face furniture

I was blessed to meet this lil cutie the other day. wanted to get a nice picture of those beautiful green eyes but she refused to sit still and look at me properly, too busy rubbing her face on the furniture. super friendly though! really wish I could take her home with me :’-(


Guys I am having a grumpy gills kind of day.

*complaining- skip to paragraph *
Took preworkout and left the office to go lift got calls on the way out and got distracted forgot I didn’t have my gym key since someone took my truck this morning for a job!! 😪 went to the house and forgot to grab Holly’s (work call distractions) got to to the gym and cussed… by this time my thin ledge of time was gone and I had to grab a quick bite and head back to work… its hot!!! Aaahhhhh

You guys are awesome!! For the last year to the day I have put in 5.2 million steps! I am healthier and happier and thankful for all you awesome peoples for sticking it out with me! Y'all do rock!
Gloating on y'all makes me feel better!!! 😊😊😊

Ps/TMI - cross your fingers that a baby is made this month! 👶

GOT7: Sexy Zodiac Time 🌚

My BTS version of this got so much love, I figured y’all would like one for GOT7 as well 💞 This is what I think Thot7™️ would be like during sex based on their personalities and 🔮zodiac signs🔮

*This is all based on my intuition/imagination and should be taken light-heartedly


BTS version 🌝

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Lost Boy | TEN

Genre: peter pan!au | a wave of angst  | drops of fluffiness at the end

The star: Ten / Reader

Word count: 7 257 holy crappp

A/N: I wrote this one based on a song I heard. Special thanks to Lauren, for correcting my one hundred and one faults. If there’s any grammatical mistake left, please forgive me. 

Synopsis : “You hurt me, Y/N.” He said, making the saddest face he could. “As you don’t remember, I’ll introduce myself again. Like twelve years ago.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment and suddenly jumped on top of the bed, surprising you. “My name is Ten! I am the tenth lost boy!”

Originally posted by honeyxxxmoon

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Kenneth Branagh explains Poirot’s moustache in Murder on the Orient Express

“I spent months getting that moustache right, that massive piece of face furniture.”
Q: “Was it real?”
“I can’t tell you or I’d have to kill you. *smiles* It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, I did try growing one but Agatha Christie says that Poirot has the most magnificent moustaches in England. So, we created this kind of double-layer twirly moustaches which in itself took so much taking care of, that we got really well ahead of the game with that one, same with the accent.”

You’re Safe Now, I’ve Got You (George Washington x Reader)

This one gets a bit real. There’s a big emphasis on war PTSD and trauma. If those are sensitive topics for you, I may advise against reading this. All that being said, my health isn’t so great right now. We have no clue what’s going on and I can’t function without my pain medications, and they make me quite groggy, so updates may be a bit slower. Thank you for all of your support, kindness and love. I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. Enjoy!

“(Y/N), are you ready?” George called from down the hall.

“Yes dear! I’m coming!” you replied as you finished lacing your dress.

You checked yourself over in the mirror, making sure your hair and makeup were in place, and that you could still function in the tightly-set corset hidden beneath your gown. Giving everything your final approval, you took a deep breath and trotted out of your room and down the stairs to meet George, patiently waiting for you at the bottom.

Tonight, July 4th, 1777, was a celebration of the one year anniversary of America’s independence from the British. You and George were going to go down to the city, where an immense celebration would ensue. There were going to be fireworks, food, drinks, large crowds, singing and dancing. To say you were excited would be an understatement. You couldn’t wait to celebrate, meet friends, and watch George interact with his old soldiers again, and see people pay gratitude and thanks towards him. It was incredibly obvious that you were more than proud of your husband. His accomplishments, ambition and work ethic still left you in awe. You had met him in the war; he was the major general and you were a nurse that traveled with his armada. You still had no clue how or why he had taken such interest in you, but you were glad he did. He truly was a God among men, and by some miracle, asked you to marry him.

You saw his typically stone expression melt into one of disbelief and wonder as you descended down the stairs. A grin spread across his face as you approached him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“(Y/N), I don’t know how you do it, but you steal my breath away on too many occasions,” he admitted, a grin spreading across his face as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

“After all this time?” you asked, sheepishly resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him.

