gofishytwo

@gofishygo reblogs account !!

[probablypixel]

guys. guys i can't stop thinking about that transgender rabbit.

the bait and switch of the century. she's a terrible person. she used to be a tumblr sexyman. she's the most popular canon transfem character. ever. she has borderline personality disorder. she's a cringe girlfail lesbian. she's bugs bunny in her mind palace. she's even emo.

[juunipupu]

Knights in Love

[itadoriahh]

oh, he’s crying. i don’t think he can feel it.

poor thing :( … he’s got lots to live up to :( </3

[skj-weebmam]

I liked you alive.

[mishi264]

I love myself a winter solider Soap au

[armacheart]

Mine to hold

[dot41g]

it's set shortly after MWIII, and after that Riley died too (loose ends) lol

they hate each other bcz they can see their own reflections, but they are both themselves and others so cannot hate entirely one another. himself's the only one who truly understands him right

no guarantee that 22 share the exact same comic setup, but i figured there would be some common ground between them as characters named Ghost

ok sorry for any mistake and let me know if there's some awkward lines... it's hard to translate maybe i should've find someone to review the Eng dialogue i can't stand it

[mishi264]

Simon reading to Johnny in the hospital after the evil, evil events of mwiii

This was a bit of a older drawing and only now I decided to finish it 😗

[wacuoms]

[astrangebird]

Hold

[sefarlen]

Don't touch.

Continued from here

[lilskippity]

man's best friend. dog owner!simon + dog owner!reader thinking about the time I was out for drinks and there was a dude with the biggest fucking dog I’ve ever seen just chilling at the bar. surrounded by ladies.

simon taking riley out for an afternoon walk, but ending up at the pub cuz a man needs pint every now and then.

he's finishing his beer while watching the match on the pub telly when he feels a tug on the leash. he looks down, and finds you petting and cooing at riley. the bugger is all in for the attention, ears perked and tail wagging against his boots.

pretty little thing, you.

he doesn't move, content with watching you like this. maybe a minute later is when you finally notice him staring.

"oh! sorry," your voice is as sweet as you look; too tempting for a man like him. "your dog is so cute! what's its name?"

"riley." he grunts out. wouldn't mind indulging you, just for a while.

"cute name, it suits him," you say. riley nudges your hand with a wet nose begging for scratches. it makes you laugh. the sound is enough to make simon shift in his seat.

would suit you too, he thinks.

"got one of your own?" he asks instead.

you smile. "yes! i have a doberman. she's in her terrible twos right now, though. not as well behaved as riley."

"lots of energy, those ones," he grumbles. "better get a playmate before she rips your couch up."

simon ends up leaving the bar with a new number on his phone and a marked date on his calendar.

wasn't looking; wasn't hunting for anything, but riley sniffed you out for him. fell right into his lap anyway. he spoils the pup with some treats once they get home.

good hunting, riley.

[bluebellhairpin]

Michael Robinavitch X Reader

Summary: Fourth of July is a bad enough day when you work in an American ER. When you start noticing red flags in the attending doctor's behaviour before he goes for his sabbatical, so you follow him after the shift ends to offer help. (wc. TBD)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: Past suicide attempt mention (reader). Current suicide planning mention (Robby). Angst. The Pitt Spoilers (S2E9). Can be read as platonic. Reader is younger than Robby (unspecified gap, just 'younger'), physically ambiguous, no gender impied, no pronouns mentioned.

Listening to: 'Purple Rain' by Prince - "It's time we all reach out for something new, that means you, too... But you can't seem to make up your mind. I think you better close it and let me guide you to the purple rain."

Masterlist || AO3 link

If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, need support for your mental health, or have experienced a traumatic event, consider reaching out for support though Find A Helpline to find a free and confidential helpline in your country.

You’d clocked Michael Robinavitch from the moment he pulled into the ambulance bay this morning.

You should’ve. He parked his old-style Triumph right beside your sports Yamaha. Parallels besides the fact you pulled your helmet off your head instead of the back of your bike.

It was the first red flag for the day. The first. Of the day. A lot more followed by the time your shift ended. (What a shift it was, as if it being the fourth of july wasn’t a stress enough to your nervous system.)

The lack of a helmet was already unsafe, a knowingly ignorant choice on his part. Snapping at Al-Hashimi and his short fuse with Langdon (which everyone could see even if he was trying to hide it), both a switch from his usual patience in the ER. You’d seen Abbot corner him at the nurses station, Dana too earlier. They looked the same when they finished talking to him, the faces of people who knew too much without having to be told anything at all.

Everyone knew Robby was leaving for three months after the end of today’s shift. It seemed like only a few people were getting the feeling they knew he wasn’t planning on coming back. You were one of them, and you hadn’t even talked to him. You wondered how not more people noticed.

