Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Peter Solarz
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Claire Keane
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@divisus
hey guys, i haven’t really felt like writing on tumblr lately & and am taking some time to just chill, make sure i don’t fall behind on schoolwork, etc. if anyone wants to keep in touch while i detox from this blue hellsite, my discord is leprecunt#9380.
me, when basket case gets the recognition it deserves
I watched Basket Case (1982) last night and oh boy were has this movie been all my life?! I know it’s very outdated with it’s special effects and the acting is beyond forced however, I still enjoyed the story no matter the faults it held. I recommend watching it.
have you seen basket case? :0
Who Will You Run To - Heart (Bad Animals, 1987)
unfriendly black hotties: goth edition / the moodboard
Basket Case - Frank Henenlotter - 1982 - USA
HYPERACTIVE PUPPY:
[ IF ONLY HE KNEW THE HALF OF IT, HOO-WHEE! ]
between the harpoon shot halfway up his rancid old behind and the nearly-burning-alive-in-a-car-crash and the body burning and the 23 years of rotting on a wall and belial tearing his eye out and losing half his brain and having to replace his head and his arm and his leg and his wing getting ripped off and and and [ WHAT ORDER HAD ANY OF IT HAPPENED IN? WHAT YEAR IS IT? ] – well, shit on a stick, son, he’d say cortez sinking her beak into his OTHER eye was hardly the worst of it! so what, he had to regrow a few nails, hunt down some spare parts? … at least now the eyeballs match. sort of. one is a little more green in the middle than the other one, and as an aesthetically driven individual, it’s just off enough to drive him crazy –
— - WHAT’D YOU WANT TELL ME — - NOT DOING ANYTHING — - GOOD TIME TELL ME NOW !!
vibrating so hard his hat falls off: he’s known something was off ever since belial’d gotten off the phone with his brother. the creeper is full of animal anxiety, knee bouncing, rapidly tapping his heel on the ground. ceiling. ceiling that he’s hanging from. counts as the ground, though, if his feet are flat, doesn’t it? he wouldn’t know, he ain’t M. C. Escher.
— - HEYHEYANDLOOK, MY TOOTH GREW BACK !!
“Very nice, Clint.” Bel’s exhausted. Had to have been on the phone with Gren for at least two hours. The conversation had gone pretty much exactly the way he’d expected it to — where the hell are you, who are you with, are you safe, just who is the guy who took you, is he around you? What about this woman, Ruth? What’s her deal? Y’know, perfectly reasonable shit to ask someone who’d recently been kidnapped. Belial had bawled his fucking eyes out while he tried to explain himself, Gren had bawled his fucking eyes out while telling Belial just how worried sick he’d been, Murdoc squawked away in the background while Holly repeatedly shushed him. Stuff like that. And you know what? Those had been the easy parts.
It was… some of the other things Gren had questioned him on that were really eating at him. Things Belial himself didn’t yet have answers for. He sighs, crouching down to pick up Clint’s wide-brimmed hat and turning it over in his hands. He’ll return it to Clint when he comes back down.
“I just wanted to tell you that, uh… that... my family should be here. In an hour or so. By car. To pick me up.” Little eyes big guy cautiously. Trying to gage his reaction. He thinks Clint might just be surprised by what he has to say next.
“ … And I don’t ... think I’m ready to leave yet.”
@pohocounty !!
“Hey, man.”
Belial leans his shoulder against the doorframe, watching his buddy with tired eyes. What a hell of a morning they’ve had and the sun is barely even up yet. “I, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, lips twisting into a sympathetic grimace, “just wanted to make sure you was holdin’ up alright, after that number Cortez did on ya.”
Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask Clint to chase her around the yard like that. He honestly can’t recall the last time he saw that bird got so damn pissy, if ever. Remind Belial not to get on her bad side.
“If there’s some sorta Guinness Book of World Records thing for most times a person can get their ass beat in a week, I definitely think you’re at least a contender. Damn.”
it eats me alive.
WHY IS SO MUCH OF OUR SCIENCE DANGEROUS? WHY NOT MARRY SAFE SCIENCE IF YOU LIKE IT SO MUCH! ( written by rabbit. )
more dumbass mlm
Bobby Caldwell - What You Won’t Do For Love
There are a few constants in this world, one of which being that Grendel love-love-loves his baby brother. Money’s tight, but him and Holly scraped together whatever they could to spoil him this year — an ornate red wooden box, flat, with a silver latch, is slid across the table to him; inside, a tin of pomade, cool mint aftershave, thick shaving cream, a straightrazor, its complementary whetstone. “You’re starting to grow your whiskers, kid.” Twinkle in his eyes. “Lemme teach you how to shave.”
