disturbed one

@murdermayhemandjack Since I’m not going to like. Reply directly because I want both of these to stick together because this??? Like, guys, right here is why those books are so, so important, especially with Jack and Hector and how they interact with each other.

Like. Again, let me say this with a megaphone. JACK SPARROW AND HECTOR BARBOSSA ARE ACTUALLY FRIENDS

The last time Jack saw Hector, he was being forced onto that rumrunner’s island. The last time he actually physically laid eyes on Hector Barbossa, Hector Barbossa was uncursed, unharmed, and completely fine, outside of the mutiny on Jack part. The times that he and Jack were a (admittedly lopsided) team, Hector would make those comments, things along the lines of just kill them and be done with it or whatever, but they were remarks made in irritation, not in seriousness. When Hector Barbossa, on the deck of the Pearl, looks Jack right in the eyes and says, “Now, see Jack, that’s exactly the attitude that lost you the Pearl. People are easier to search when they’re dead.” This was not in irritation. This was in seriousness.

Like, I cannot begin to describe how wrong that must have hit Jack to hear Hector say that without what had always been previously irritation in Hector’s voice. Yeah, it’s been ten years, and yeah, Jack is totally going to kill this bastard as soon as he can, but you know. Here’s a man he thought was his friend once. Here’s a man that, when they met, was literally grieving a pet monkey. Here’s a man that he fell into a quick and easy friendship with over finding a ship full of rogue pirates. And the Hector Barbossa he finds on the Pearl is not that same man.

But you read the books. You watch AWE. And then look at Hector in CotBP. He talks a bit differently. He moves differently. His reactions are always, always slightly…I don’t know. Off. I feel like Jack could see that, that Hector wasn’t reacting the way the Hector he remembered would react to things, so yeah. He did things that would attempt to normalize the situation. Eating the apple was kind of two-fold, imo. It got under Hector’s skin, but it was playful. Which is why I will pound my fist on the table forever and say CotBP Hector is not the real man. You know who the real man is? The actual Hector Barbossa? Remember that guy that told Jack on Black Sands Beach that, “The world used to be a bigger place”? Yeah. Say hi to the actual guy behind the rest of it. Like. Hector was ten years into that curse by the end of CotBP. He was probably hanging on to everything he had left of himself with both hands, and I think Jack knew that. Because Jack knew him too well before everything went sour.

Mac Ruaidh - Part Seven

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six


Jamie could smell her hair and it made his blood hum. He pressed his nose deeper into her curls so that it squished against her head. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her close but there was a small wiggling body wedged between them. Willie’s knees pulled up and unfortunately poised dangerously close to his groin; one wrong move, one disturbance to the lad’s slumber and Jamie knew exactly where those knees would end up.

He felt Claire laugh as she too noticed Jamie’s predicament. She reached down and gently rolled Willie so that he was turned towards her and Jamie’s balls were safe from any unconscious assault.

“Thank ye, Sassenach,” Jamie murmured to her, pressing his lips to her crown. “I miss ye. I ken it’s no right, I ken ye’re safer where ye are… but sometimes I think I’d trade everything for ye to come back to me.”

“Everything?” Claire asked, brushing Willie’s hair back from his brow and tucking it behind his ear.

Jamie jolted awake, reaching instinctively across the mattress until he found Willie’s small warm body, his legs dangling off the bed and his torso perpendicular to Jamie’s like he’d fallen asleep trying to sneak out in the night.

Taking a firm hold of Willie’s shoulders, Jamie pulled the boy back onto the bed properly and realigned him keeping him close. Before Jamie could drift off again, Willie stirred more forcefully and shrugged at Jamie’s hold on him.

“Iss hot,” he murmured sleepily, worming away from Jamie and kicking back at the covers.

“Sorry lad,” Jamie apologized, arranging the blankets so they wouldn’t smother Willie but also so he wouldn’t wake up chilled later.

Willie yawned and turned to face Jamie. He reached over and brushed the hair from Willie’s brow just as Claire had done in his dream. There were so many things he would trade to get Claire back but no, Willie wasn’t one of them. He wondered why the child Claire had carried wasn’t in the dream and tried not to feel its absence was some sort of omen. That child would be past fourteen now; far too old to be crawling into bed to cuddle with his parents. That child had possibly looked like Willie did so that the child in his dream might have been either or both. That child…

“Da… Is Mam dead or is she lost lost?”