It scared the shit out of you. Not because you knew Robby, you weren’t a resident or med student - you were a nurse who happened to be on shift with him sometimes, you couldn’t even say you saw him once outside of work.

It scared you because once, years ago, you looked exactly the same as he did right now.

So when your shift ended, you decided to follow him. It wasn’t hard to do, follow the guy stupid enough to not wear a helmet and overtake on double-lines, anyone could do that. You were surprised you didn’t catch up to him at an accident. Instead he pulled into the parking lot of a diner, and immediately turned to you as you pulled in beside him.

“Nurse,” he said, watching as you took off your helmet.

“Doctor,” you replied, kicking your stand out and sliding off your seat to stand.

“You followed me.”

“You noticed,” you said, unzipping the front of your leather jacket, “Good to know you are aware of your surroundings while on the road.”

“I am very good at driving, thank you very much.”

“Such a funny thing to say since I could’ve sworn you have a death wish with how you ride.” Robby sucked his teeth at your words, but didn’t answer. Refused to answer, maybe. You hit a nerve there, just the one you wanted to, so you decided to prod further. Well, more like go straight to the point now that you knew what it was.

“Michael, are you okay?” you asked gently. Too gently, you realised, and kicked yourself internally. The last thing he probably wanted was another person avoiding the question, treading on eggshells, acting like he was a time bomb about to go off.

You didn’t like it when you were in his position, why would he?

“Only my mother calls me Michael.” he said, tilting his head in a very ‘Doctor Robby’ way, so he didn’t meet your eyes.

“Are you okay?” You repeated, ignoring his comment - a joke, trying to brush you off like everyone else today - and switched your tone away from one he would’ve heard all day (one you used to calm down patients) to one that was more stern (one used to warn a patient instead).

“Fuck,” he sighed, slapping his hands on the tank of his bike before throwing his head back. “Fine. No I’m not. I’ve had it up to here with everything and everyone and I just can’t do it anymore.” His voice was rough, breaking. Like saying it out loud to someone was putting further cracks in his carefully crafted porcelain shell. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes.” you said.

“Made you feel better?” His voice had a bite in it, defensive, one that painted you as the villain, or a cop coercing a false confession. It was something you were familiar with, shifting blame, because you did it once upon a time too.

“Maybe. But you needed to say it out loud.”

“And you’d know?” The way he said it made it sound like he was scoffing.

“Yes. I know.” You replied, leaning back against your bike and pulling off your gloves. “Not six years ago I looked and acted exactly like you right now.”

You could tell he wasn’t expecting that answer. His reaction wasn’t a surprise to you though, no one ever did believe you when you told them. Anyone who didn’t know you before wouldn’t ever know, you worked hard to make it that way. Your comment did make Robby’s snark disappear pretty fast though.

“I decided nursing school was too hard, went for a weekend away, drove myself straight into a sixty-foot tall redwood tree and ended up in a coma for four days. I spent the next six months learning to use these fingers because I shattered my hand, and was in rehab for five months because of a fracture in my back. I only did it because I decided the only thing worse than being alive was being stuck in a life that was less than what I had before.”

You were flexing your left hand, if you looked close you could see the spidery lines they stitched into you. You were wearing the results of being alive, etched into your skin - these ones were not made by you though, they were made by people who cared enough about you to save your life even though you were a stranger. People who stayed hours after their shift ended to make sure you’d stay alive.

You almost couldn’t believe it sometimes, that people so invested in saving lives also saved yours. Sometimes it was easy to forget that you worked alongside people exactly like that every week, but they were the reason you were alive at all, why you chose to stay in nursing, why you turned your life around. They made you think there was good worth keeping going for.

“I still can’t feel my fingers after some shifts.” you admitted.

Looking up, you saw Robby eyeing your hand. Then he looked toward your torso, as if somehow he could see the remains of the crack in your vertebra through the layers of cloth, skin, and muscle.

He still didn’t say anything. You could see he was thinking instead. Thinking hard, from the way he swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob.

“I guess my point is that sometimes people get to a point where they want it all to end, and think there’s only one way out, so that’s what they choose to do. But some people haven’t had a chance to get help, and at that point that’s all they actually need.”

You could see he wasn’t wanting this conversation. It was uncomfortable, but he needed to hear it. You’d said your part, so perhaps you could leave it if he showed he really didn’t want to talk.

You could step back, you knew how, you knew how important it was sometimes to not push, it could do more harm than good. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

But then he spoke.

“I’ve never asked for help. I’ve never wanted it.” he mumbled. Robby said it like it was something he didn’t want to admit. Like he knew better or had been told before but ignored it all.

He wouldn’t be the first to think he didn’t have it bad enough, to think what he was going through didn’t warrant wanting help.