They’re both artists — it’s one of the many things they’ve got in common. Sure, Belial could get Gren something from the store, but it’s just not the same as sitting down and working on it for him. That feels too easy and artificial for Bel’s liking. Ain’t no heart in that.
He’s hunched over his desk, putting the finishing touches on Grendel’s Christmas present — a little grey stegosaurus carved out of soapstone — when he hears that gentle knock on the door he’s come to recognize as his brother’s. Quickly, Bel throws the sheet over it, spinning his ratty leather chair around.
“Come in!” he calls, and Grendel does, arm folded behind his back and a big smile on his face. Belial’s heart skips a beat — it’s Christmas morning, so of course he knows what’s about to happen. Not that that makes him any less excited!
His eyes light up as Gren passes him that beautiful box, gingerly picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He can tell a lot of care was put into this by whoever crafted it; has a hunch that Gren and Holly either did this themselves, or commissioned a friend in Fabletown. Pinocchio, maybe? Regardless, Belial is mindful not to break the latch as he undoes it, thinking back to all those times his strength has gotten the better of him. Last thing he wants to do is ruin such a nice gift.
The box pops open, and Bel peers at the contents inside. Immediately feels a tightness in his chest, sinuses starting to tingle. He has to blink back fucking tears. He hadn’t been… expecting something like this. It’s such a a little thing, sure, but it’s so fucking personal. The kind of gift you get from your dad. And considering how theirs had deserted them, hell, Gren might as well be. Belial swallows ( or Tries to swallow ) the lump in his throat, turning to look at his bubba with glassy eyes. Manages a wobbly little smile of gratitude, nodding his head. He’d like that — more than anything, he’d like to learn this from him, just as he’s learned so many other things from him.
“Hell yeah, man.” Bel rubs his chin, a touch of pride unfurling in his chest. He has finally managed to grow a couple hairs, hasn’t he? “I’d be honoured.”
The ‘thank you’ is silent, but broadcasted to Gren all the same.
THEY COME CHEST TO CHEST AFTER A NOT-SO-ACCIDENTAL HALLWAY COLLISION, THE CREEPER LANDING HALF-BENT ON TOP OF BELIAL, ARMS OUT ON EITHER SIDE OF HIS FACE. HE SCOOPS HIM UP AND SWEEPS HIM INTO HIS ARMS IMMEDIATELY. THE MANOR IS DARK BUT FOR CHRISTMAS LIGHTS — HE DOESN’T CELEBRATE, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE’S REFRAINED FROM THE EGGNOG! CHEEKS WARM, SOUL FUZZY; NEVER HAS THE MONSTER FELT SUCH LOVE IN HIS HEARTS ON SUCH A TERRIBLE DAY. “B’L-IAL!” UH OH. HERE COMES THE SLOBBERY KISS.
After a little over a year of knowing him, Belial’s learned to recognize the signs of Dulu’s approach. A shift in the wind. A vibration in the floorboards. The slight smell of sulphur in the air. But sometimes — occasionally — his baby still manages to catch him off-guard. Late that Christmas Eve is one of such occasions. Belial squeals, clutching the loaf of kerststol to his chest for dear life — careful, birdy, don’t SQUISH it! — and bracing himself for impact on the redwood ground.
But it doesn’t come; his ass barely even makes contact with the floor before Dulu scoops him up, pulling him protectively against his chest. Bel gasps, the treat he’d worked so hard on now crushed between them. He wants to snap at him — wants to tell Dulu to be careful, for God’s sakes, you don’t know who you’re gonna bump into and accidentally crush to death in these hallways — but just… can’t bring himself to do it. He can feel the joy — no, EUPHORIA — rolling off his boyfriend in waves. It might as well be a contact high, because within seconds, Belial himself is reduced to a giggly, rosy-cheeked mess. He can never stay mad at him! The younger of the two cradles Dulu’s face in his hands, tilting their foreheads together. Beaming at him, all dimples and breathy whispers.
“Hiiiii baby. I got somethin’ for — MMF! Mmmm…” ❤
Well, that’s one way to shut Belial up. His offer to let Dulu sample what he’s been cooking is gonna have to wait a couple of minutes, because Belial and his hands and his mouth are quickly becoming, um. Otherwise preoccupied.
Times Square on Christmas Night, Jack Mitchell, 1965