“What do ye mean, wee man?”

“Well, Betty said that yer wife was lost…” Willie started, his sleepiness slipping further away with each word. “But Lady Dunsany told me my mam is dead…”

Jamie’s fist clenched reflexively under the blankets. He had put it off too long. He needed to let John Grey know that the time had come, that Lady Dunsany was overstepping the agreed-upon bounds of their arrangement. A quiet word and several more obvious hints to Lord Dunsany didn’t appear to have done any good. Would it be worth it to write to Grey in the morning or could it wait until his quarterly visit in a fortnight? Not enough could be set into motion before Grey’s visit and there was the awkwardness of trying to convey his meaning without Lord Dunsany realizing it when the man inevitably read the missive before sending it along. Best to wait and find a moment to speak to Grey alone––the younger man always seemed to manage arranging a private conversation when he visited.

Willie continued, “And then Cook said I showed up on the kitchen step in a basket one day wi’ a note sayin’ I belonged to ye.”

“Well… my wife is lost but no dead––I hope and pray––along wi’ the child she carried when I lost her… but she’s no yer mother,” Jamie tried to slowly and carefully explain to Willie who only blinked and frowned. “Ye see… she’s no exactly lost––I ken where she is––but I cannae get to her. Do ye remember about the fairies and how they have their hills wi’ stones atop in a circle?”

“They take folks through and put them into times no their own,” Willie answered reflexively. The Woman of Balnain was one of Willie’s favorite stories though Jamie was reluctant to tell it too often.

“My wife, Claire, she came to me through the stones from a time long into the future and when the war was lost… she was carryin’ a bairn and it was safer for them both to go back to the time she came from. So… I’m sorry Willie, but she’s no yer mother. I’m afraid yer mam is dead like Lady Dunsany said.”

“But the note she sent wi’ me didna say she was dead,” Willie pointed out, skepticism heavy and insistent in his voice. “And ye said yerself the fairies send folk to different times. How can ye be sure she’s no my mam?”

The innocence and hopefulness of Willie’s question made Jamie want to burst out in both laughter and tears. Though Willie had seen several horses calve and even witnessed a stallion take a mare once or twice, the path between cause and effect hadn’t formed yet so it would still be some time before the lad realized the same principles applied to humans and how their bairns came about.

“Maybe… maybe somethin’ happened and Mam had to send me back through and I came out later’n she thought,” Willie posited then nodded having reached the conclusion he set out to find. “She’ll come back again, for both of us next time.”

Someday William would understand everything. Someday he would be old enough to hear about Geneva and how and why he’d been conceived. Someday he might not believe the truth of Claire and what she was or where she’d gone.

But for now he did and for now Jamie couldn’t and wouldn’t take it away.

“Aye, lad,” he whispered, resting his head against Willie’s so that the bridge of his nose aligned with the arch of Willie’s brow. “Maybe. Back to sleep wi’ ye now.”

“Did ye meet her on the fairy hill? Did ye see her go when ye sent her back? Have ye met the fairies that did it?” Willie asked in a rapid stream.

Jamie answered with a loud and artificial snore, the vibrations of it in his chest shaking the small body beside him. Willie giggled and tried to imitate the noise sounding more like a wee piglet than anything.

Artificial sounds of bodily functions passed back and forth for a few minutes distracting Willie from his questions about Claire and leading him back to exhaustion.

With Jamie asleep again at last, he pressed a kiss to Willie’s forehead and settled onto his own side of the bed again. He was torn between fear and hope that when he closed his eyes he would see Claire again.

What would she really make of William if she knew about him? Would she feel betrayed––probably, he thought, unable to even complete the silent question. Even if she gave him the time to explain, it would cause her pain to know… just as the thought of her simply raising their child with Frank made his fists clench, let alone the thought of her going to his bed or carrying––no, he shut that avenue of thought down before he could travel too far and lose himself in the dark and shiftless alleys.

Willie sighed in his sleep and rolled toward Jamie, reaching out and taking hold of the sleeve of his nightshirt.

If she met William, though… if she could see him and talk with him… she would fall in love with him too… wouldn’t she?

Jamie was certain of one thing, though: the lad was determined to love Claire and have her for his mother regardless of Claire’s opinions on the matter.

