#who's luis
Mirabel: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars.
Isabela: If anyone, and I mean anyone, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the DAMN sky they will be removed indefinitely from my life. And I mean it. Just ask Luis.
Mirabel: Who is Luis?
Isabela, sipping her tea: Exactly.
483 notes · View notes
vickdoom · 3 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
@ rockstarNorth, I'd like to expand the goddamn line-up already, thanks.
also take my GTA uquiz <3.
274 notes · View notes
magnificentwastelandheart · 27 days ago
Tumblr media
Jose Luis Barrio by Michael Stokes
101 notes · View notes
charlieconwayy · 8 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Mighty Ducks Meme [Favorite Relationships]: Connie Moreau & Guy Germaine
“Now it’s Minnesota State Senator Connie Moreau.” “That’s right. And I’m just the lucky guy who gets to go along for the ride.”
514 notes · View notes
glitterglueconsumer · 2 days ago
ik yall gonna come for me but the creepypasta fandom is cringe asf for perpetuating stigma against mental illnesses.
like canonically ticci toby has PTSD and schizophrenia as well as C.I.P.A and tourettes, but the fandom just throws all that potential character away to infantalize him because he has tics and cant feel pain. it just screams 'ive never met a real disabled person before'. Now, not wanting to misrepresent his disorders wouldve been a good excuse to defend this shit behavior if you had that attitude for all the characters with chronic/rare disorders. must i bring up the train wreck that is liu and 'sully'? cmon guys, really? the 'evil alter' stereotype again? ive not seen a single writer refrain from writing the most incorrect and harmful representation of DID/pluralism in general when it comes to their/his character. singlet writers really couldn't do an ounce of research, watch a single YouTube video to not write the most jarring and inflammatory headcanons? and dont get me started on the casual use of ableist language such as 'p*ycho' and 'psy*hopath'. if youre not going to bother doing the research, dont write characters as psychotic or mentally ill because youre doing a massive disservice to people with those disorders as well as the fandom. please do better.
53 notes · View notes
deluxewhump · 5 months ago
Part 6: Get Some Sleep, Bo
(luis takes bo home w him)
cw: captivity whump, restraints, mentions of torture and violence including choking, drugging, sleep deprivation, the vague threat of death, painful wounds, hurt/comfort. 
It was six PM, and still no Nick. Bo and Luis were in the office with a box fan on high in the doorway, waiting for him to call. They’d started using the other line to call in to a radio show they were listening to, and when Luis actually got through they shared a wide-eyed look that almost made Luis dissolve into a fit of laughter on live air.
He answered a music trivia question correctly and won two tickets to a baseball game. They asked him to shout out the station and when they disconnected him he put the receiver back, laughing. “What the hell was that?”
Bo shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
“You know why I even knew the answer?”
Bo shook his head. 
“My baby sister listens to that stuff nonstop. All those boy bands? And the Spice Girls.”
Bo smiled slyly. “Your sister. Sure. What’s her name?”
Luis let his mouth drop in feigned offense. “Melissa. I do have a sister. And if I did like The Backstreet Boys, I’d tell you. I’d have a tattoo, and a t-shirt. I’d be the Backstreet Boys’ biggest fan.”
The corner of Bo’s mouth curled up as he shrugged. “De gustibus.”
“‘Scuse you?”
“De gustibus.” He sipped the coke Luis had brought him. “There’s no accounting for taste.”
Luis tried not to look at the column of his neck, all those damn bruises. There must have been multiple incidents. There’s no way they were all put there at once, right? He thought of his mom’s murder show on TLC, that drowsy narrator talking viewers through crime after heinous crime. He tried instead to look Bo in his eyes, a blue so dark they were almost bruise colored themselves. “If Nick doesn’t call in half an hour, I’m taking you home with me.”
Bo choked on his coke. “What?”
“I’m not hanging out here forever. He’ll know where we went.”
“Is that— does he have a pager?"
Luis leaned the office chair as far back as it would go and laced his hands behind his head. “He won’t be mad. If he is, it’s on me. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Sit in the office all night?”
Bo looked around the cramped room, the smile gone from his lips. He nodded at an exposed pipe running floor to ceiling that Luis could chain him to. "That would work,” he said solemnly. “And you could unplug the phone, if you’re worried I’d be able to reach it."
Bo talking like that gave him a bad taste in his mouth. It was the resignation. The willingness to help.
“Don’t,” he said a little too roughly. Bo’s eyes snapped up to him and Luis could’ve sworn he recoiled closer to the wall. He gentled his voice. “I’m not leaving you here overnight. We’re not gonna do that. I don’t know what’s keeping him, but he left me in charge. I say you and me just go home, and we show back up tomorrow morning."
Bo didn’t seem thrilled. 
