit for younger witnesses/victims, for people already in prison/stuck in hospitals and that was all BEFORE covid…. I get that this is some kind of progress for her/olivia and more building for liv but it’s stupid…

Shout out to liv for making her office a complete safe space with the blinds drawn and candles and shit. Cute.

Okay that was an okay episode, we’re getting there slowly. I just wish we would go back to court for once. I miss my defence attorneys…

Lowkey hate this flashback, ngl.

Okay…I NEED to know how old joe stabler is supposed to be. Cause the actor’s age isn’t listed on wiki/imdb, but there’s a couple pages/articles that say he’s super late 40’s, early 50’s but he could pass for late 30’s so im SO confused lol.

Ahh… okay. Glad the drugs are his and not eli’s lol

Ugh I love bell so fucking much

I really hope Bobby’s leave was written in cause the actor had another offer that he wanted to take and not one that screwed him over.

Yaaasss cragen with the distraction save!

“I thought it worked…” bruh it sure did lol

God I miss cragen’s sass and quips. Im super glad he’s open to guest star

Bell being a complete bad ass like always. Yaaas queen

Speaking of bad ass women… nicely done chief…

Oh fuck….

Okay, well that was a decent night of l&o tonight!

#spoilers #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order organized crime

4 notes · View notes