Of another thing he was fairly certain though his heart cried out for it not to be true: none of it mattered because Claire was never coming back.

anonymous asked:

hi! im working on a fanfic but what i can get from wikipedia just isn't enough, so i thought i should ask an expert of french lolitics (and ofc mv XD). so in my fic there's a part where mv meets baroin, and im not very clear about their relationship. i saw a photo of them greeting each other pretty friendly but that might just be the surface...? thank u!

Hi!

Sorry for the late answer!

I’m afraid I don’t know much about the relationship between MV and François L’Oréal. They don’t belong to the same party, of course, but on the other hand, MV has always been well liked by most of LR (including Baroin, I guess?)

Moreover, Baroin stood up for MV when EM humiliated him after the election : 

Je pense qu’il y a des règlements de comptes entre Macron et Valls qui sont d’une puissance…  Et qui n’ont rien à voir avec la bienveillance qu’on nous a vendue pendant plusieurs semaines de campagne. Je n’ai jamais vu une telle violence ! (…)  On aime ou on n'aime pas Valls mais enfin, il a servi l’Etat et dans une période difficile. Il a mis en place l’état d’urgence pour protéger les Français. Ça a marché, ça a pas marché… peu importe mais la manière dont il est traité dit beaucoup quand même de l‘esprit sectaire de ce mouvement qui se veut très moderne et qui en 3 jours appartient déjà dans ses méthodes et ses combines au passé. (…)  Il faudrait beaucoup d’argumentations et de force de conviction pour expliquer que ce qui se passe sur Valls procède de la bienveillance naturelle des relations humaines.”

(It’s unclear whether FB stood up for MV because he likes him or just because he wanted to criticize EM, though.)

However, they’re really

cute

together.

Emoji Rating: Eyes

The original and one of the best. These eyes are eyes that have seen you doin’ the nasty, these eyes are on thot patrol, and these eyes are perfect to use in any situation. My only problem is with how l o n g they are and the pupils look a little creepy. 9/10

Very simplistic. They don’t exactly get the message across and they’re kinda creepy but still cute 6/10 for effort

These eyes look like a portal to the deepest darkest part of Clippy’s soul get them away from me 0/10

The eyebrows ruin it and they look too cutesy for me 4/10

Pretty much just like the Apple ones, but blue. The shading is terrible but I’ll allow it 7.5/10

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THAT’S CREEPY 0/10

Best eyes on this list. The best way I can describe these eyes is “sinnamon roll”. They’re cutesy, but at the same time pervy af. Plus the pupils aren’t disturbing like the Apple ones so 10/10

The shading and the angle are both fucking terrible 0/10

A more simplistic version of the Facebook eyes, but they look more like they’re looking at a crumb on the floor than givin you them bedroom eyes and that’s a bit of a disappointment. 9/10

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THESE ARE EVEN CREEPIER THAN THE HTC ONES -10/10

Why are the pupils so big

Still good tho 6/10

NYA KAWAII DESU MOSHI MOSHI UGUUUUUUUUU 

2/10

The leader of Chechnya reportedly wants to “eliminate” the gay community by Ramadan

  • The alleged human rights abuses against gay men in Chechnya have taken a disturbing turn: 
  • According to one British official, the Chechen president has a deadline by which he plans to “eliminate” the country’s LGBTQ population.
  • Sir Alan Duncan, a British member of Parliament and the U.K.’s minister of state for foreign and commonwealth affairs, addressed parliament on Thursday and spoke about the situation in Chechnya and said that at least four gay man have been killed and as more than 100 have been detained are “of deep concern to the U.K.”
  • And, according to Duncan, the deadline for the violent campaign, set by Chechen President Ramzan Kadyrov, is the beginning of the Muslim holiday of Ramadam — which starts May 26. Read more (4/24/17)

OMGCP is canonically magic in subtle ways.  

Sure, there are the ghosts, and Johnson breaks the fourth wall.  No one questions those (except Ransom, who holds firm to ghosts not being real).

But there are other, small pieces of magic tucked in.  The quarter that stops perfectly in the crack in the floorboards.  The pies that always come out just the way Bitty wants them to no matter how much time he has in the Haus kitchen.  And unless something is wrong, unless the mood is disturbed, Bitty never drops one of them.  The way leaves always cling to Nursey, like he’s static charged, or like the wind and the earth are drawn to him.  The way the Haus’ roof always seems to hold exactly as much weight as it needs to, even when it shouldn’t be structurally sound enough to hold the weight of four or five hockey boys and their much smaller manager.  A little bit of love in the jam that makes Jack warm and happy and calm when he’s going through his pre-game ritual, a feeling he notices most when it was jam he got from Bitty.