“You’ll be fine,” Luis added, in case that was it. "Get some shut eye and then back here before you know it. Trust me, that’s how it goes. It feels like I live here."
Bo was watching him, thinking. He ran his finger through the condensation on the side of his soda can, up and down. His eyes willed the phone to ring with instructions from his captor but it stayed silent.
You can trust me, Luis wanted to say. I’m not gonna turn into somebody else when we go home.
“Okay,” Bo said finally. “If it’s what he’d want.”
They waited until 6:45 and then Luis locked up the shop. He unlocked the padlocks around Bo’s ankles in awkward silence so Bo could accompany him outside and put the chain in the bottom of his backpack where he hoped it would stay until tomorrow. He rode a Harley Wide Glide, proud-headed and shining behind the shop gate in the yellow evening light. The fuel tank was painted with red flames fanning out to orange, and the rest was gleaming black and chrome. He only had the one helmet, so he put it on Bo. He had to really tug it down over all those golden curls. It was a full faced helmet, covering everything and shielding his eyes with a visor.
“This is Chyenne,” Luis said proudly, patting the bike like a horse. “You ever ridden?”
Bo shook his helmeted head, looking like a bobblehead of an astronaut.
Luis grinned. “Lucky me. You’re gonna love it. I’ll go slow.”
Luis rented the apartment over the garage from his mother. Two of his siblings still lived in the house, he said, and one lived across town with his wife and children. 
There was a separate entrance to the apartment that did not lead through the main house. He parked Cheyenne next to a Grand Prix that looked like it hadn’t moved in a year and they headed up a narrow staircase that smelled faintly of kitty litter.
Inside Luis’s apartment was sunny and warm. Stuffy, even. Luis turned on fans as he went, threw open a window so the hum of a neighbor mowing their lawn grew louder. The apartment had a living room with two futon couches in a ninety degree angle around a TV, a small kitchen, a bedroom with dark red curtains pulled tight and a bathroom with a powder blue shower and sink.
Bo noticed a bong stashed behind the couch, a Korn poster on the wall. But the place felt private. Safe. There was no evidence of other people coming and going, no other shoes on the mat or dishes in the sink. The answering machine blinked with unheard messages and Luis pressed play. Two were hangups and one was a woman who left a callback number. None were Nick.
Luis opened the door his apartment shared with the main house and whistled. Before long, a blue nose pitbull trotted through grinning, nails tapping on the floor. 
“Hey homie. Hey buddy. Socrates, meet Bo. Bo, Socrates.”
Bo was relieved when the dog sniffed him politely, wagging its tail until he pet it gingerly on the head. He liked dogs, but he didn’t feel much like being jumped on at the moment. The motorcycle ride over had been hard enough on his ribs and his hands, as well as numbing and loud. 
“Hi, Socrates,” Bo crooned. “Hey killer.” The dog stuck out its spotted tongue and panted. “Socrates for his dialogues?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  
“For eating Hemlock,” Luis replied matter-of-factly. He began taking things out of his fridge and setting them on the counter. “He’s a medical miracle.”
Luis made thick ham and cheeses with mustard and pickles. After he ate, Bo took a shower that reminded him he must be doing better, because it hurt less than the bath Nick had tried to give him just days before. Washing his hair was still difficult, and try as he might he got his bandages soggy.
Even so, he blanched when Luis pulled out a first aid kit. But he re-bandaged Bo’s hands with utmost care. Unlike Nick, he refrained from asking if the wounds were what they looked like. Nail punctures.
Then again, maybe Nick had already told him. 
Later, Bo found himself admitting to Luis that he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d been napping in the office, but not for more than twenty minutes at a time. He couldn’t remember the last serious bout of sleep he’d had. 
“Don’t take this wrong, but you look like it,” Luis said from the other side of the couch. Socrates was between them, snoring. Outside, crickets trilled in the grass. “You look exhausted.”
Bo hated that hot tears sprung to his eyes. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe it was the gentleness in Luis’s voice. It felt achingly familiar to be treated like a person. He wanted it so badly he thought he would go out of his mind.
He was embarrassed at the sudden, powerful urge for Luis to hold him. Luis was whole and well in a way Bo's torturers all had been, but unlike them he was acting like a friend. He still had his Dickies shop pants on, and a black tshirt from a Walmart four-pack that hugged his biceps and made him look like a greaser. He was younger than Nick and had no tattoos, only a small cross tucked inside his shirt against his throat. It had dangled over Bo's face the day he'd tackled him in the yard.
“I want to sleep,” Bo said, trying to swallow his emotion. “But I can’t. All I think about is how I don’t wanna die.”
"You're not gonna die." Luis said quickly.
Bo got his tears under control. They never fell.