Or to think that asking for help meant putting a burden on others. That they’d spend the rest of their lives watching out of the corner of their eye in case you did something worth being sent back to therapy or rehab. It wasn’t true, you knew that now. Perhaps, maybe it was a burden, but it wasn’t one they went through on their own, and because of them you didn’t have to go it alone either. However you found it so much harder to talk about it to people who cared about you compared to someone who didn’t know you at all.

“I didn’t want to ask because I didn’t want anyone to know. But I needed help, I needed it badly. Which is why I’m talking to you here, now. I’m not your resident. I’m not your student. I’m not your charge nurse. I’m not even your friend. Outside of work we’re strangers, which is why I’m here.” you said. You lent your hands back on the seat of your bike, but tilted your head forward. “I’m not asking if you need help, I’m offering you help. If you need someone to be the person to help you get it going, I can be it. Besides, I’m no snitch. The other nurses hate that about me.”

Robby’s lips twitched up at your added comment. That familiar place, the one thing you both did share, pulling you together now more than it ever had. For being a pit, it was anything but empty.

He spared you a look, one that made your brows crease. He looked, of all things, shy. It was so unlike the version of him you’d built up over the few years of professional passes that it almost made you want to backtrack. He looked.. Younger. Scared.

But you were looking at an adult, one who - maybe was a little unstable - was on the precipice of a life changing decision. You didn’t know what the right choice for him was, no one could make it except him - but you knew your choice was to live, and it had been the best thing you’d ever done.

You wanted him to make that choice too. The ER worked on giving people of all sorts a second chance. You got that chance once, and he deserved that chance too before it went that far.

“You have to decide if you want to take this help, if you need it, or if you want to risk failing to clock out early. The last thing you need right now is to make an uninformed decision.” Your words were spoken softly. A weight to your words settled over the both of you which felt a lot like understanding. Like; yes it gets hard, but I’ll help you through it if you want to take my hand, but the choice is yours and I won’t sway you more one way or the other.

You really hoped that he’d take the help you offered. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. You can take help for him, in the end he still had to want to get help, even if it came to him on a silver platter.

“I’ll think about it.” he eventually said. He looked up at you, you could see a sheen over his eyes, and you nodded as you patted your gloves against your thigh.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” You said. Then you pushed yourself off your bike and turned to gesture toward the front door of the diner. Time for a tone shift. “You eating?”

“Yeah, yes.” He started, voice far away as if in a daze from thinking of something else, before coming back down to earth like he’d only just heard you speak. “Yes.”

“Alright. I’m not paying for your food though.” you said, smiling slightly as you watched him step off his bike.

“Shame. I was hoping you were going to offer.” Ah, there he was. That sounded more like the Robby you’d overhear in the halls, or listen teach in trauma two.

“Nah, I don’t think your story is pathetic enough for that.” you said, turning to walk toward the door as he stepped alongside you. He sucked in a breath before softly barking out a chuckle.

“Oh, hitting me with that one huh?”

“Not really, but it got a real smile out of you.” you confessed, smiling up at him as you held the door open.

“Touche,” he said, arm moving over your head to hold the door instead to let you in first. As you stepped in, trying to eye a couple empty stools or a booth, you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. “You always wear all that gear when you ride?”

“Now I do,” you said, turning to grin over your shoulder. “I look sexy as fuck in it.”

That comment earnt a genuine grin.

“Maybe I should try it sometime.”

[jeleynai]

Pipedreams 😴

Some pre-relationship pining c:

As always, early access, WIPs and other goodies are on my Patreon!

[nitratediva]

From The Blue Bird (1918). I just published a blog post about this dreamy, little-known silent masterpiece.

[heisshiro]

[pink-disco-bears]

“Aw… it’s a puppy!” You gasped, dragging your friends along as you wandered to the tree line encapsulating your small town. You had just started walking home from a day spent shopping and hanging out when you suddenly spotted the most beautiful stray you’d ever seen. He was laying down by the forest that separated the town from a military base, his unruly light fur almost glowing in the slowly rising moon.

You paid no mind to the wet grass below you as you got on your knees beside the dog, petting him like he was your childhood pet. He didn’t move, just letting you pet him as your friends tugged on your bag.

“C’mon, it probably has like, a hundred diseases,” your friend said, eyeing the dog with disdain–as she did with most animals.

You were about to shoot back with a huffed retort when the dog started growling. You jumped back, and decided to follow your friend’s advice as you all rushed back to the main path and head home.

Later, on the other side of the woods, Ghost walked into the base with a scowl. He plopped down with a beer and said nothing as he sipped on it with a tense jaw. Soap poked and prodded at him, attempting to reveal what made him so pissy. He usually was in a pretty good mood after being able to shift and race through the forest all day.

Ghost gave him nothing but a few choice words that made Gaz laugh from nearby, souring his mood further.

He had been lathered in attention from that sweet towns-girl, only to ruin it by growling at her friend. He would try again, and each attempt where you rushed away–thinking he was going to bite you–he would return to base, dejected and ticked.