There are things that none of them understand but that they accept, because everyday magic is more literal than figurative at Samwell.

Ideas for self care
  1. Make a warm bath with the works - bath bomb, lots of bubbles, lit candles
  2. Cook your favorite healthy meal and enjoy every bite, knowing it’s so good for your body
  3. Go somewhere quiet where no one can disturb you, and allow yourself a big cry - get out all of that frustration and stress
  4. Spend the evening watching your favorite shows with a big bowl of popcorn
  5. Allow yourself at least one day a week to sleep in an extra hour
  6. Call a favorite loved one for a good chat
  7. Put together a happiness playlist for when you’re feeling down and need a musical pick-me-up
  8. Treat yourself to something special like that lipstick you’ve had your eye on or a fresh batch of oatmeal cookies
  9. Clean up your room every night so you won’t feel stressed when you wake up in the morning
  10. Keep a positivity journal where you write down things you’re grateful for and positive thoughts about yourself
  11. Start your mornings off slowly and as stress-free as possible
  12. Plan pamper evenings with luxurious face masks, a fresh coat of nail polish
  13. Always have a favorite candle on hand to make your environment more pleasant
  14. Reserve a day at the salon to get your hair and nails done, as well as a message
  15. Give yourself an afternoon off to do something leisurely and fun
  16. Set your alarm for 20 minutes earlier than normal so you can lay around in bed for a while before you actually have to get up
  17. Go for a stroll through your favorite part of town
  18. Spend couple hours in a cute coffee shop with a good book or magazine
  19. Learn to let things go that weigh you down and cause you stress
  20. Embrace an attitude of gratitude
  21. Allow yourself moments to just let your guard down and be silly for a bit
  22. Unplug from social media for the day
  23. Make healthier choices when it comes to what you eat so you can feel better in your body every day
  24. Do something wonderful for someone else
  25. Enjoy some nostalgic from your childhood
  26. Drink lots and lots of water (try it infused with fresh fruit!) so you stay hydrated
  27. Do something that will make you laugh like crazy
  28. Take a nice long nap
  29. If possible, open all of your windows to enjoy the nice weather and fresh air
  30. Reach out to someone else for help or guidance
  31. Plan a weekend getaway for either yourself or with some close friends
  32. Brew a pot of delicious herbal tea and sweeten it with natural honey
  33. Spend some time journaling and writing down all of your thoughts
  34. Do something creative, like cooking a new recipe or trying a popular Pinterest DIY
  35. Write yourself a sweet note and hide it somewhere - you’ll find it some day in the future and smile
  36. Put on your favorite playlist and have a little dance party
  37. Buy yourself some fresh flowers at the start of every week
  38. Make your bed in the morning so you have something nice and cozy to crawl into at night
  39. Download an app that will send you positive affirmations every day
  40. Spend a little time out in the sun, soaking up that vitamin D
  41. Make a conscious effort to hug your loved ones more often - physical touch does wonders for the soul
  42. Jot down a list of reminders to tell yourself the next time you get overwhelmed
  43. Start and end your day with some light stretching and breathing exercises
  44. Surround yourself with things that make you feel happy, inspired, and at ease
  45. Always congratulate yourself on every task accomplished, big or small

Gravity Falls Year One: Day 24: Sock Opera

@gravityfallsyearoneanniversary

(Sorry it’s so blurry! You know how tumblr is with larger pictures and such.)

The twitter version should be a lot less blurry though!: https://twitter.com/INCmii/status/826198665895301120

Sock Opera is definitely one of the best episodes to look at, not to mention one of the more disturbing ones. Because, y’know, Bill. But regardless, it’s still one of the coolest episodes, that really seemed to stick with not only me, but with everyone else who watched it! Really happy I got to draw something for it!

Long time coming

Bucky x reader

Notes: fluff, hot coffee, Steve and Sam are bratty.

A/N: I needed something short and sweet. So here it is. Enjoy! x 

Summary: a morning incident involving hot coffee finally brings Y/N and Bucky together. 

The moment Y/N walked the kitchen door of the small cabin, Bucky’s eyes were fixed on her. Even though she just woke up and looked a mess with her bedhead and her oversized MIT jersey, he couldn’t stop watching her. As she reached over to the coffee machine she moaned softly -but dramatically- at the movements she had to make to get her daily fuel.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile. She always had a dramatic streak, in a humorous kind of way.