Luis stood up quickly enough that Bo flinched, but he only went out to his kitchen and rummaged in the cupboard above his stove. Socrates lifted his grey head, watching after him.
He came back with a bottle of NyQuil, held it out like he was offering him a beer. “Want a nudge in the right direction?”
Bo huffed. “Why not.” He poured two capfuls and swallowed the syrupy medicine like it was water. He knew he shouldn't. He was in a new place with someone he barely knew, an extension of the intricate network of people who had been keeping him against his will for months now. He shuld keep his wits about him. But he was too tired to care. And somehow, he didn’t think Luis was going to hurt him.
He fell asleep on the futon watching taped SNL skits with Socrates. At some point, he felt a blanket being laid over him. He struggled to to semi-consciousness, but it was like he was being held under by a weight on his chest. The visceral memory of Byron's hands on his throat washed over him like dark water him and he whimpered, drawing as far back against the couch as he could. He’d been drugged before, and it was not a pleasant escape. It’d been a terrifying and powerless experience followed by the worst hangover of his life.
“Shh,” Luis soothed, putting a hand in his hair. “S’just me.”
Bo remembered he had only taken NyQuil. He wasnt drugged. Just groggy. 
“It’s okay,” Luis told him. There was a politeness in his everyday diction, a friendliness that just now had turned to tenderness, for him. It was a voice you'd know anywhere, calling your name in a crowd.
"You got Socrates with you," he said quietly. "He’ll protect you. I’m gonna be right here on the other couch, okay? Go back to sleep.”
Bo nudged into the warmth of Luis’s hand, and for a moment longer, it stayed.
@finder-of-rings , @whumpsy-daisy, @neuro-whump, @ezwhump , @rose-whump, @looptheloup , @burtlederp , @kim-poce , @whumpzone , @distinctlysomething, @she-walks-in-whump, @pebbledriscoll, @whump-it , @tidalwhump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @whumpcreations, @whump-tr0pes, @cursedandtired, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @break-so-beautifully
103 notes · View notes
loverboygordon · a year ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Short comic about being Mexican and the different ways the team call esquites.
914 notes · View notes
pigeonneaux · 5 months ago
Tumblr media
65 notes · View notes
georgebacoviashitposts · 28 days ago
Crăciun fericit! Să vă fie sarmalele calde și cozonacul pufos!
24 notes · View notes
wannabecatwriter · 15 days ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Maxis Mix Tape: A Collab Song
I'm about to make the sweat roll backwards And your heart beat in reverse Our guts can't be reworked As alone as a little white church in the middle of the desert getting burned But I'll take your heart served up two ways I sing a bitter song I'm the lonelier version of you I just don't know where it went wrong
She's sick and she's wrong, she's young dirty blonde And you sink inside her like a suicide bomb He says, "I've seen bigger," she says, "I've lit better" And they throw the matches down into the glitter Not a dry eye left in the house Go boy, go boy, run for your life Go boy, go boy, run for your life Go boy, go boy, run for your life 
We're all fighting growing old We're all fighting growing old In the hopes Of a few minutes more To get on St. Peter's list But you need to lower your standards 'Cause it's never Getting any better than this
It's never Getting any better than this (Rat a tat tat Rat a tat tat tat hey)
20 notes · View notes
spokenitalics · 7 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
99 notes · View notes
noodlingnavier · 9 months ago
Capcom. Talk to me. Tf is y'all doin? Yall put this much time and effort into Lady Dimitrescu only to have us kill her and her family off in one game. ONE.
Meanwhile, Wesker, another fan favourite, gets several games to star in OR make a cameo appearance. Solid, Wesker is top tier. Why can't we keep the Dimitrescu family for this long?? Also Jill & Claire get a few games, so does Leon.
You shove the milquetoast-ass Winters family at us twice. Y'all are never going to make me like this family, you nor their fanbase. We agree to disagree
Piers is never coming back.
Luis is dead.
Billy will never be redeemed.
Steve deserved better.
Where in tf are Sheva, Sherry, Jake, Helena, and Rebecca?!
We really get all the potential bastardised by this franchise huh???
