Nosebleeds

I agree, I would very much like a stick as well; it would be very useful.

i think every gay person should get a monthly stipend for. piercings and such also beverages. and i think every trans person should get to hit people with sticks legally

Nickname cheat sheet

The classic - Darling

Classy gay

Immediately shows off you have trauma

Perfect when paired with a chuckle, sigh or smirk

Ex: Oh, darling, your intelligent thoughts really are non-existant.

The lover - Pretty boy

Teasing

Perfect for rivals to lovers

Can be said sarcastically, with a smirk, or after getting punched in the face.

Ex: Why don’t you come over here and make me, pretty boy?

The gentle one; do not trust - My dear

Endearing

Kinda sweet; if you didn’t have a blade pressed to your throat

Always acompanied by a little smile, a brush of lips that you know you will never kiss or kind eyes narrowed instead

Ex: Trust me... I may gift you flowers, but I will have you beheaded at the drop of a hat, my dear.

The broken - Sweetheart

Melancholic

Often said when being told a sad tale of the villain’s fallen kindom or during and angry break-down

Best used when tears are still on either person’s cheeks, during a good-bye/farewell, paired with a sad smile or a tear-filled glare

Ex: Trust me, sweetheart, I have seen things, know things, lost things that you could never understand.

Atelophobia is a plague that attacks your mind and not only instils the fear of not being good enough in your mind, it is a package deal of insecurities and overworking. Atelophobia is working into the late hours of the night, writing and thinking for fear of failure; it is empty coffee cups and fighting insomnia to get just one last page of work done, or so you say. It’s feeling eyes watching you as you type until your fingers are sore, until you really can’t keep up your own eyelids, until your eyes are burning from the amount of hours you’ve forced them open.

It is worrying about the future, wondering if you really are taking on too much but forcing through it, all for the sake of not failing. But what is failing, if not the fear of never achieving perfection? Atelophobia at it’s core is the fear of losing a battle you had no chance of winning.

Because I support y’all and just really like swords- 

reblog if you’re bi, support bi people, or just really like swords

Playlist #1

My personal favourite playlist; I did not make it, I found it on youtube. https://youtu.be/jhX-2wYCjxI

I am not usually one to read fics here on Tumblr, but for all that is holy, I loved this fic. The way you describe emotions, describe the setting and actions is simply incredible; my eyes and mind have been blessed with this godly creation and for that I am thankful.

I’m out of my element (I can’t breathe)

a03 link

masterpost link

Word Count: 3,593

This is my first time writing anxceit, so I’d love to hear what you think! 

When Janus finds Virgil alone in the common room, sobbing and struggling to breathe, the scene can’t help but feel achingly familiar. He’s been in this position so many times, seeing Virgil at his most vulnerable – but it’s been years.

So much has gone on since then, so much has changed. Bridges have been burned, at least that’s what it can’t help but feel like. Janus has seen hostility and bitterness and little else from Virgil for so long; it’s not completely unjustified, either, not nearly. He would do anything to keep Janus from seeing him like this now, Janus is sure of it.

But regardless, he’s found him. And he needs to act.

“Virgil, hey, hey,” Janus says quickly, crouching in front of Virgil sat on the couch, hugging his knees and trembling so hard, “Hey, it’s alright. Do you need me to get you, someone? Do you need Patton? Logan? Roman?”

Janus supposes perhaps Virgil wouldn’t do anything to keep him from being seen this way, just most things. Because as impossible as it often seems, something’s been established between them in the last few months. What it is, Janus can’t possibly say. But he can assess with confidence that whatever it is, it’s raw, and it’s fragile, and it feels moment from breaking each day.

Keep reading

Evil can't be scientifically defined. It's an illusory moral concept that doesn't exist in nature. Its origins and connotations have been inextricably linked to religion and mythology.

Dr. Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds, Season 5: Our Darkest Hour

autistic people are allowed to fit autism stereotypes

i take things literally. i don’t get a lot of neurotypical humor and often feel left out of the joke or even feel like i’m the joke sometimes. i’m gullible. there’s no way to sugarcoat it or put it more nicely, i’m just gullible. i don’t always know what’s satire. i’m socially awkward and have a hard time befriending or remaining friends with anybody who isn’t like me.

much of the autism community puts so much emphasis on “all autistic people aren’t x” and not enough on “who cares if we’re x, we deserve rights”

this goes doubly for ID and nonspeaking autistics btw i just can’t speak to that experience personally

EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORYYYYYYYYY

ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ

ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ➼

"pull me closer..."

"coffee or tea?"

"get the blankets."

"I'm turning up the heat!"

"it's fine. you're here now."

"look at the moon..."

"my hands are cold." "is that a pickup line?"

"ugh, finally!"

"remember that time...?"

"do you want to sit?"

"have a coffee."

"let's share."

"oh, it's adorable!"

"shall I start the fire?"

"ugh, you make me dizzy."

"you're my happy place." "don't get cheesy on me."

"you smell nice."

"hold my hand. please."

"did you make that yourself?"

"that smells so. good."

"what film?"

"this is somewhere I feel safe."

"I'm going to fall asleep..."

"it's already twelve?"

"it's just how I remember..."

"look, look!"

ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ➼

draping a blanket over their sleeping body

knowing how / if they take their coffee

squeezing hands

splitting a cake in a small café

spinning around together until you get dizzy

crashing together on the couch after a long day

knowing each others' tells

watching the rainfall

jamming out to the radio at midnight

cooking for the sick friend even though they're bad at it

lighting candles

snuggling in a blanket in front of the tv

hiccuping tears into their shoulder

rocking back and forth in their arms

pulling out that favourite hoodie

/ the collection of stolen hoodies

staying up until midnight to talk

roasting burnt marshmallows

sneaking out to look at the stars