“You alright there, soldier?” He chuckled at her, trying his best to not stare at her ass when she reached up to grab a mug from the cupboard. She wasn’t wearing anything but her cotton panties underneath the MIT jersey, and Bucky wasn’t complaining. 

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  • what she says: I'm fine
  • what she means: The summer between Dylan’s sophomore and junior years was low-key. There was, however, one disturbing incident, and it involved Eric Harris.
  • Dylan hadn’t played soccer since kindergarten, but he decided to join the team Eric played for that summer, and they gave him a shot although he had no experience and few skills. We were pleased to hear he was joining the team, as soccer wouldn’t strain the arm he’d injured pitching. Plus, we admired his willingness to try a sport he hadn’t played in years.
  • Dylan wasn’t a great athlete—he was strong, but lacked agility and the coordination to manage his long, gangly limbs. He did not play soccer particularly well, but he attended practice faithfully. When the team made the playoffs, Tom and I came out to watch. Dylan played poorly, and the team lost.
  • Still sweaty, Eric and Dylan came over to where we were standing with the Harrises. Before we could congratulate them on a good effort, Eric began to scream. Spittle flying from his mouth, he lashed out at Dylan, ranting about his poor performance. Chattering parents and boys from both teams fell silent and stared.
  • Eric’s parents flanked him and guided him off the field as Tom, Dylan, and I drifted slowly, in stunned humiliation, toward our own car. I couldn’t hear what the Harrises were saying to Eric, but they appeared to be trying to settle him down. Dylan walked between Tom and me, silent and impassive.
  • I was shocked by the sudden inappropriateness of the display, and by the extremity of Eric’s rage. Dylan’s utter lack of affect alarmed me too; he had to be wounded, though he revealed nothing. My heart ached for him. I wanted to hug him, but he was fifteen years old and surrounded by his team. I couldn’t embarrass him further.
  • As soon as we got inside the car, though, I said, “Man! What a jerk! I can’t believe Eric!” As Tom started the car, Dylan stared out the window with a blank expression on his face. His calm in the face of Eric’s freak-out seemed unnatural, and I hoped he’d allow himself to acknowledge anger or humiliation as we drove away, but he did not.
  • I pressed him, wishing he’d blow off steam. “Didn’t it hurt your feelings, to have him act like that? I’d be incredibly upset if a friend treated me that way.” Dylan was still looking out the window, and his expression didn’t change when he answered me. "Nah. That’s just Eric.”

“She likes to sing,” the father continues on the subject of Frances Bean. “She’s practicing her vocals. And she seems to be fascinated with the acoustic guitar, which kind of disturbs me. One of my favorite things to say to her is, ‘Leave that stupid rock'n roll music alone; you’re going to be a classical musician, rock'n roll is dead.’ I’m sure I’ll let her do whatever she wants. But Courtney and I both hope she isn’t too interested in rock music. I just couldn’t imagine what rock music will be like for a kid 20 years from now.” - Kurt

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Heaven Sent index >>

Kageyama remained utterly true to his word. When he said he wanted to treat Shouyou well enough to make him want to stay, he had meant it.

The second morning Shouyou woke, again far, far later in the day than he’d ever been allowed at the temple, thanks to his daily duties and the bells that rang just after dawn. But here, at the villa, no one disturbed his rest. Even after he had pulled himself from slumber, he stayed curled under the whisper soft sheets, sinking into the cushioned bed below as the gentlest breeze rippled through the room, tossing his hair on his forehead where it poked out from under the covers.

A fine fragrance eventually caught his attention, sweet and delicate on the air, the freshness of flowers. It was so pleasant that it finally roused him fully and he sat up, wondering what it was, intent on investigating. Immediately, he found he need look no further than his bedside.

“Oh…” he gasped, rubbing his eyes as he took in the sight before him.

The entire floor of his room had been strewn with rose petals, all soft pink and white. 

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anonymous asked:

What about team nice dynamite playing surgeon simulator on a real person

Oh jeez that gets awfully bloody awfully quickly. It’s definitely  one of their nastier games, which considering who they are and what they’ve done is really saying something.