thank God ashley is out of the picture
164 notes · View notes
naivesilver · 3 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
a trip to the other side
The Adventures of Pinocchio, Carlo Collodi // Portrait of a Gentleman (detail), Dosso Dossi // In the Dream House, Carmen Maria Machado // Pinocchio, dir. Matteo Garrone // Alma, or the Dead Women, Alice Notley // Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night, dir. Hal Sutherland // Salt to the Sea, Ruta Sepetys // Pinocchio, dir. Matteo Garrone // How To Be A Writer: The Map Is The Territory // Pinocchio miniseries, dir. Alberto Sironi // San Luis, Gregory Alan Isakov // Once Upon A Time episode 6x12, Murder Most Foul // Pietà, Rainer Maria Rilke
41 notes · View notes
1d-discourseoftheday · a year ago
Mon 11 Jan ‘21
Turns out there is no Zayn zoom call, it was faked by fans, but Zayn heard us all crying about just wanting to hear him talking and did one better anyway; he tweeted a phone number (1 323 991-ZAYN) for us ALL to call him! The number has a recording of Zayn (“yo Zayn heah!” yesss thank you) inviting us to press numbers between 1 and 9 to hear a preview of the 9 songs on the album that we have not yet heard so we can GET EXCITED and pick our faves. And then after you call it “he” sends you a fully skeezy text asking for your deets “so we can stay in touch” so if you ever dreamed about Zayn sliding into your DMs here's your chance to pretend (in a more wholesome way than faking it to make other fans feel bad.)
Spotify restored the “This is Louis Tomlinson” playlist (he finally got one when Walls came out and he had enough solo songs, but then it quickly disappeared, until now)- Spotify says “we made it! sorry this took so long to fix” which explains nothing but there ya go. An intrepid detective connected the dots between an old picture of Dianna Agron from Glee in the Pride tent at 2019 Glastonbury with the picture of Louis from Glasto that was found a year after the fact (on some guy's tinder)-- he was also in the big rainbow colored gay tent. And present day Louis (today!) liked a post that was both inspirational and about football, regular Louis catnip; “Really moving! Best of luck to him!” he said about the guy's story.
Lottie apparently felt like riling up the fandom today and ran a “favorite fruit” emoji poll which, I'm not saying Harry OWNS FRUIT now or anything but she sure wasn't steering away from people going there, least of all when she commented oooh gosh kiwis sure seem popular how about that, or when she then said her favorite 1D song was “I have loved you since we were 18” against a cherry backdrop, and Veeps pulled it back from a typo on a post about Liam singing a 1D fave with an excellent “cause you make me Trong” follow up post.
Meanwhile even the entertainment press, desperate to make sense of it all, are plaintively asking “So who should we believe?” in headlines about the Holivia timeline and posting whole articles about the contradictions; when Harry said “time is irrelevant” in his 2015 song 'Olivia' he was sending a message to the future about exactly this, clearly! Tragically the hilarious 'Harry turns detective to try to puzzle out who told the press about Holivia' angle seems to have been dropped, though presumably not for being too stupid to believe because, well...*gestures...*
273 notes · View notes
terminallyinferiorpoet · 7 months ago
quotes for people who don’t quite know who they are
“I’m not afraid of being lost. We all wander from time to time. It’s the fear of never quite finding myself that keeps me up at night.” Sylvia Plath
“My God, my God, whose performance am I watching? How many people am I? Who am I? What is this space between myself and myself?” Fernando Pessoa
“There is some flaw in me—some fatal hesitancy which, if I pass it over, turns to foam and falsity. Yet it is incredible that I should not be a great poet. Am I too fast, too facile? I do not know. I do not know myself sometimes or how to measure and name and count out the grains that make me what I am,” Virginia Woolf
“When I imagine myself, I am always leaving. I couldn’t draw my own face if God asked.” André Cerpa
“I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself any more. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.” Haruki Murakami
“I am not sure that I exist actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved, all the cities that I have visited.” Jorge Luis Borges
“I don’t know who I am. We search and search and always end up looking into the same mirror, at the same reflection, hoping that we will find something different.” Dale Cooper
“If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires; I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.” Evelyn Waugh
“How much can you change and get away with it before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?” Richard Siken
“I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh. I am my own devastating god.” Rachel McKibbens
“I am sure there are aspects of my personality buried within me that will surface as soon as I know I am completely loved.” Jerzy Kosinski
85 notes · View notes
topherfoxtrot · 6 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The Vault (2021) dir.: Jaume Balagueró 
63 notes · View notes
gaffney · 4 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
i honestly just wanted to make a gifset to show that charlie and jesse are two sides of the same coin; they react differently but want the same thing.
33 notes · View notes
callaeidae3 · a month ago
Tumblr media
Twelve days of Whumpmas (NZ version)
Day 3- Three French Hens (Three flax kits): Betrayal | Failed Escape | Candlelight
(I woke up this morning and decided I wanted to do a coloured ver. of the sketch)
"Flax kits", or kete in Maori, are flax-woven baskets/bags made from harakeke flax. There's proverbs about having something (e.g. knowledge, love) in one's kete.
The whumpers sure are filling their kete with whumpees right now...
Continuation from Day 1 | Day 2
14 notes · View notes
profoundcastiel · a month ago
ma vafffanculo và
Tumblr media
14 notes · View notes
she-way-out · 8 months ago
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Diego Boneta | Luis Miguel: La Serie
74 notes · View notes