Tfw your shapeshifter friend forgets how to turn back into a human and has a crisis

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Misplaced Lens Cap
Cosimo Galluzzi
hello vonnie
tumblr dot com
Not today Justin
trying on a metaphor
dirt enthusiast
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styofa doing anything

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Sade Olutola
h
i don't do bad sauce passes
One Nice Bug Per Day
todays bird
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.

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@waxstick
Tfw your shapeshifter friend forgets how to turn back into a human and has a crisis
Waited all my life for this
Halloween Never Dies
One of 11 Illustrations in the Hack & Slasher Fanzine
Slow burn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there is only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt-comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one shot or multi chapter // kid fic or roadtrip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or middle aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates// sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or gender bend // angst or crack (?????) // apocalyptic or mundane
tagged by @that-gay-jedi
tagging in @annabelle--cane @lesbiacebian @neil-gaiman (gonna say 50/50 he responds lmao) @polyamorouspunk @queerautism @trans-mom @tinydemoncat
posting now with who I can think to tag bc I've delayed it in drafts for way too long
also as always no pressure to reply in a timely manner (lmfao) or at all
Can’t believe you tagged Neil Gaiman in this.
Slow burn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there is only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt-comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one shot or multi chapter // kid fic or roadtrip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or middle aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates// sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or gender bend // angst or crack (?????) // apocalyptic or mundane
Tagging whoever wants to do this!
Lemme just swoop in real quick --
Slow burn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there is only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt-comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one shot or multi chapter // kid fic or roadtrip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or middle aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates// sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or gender bend // angst or crack (?????) // apocalyptic or mundane
Tagging @satans-lil-angel @desadnta @waxstick @noctordick @balderdashofafool @santademikey @peppermintdick and anyone who enjoys hashbrowns
Slow burn or love at first sight // fake dating or secret dating // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there is only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt-comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut or fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one shot or multi chapter // kid fic or roadtrip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance and middle aged romance // time travel or isolated together // neighbors or roommates// sci-fi au or magic au // body swap or gender bend // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane
for my fellow psychotics who struggle with thinking someone is in their house, a method I’ve found that really works are these guys:
i put them on my front door and anytime it opens they ring. that way if i think someone has broken in or i see someone who isn’t there i can think back to if the bells have rung, and if they haven’t i can assure myself it’s not real. obviously it’s not fool proof, like if you are prone to auditory hallucinations, but it has really helped me calm down in time to avoid major psychotic breaks. it’s a real lifesaver
nonpsychotics encouraged to rb
We’re getting at least 3 seasons!!!
“I’m never taking you golfing again, T.”
Don’t repost my trash
Cat!Trev and Mikey based on @waxstick ‘s Cat!Trevor hcs. Hope y’all enjoy, don’t repost my trash.
hi guys i am opening commissions for a little while, reblogs r greatly appreciated! dm if interested, more examples on my blog/instagram ❤️
sketch:
headshot - $10
half body - $15-20 depending on pose complexity
full body - $20-25 depending on pose complexity
flat color/cell shaded:
headshot - $15
half body - $20-25
full body - $25-30
full color:
headshot - $20
half body - $25-30
full body - $35-40
+ $10 per character
+ $15 for a full background
will do gore and mecha and ponies, won't do explicit nsfw or furries (can't draw them well yet)
paypal preferred but i also have cashapp
various examples:
Women
🧡💙
“Can I blame you for every day you didn’t come and get me after that?”
The nerve. The fucking nerve Michael had. For him to point fingers and try to compare what he did to Trevor leaving him to be captured by some gang, as if they were anywhere close to the same thing. At least, in Trevor’s mind.
“No. No you fucking can’t.” Trevor snarls back. There’s sweat dripping down his neck from the heat of the factory, or maybe that’s just the rage boiling under his skin. “You wanted to trade my fucking life for a mansion in the sunshine state with your whore of a wife and two kids that should’ve been a mess on her plastic fucking tits! I left you because you’re a fucking backstabbing, miserable cunt who uses everyone, everyone, you come in contact with as a stepping stool just to get yourself higher on the ladder. You deserved what you got!”
His voice echos off the mental walls, coming back around like a boomerang and striking Michael even harder. The man adjusts the sniper in his hands and clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth ache, a silent beg for him to ease up.
“You always cried about how your life was meaningless anyway. You nearly overdosed every fucking night of the week for a decade. I don’t wanna hear how I tried to ‘trade’ your life, Trevor! You’re the one pricing it at no fuckin’ value!”
The words stole the breath from Trevor’s lungs. Really? Really? This was coming from someone who used to claim the title as his best friend? The person who used to cling to him in the mornings for snuggles, cry on his shoulder while recovering from drunk nightmares, or inch his hand over while he was driving just to wrap his pinkie around Trevor’s, both hands resting on Trevor’s thigh for the rest of the ride.
Had it really all been a mask?
“I loved you.” Trevor growls with undiscovered tears on his cheeks. He still sounded furious, venoms and thorns in his words, but there was something more heavy attached to them this time around. It even weighed his voice down, forcing the man to clear his throat. “I loved you more than anything in the fucking world, Mikey. You gave my life value. You made me feel like I was worth something.” he pauses to collect his breath, more escaping him than he was taking in.