The idea is probably born in Caleb’s office. Michael’s grumbling his way through stitches, reluctantly laughing as Gavin makes a nuisance of himself while he waits, opening draws, playing with tools, theorising about what everything does, miming out increasingly disturbing looking operations until Caleb finally banishes him back to the waiting chair under the threat of a first-hand demonstration.

Still, the idea is planted and not even a week goes by before Michael and Gavin decide to rob a hospital, pick up a few tools of their own, and play doctor. They get everything from scrubs and gloves to speciality instruments and various medications, alongside a few of their own concoctions and no small number of personal knives. Their ‘surgery’ is an abandoned warehouse; not even one of Geoff’s, just somewhere private where no one will notice them making a mess. And boy do they make a mess.

Their first involuntary patient is a very bad man indeed, cruel and nasty and just generally lacking in heart. So they take his out. Dig around for a bit, surprised by the effort it takes to get through the ribcage, wondering at the sheer amount of blood, the various strange bits and pieces they rummage through, organs they examine then toss to the floor to continue their quest. Astonishingly the patient does not survive, but they manage to extract the heart before it stops beating so at the end of the day they call it a successful endeavour.

For the next sorry contestant, who had the misfortune of witnessing something he shouldn’t have and running his mouth in the wrong company, there is a very delicate eye surgery, followed by a far less delicate experimentation to determine which vaguely eye-shaped objects found laying around the penthouse would make the best replacements.

There’s a dirty cop working for the wrong gang whose night ends with his brain on the floor, a noisy thorn in Geoff’s side who involuntarily donates his kidneys to science, a brief foray into dentistry leaves a crook without their teeth, an arms-dealer who got a bit too touchy loses an arm, and in a move that’s more petty than anything else, a wanna-be conman who thought he could manipulate Gavin of all people gets to accidentally teach them just how quickly a person can bleed out when they’re missing their tongue. 

With all the compassion of serial-killers, the selfish amusement of egocentric children and the in-built bravado born from the unwavering support of a best friend the only end in sight for this awful new game is the inevitable moment Team Nice Dynamite gets bored and moves on to something else.

The rest of the FAHC doesn’t know what they’re up to in their spare time but have seen enough shared looks and whispered plans to know they’re doing something, have witnessed more than enough of that particular brand of nasty delight to know it’s something devastating. Still, when casual inquiry reveals nothing more than a pair of matching grins, somewhat secretive and entirely wicked, it’s generally agreed that it’s best to just sit back and wait for the mayhem to roll in.

Which is all well and good for a while, but eventually Jeremy and Ryan are bored enough, curious enough, nosey enough to give up on patience and track them down. It’s not particularly difficult, they’re not really hiding, but what has been seen cannot be unseen and Jeremy, for one, desperately wishes he’d left Ryan to investigate on his own. Ryan stands in silence, reaction hidden behind his mask though Jeremy fancies that there’s something upsettingly amused in the way he surveys what is undoubtably a makeshift surgery, eyes sharply interested as they flick around the room, to the blood on the floor, the walls, to the body on the table, the wailing heart-monitor and an IV bag filled with something oddly glittery.

Jeremy is feeling slightly less impartial. Maybe it’s just the surprise of it all; he was expecting another firework bomb, maybe a kidnapped cop or the makings of an elaborate prank, anything other than the cold, still, Dexter-like vibe of this particular undertaking. It’s almost too much, too disturbing, even with everything the FAHC have done, everything he himself has done. Perhaps it shouldn’t be, maybe it’s no worse, not really, but in the shock of landing in what looks like a horror movie torture room Jeremy can’t help but think that this is something else, that this is terrible.  

Then Gavin tears through, squawking up a storm and holding two eyeballs up over his head like they’re watching Michael, who’s roaring with laughter and whirling something pink and fleshy around like a lasso as he gives chase, and just like that the moment is thoroughly broken. Ryan snorts, turning on his heel and heading out the way he came but Jeremy can’t quite make himself leave, can’t even stay silent, not when Michael slides through something unnamable, wiping out into a tray of instruments and going down under a bombardment of misplaces organs like the worlds goriest slapstick routine.

The sound has Gavin finally catching sight of Jeremy, eyes widening in shock before he grins, wild and disastrous as he crows out a greeting, calling for the illustrious Doctor Dooley to come in and save him from the heavy-handed fumblings of Doctor Jones, and honestly at that point there’s really little else Jeremy can do but start looking around the room for a spare pair of gloves.