“And you loved me too.”
It hits. Trevor can tell by the way Michael’s gun dips at the slightest angle, his laser focus cracked by a sudden rock to the glass walls he put up. They were thick, but still transparent. Yet, somehow, as quick as the cracks spread through the glass, they disappeared, retracting back to the place of contact like a snake. The glass is smooth again, now another layer thick.
“You were my friend, Trevor.” he says in a tone way too deflated for the situation at hand. Trevor knows; Michael stepped away, went into auto pilot, letting his survival instincts take over so he didn’t have to face the truth. This side of him couldn’t see all the memories and soft smiles, delicate touches and sweet whispers. Just a target.
“I was more.” Trevor corrects, his lip quivering. “And you know it.”
Trevor was getting tired of making this mistake.
Dragging the metal shovel across the foggy grey beach, having just buried yet another man with icy blue eyes. Trevor's skin still tacky from the sweat and saliva left to dry upon it. Barely waddling away from the turned dirt. Barely.
Five times he's made this mistake. Five fucks, five deaths, five weeks. Five times too many.
The first man's voice sent shivers down his spine, with rasps and curses he could close his eyes and swear were an old memory, a faded thing he used to know. The second had his brows, his jaw, his skin, and even shaved his head when Trevor asked. The third liked old Vinewood films, had hips that spilled over his waistline, and couldn't look Trevor in the eyes when he opened his mouth and begged. The Fourth he ran into at a gas station, wearing an old varsity coat Trevor almost had the thought to recognize; they fucked in the truck stop bathroom, and Trevor left him there, bloody and cold. The fifth he leaves in a shallow grave off of Paleto Bay. Having picked him up five miles back simply by his silhouette. Later realizing that this man had distantly familiar hands as he was being thrown into the truck bed three miles later: to become even more acquainted. Trevor drove the other two miles with a corpse in his rearview mirror.
He wipes his face and spits a wad of saliva onto the damp sand. Trudging with heavy legs to his truck still parked just off the road. Five men, Five choices, five events to leave him sick to his stomach. All with varying shades of blue-grey eyes and nostalgic familiarity. All unbelievably, uncharacteristically, disappointing.
Every. Single. Damn. One.
Trevor didn't have to think long to figure out why. It didn't stop him from mulling over the answer, however. Grinding it between his teeth, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Fuming with it balled up in his throat.
Trevor throws the shovel into the bed of his truck with a huff: Closing his eyes, flaring his nostrils to breathe in the salty sea air. Trying to bury that bone deep grief that lives in his veins. The burnt outline of a man he once could reach out and touch, to cherish, something he failed when it mattered most; He fills his lungs with air and listens to the seagulls above. He's screaming.
His knuckles hit the side of his truck first. Throwing himself, next, into the dented metal, to batter his shaky fists into the slick and cold surface. Blood pulsing into his fingers. Kicking the driver side door with his boots. His body throbs with each swing. Slamming his head against the roll cage. Onto the door. Over and over with a long, violent, and choked wail. Trevor whimpers, hiccups, sobbing with the rasp of a broken and empty throat. Collapsing onto his knees and down into the damp sand and rock.
Trevor was tired of searching for Him in every man he met. Trevor was sick and tired of finding him there waiting. In the between. His memory speaking to him behind their eyes, behind their faces, behind their warmth.
The devil is in the details they say, and there is no path to hell he wouldn't take to find anything that fills the hole in his chest that his best friend used to inhabit. His partner used to inhabit.
If that's even what you could call it...
He needed to move on, and yet he still stopped. He still pulled over, and still let another blue eyed stranger in. He still pulled that stranger apart, through screams and sobs and ligament, in a desperate search for a fragment of the man he once loved. A man he once had time to know.
A man he knows he could visit, but is too afraid to face the cold headstone that'll greet him.
Truth is he misses it. What he was. What they had.
He misses when his designated seat was shotgun, fittingly. He misses him every time he tells a joke and nothing but the silence responds. He misses him every time that damn radio plays the shitty rock he used to listen to. Trevor misses pretending to sleep, just to listen to M sing along under his breath when the night drives got long. He misses movie quotes and bad dad jokes and watching him do crossword. Trevor misses sharing coffee and dinner and shirts and beds. Money, blow, women, secrets.
Trevor misses the man who would throw his head into his lap when he was bored and wanted his attention. Misses the man who would drape an arm over his shoulder to relax into his space while talking up a crowd. Boisterous and beautiful, full of energy and life.
He misses when they'd playfight and Trevor would get so frustrated because Michael would always smirk and grab at Trevor's hips to get his way. Always take a wide step into Trevor's space to try and get him riled up; Would murmur and smother Trevor with his hands, his laugh... Full to the brim with a boastful young man's pride. So fucking full of himself and so ready to prove it.
Trevor sometimes misses the man he knew because, when he was who he was, he was unabashed. Unashamed. To poke and touch and linger on him. To exist in the space he claimed his own when outside eyes weren't looking in. When the doors were closed, when light was softened by drugs and alcohol and lust, when nothing but skin and comfort lay between them.
He missed when he caught his best friend staring, with something equally sweet as it was daring. He misses their harmless banter: the one's full of competition and that brutal sarcasm he always spoke with. He misses the taunting playfulness of their behavior and their conversations. He misses the running buddy he trusted with his life. He misses that young man he threw himself into again and again.
He misses him.
-and he'd kill a thousand more blue eyed strangers to never have to miss him again.
First thing you see after you zoom in is how you die
How you dying 👀
ppl on twitter going crazy abt gta 6 while us on tumblr still want michael and trevor to have a hot and sweaty make out session live on camera