“Yes, my love,” he started, looking down at you with big, warm, loving eyes. “As long as I’m on this Earth, I doubt I’ll ever have a chance to catch my breath.”

You smiled and placed a soft kiss on his lips. You were too lucky to have him.

“Coming?” he suddenly asked, holding his arm out so you could loop yours around it.

“Yes, dear,” you giggled as you linked arms with him and walked out of the house to an awaiting carriage.

Tonight was going to be spectacular.


“Alright, alright! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” slurred a very drunk Laurens, wobbling on top of a table where drinks were being served. The bartender couldn’t even begin to shoo him before he completely fell off the furniture and face planted onto the floor.

The party was in full bloom, with young men drinking their weight in the free alcohol, people happily dancing to the celebration tunes that played in the streets, and children darting through the crowd, laughing and brandishing small american flags. You couldn’t help but smile at the fruits of your labor, an independent country reveling in its amazing spirit. Still, you kept in the back of your mind the families, friends, and souls of those who were lost on the field of battle.

You were sitting with some of your nursing friends, gossiping and catching up with each other. George was seated at a table surrounded by his men, all patting him on the back, cheering him on and offering to bring him a drink. It was clear how much they adored and looked up to him. You grinned with pride.


A shudder rippled through your body as the night was filled with magnificent red and blue color. The streets filled with cheer and applause. The fireworks had started.


You went silent and felt yourself began to shake as another firework whistled as it was shot into the sky. They sound that was left echoing in your head sounded all too familiar. 


Horrible memories that you had been trying for so long to get rid of flooded back into your head. You ran your hands through your hair and cupped them over your ears, as if physically trying to restrain the thoughts from entering into your head. These fireworks sounded almost identical to cannons.


With every sound of explosion, you heard the screams of men in horrible pain, their hands and fingernails tearing at their flesh trying to remove bullets lodged in their bodies. Before you could even realize it, you were vividly reliving a horrific day on the battlefield as a nurse. You let out a small, audible cry for help. Your fellow nurses directed their attention towards you, noticing something was very wrong. 


You let out another cry, and felt the eyes of several people around you. You saw Washington’s brow furrow in concern as he broke away from his crowd of men and began rushing towards you. You were sure that he was calling out to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Your ears were clogged with men howling in anguish at their newly lost limb, or their screams as they were filled with bullets and the harsh metal tore through their skin and organs, their sounds then transforming into gurgled sounds as blood rushed into their lungs.


You couldn’t take it anymore. You quickly stood up and fled down the street, hands still firmly clasped over your ears. You ran. And ran. And ran. And ran. The street cobblestone turned into grass as you furthered your distance from the commotion. You had no clue where you were going or where you were, you just needed to get away. Now. 

As your legs felt like they were aflame, you reached a small grove of trees and with your last shred of energy, carried yourself to one and collapsed under it, your legs folding into the grass as your body slumped against the rough bark. Your chest heaved as you took deep breaths of oxygen and tried to calm down. Even though you had run so far for so long, you could still hear the explosions and violently shook with each one. You clamped your eyes shut and curled into a ball, waiting for it to be over. 

“(Y/N)?” you suddenly heard a voice call out.

You turned your head and opened you eyes, revealing an incredibly worried-looking George jogging towards the grove. 

But that wasn’t all you saw.

Your mind evilly tricked your eyes into having you see your worst nightmare play out right in front of you. You saw dead men laying dead on the ground, their clothes soaked with blood and sweat. Several detattched limbs surrounded you. A man with half his head blown off lay at your feet.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” you screamed. 

You felt arms wrap around you as you were brought into your husbands chest.

“(Y/N), it’s not real! Everything is fine!” he desperately told you. You shook in his arms and felt your emotions begin to flood out of you.

“No…no….no…no…” you said in between sobs. George continued to press you into him, comforting you as the fireworks continued, feeling you quiver with each one.

“Shhhhh…” he cooed as he patted your head. Your breathing was beginning to steady as the imagined images became to fade. You realized their non-existence as they dissappeared from view.

“You’re safe now. I got you.” he breathed as you were still held into his chest, tears silently running down your face.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” you stammered, trying to apologize for your outburst.

“Don’t even dare try to apologize to me.” 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Of course you didn’t. No one does. We’re all haunted by it.” he comforted.

You sat for awhile in silence. You recollected all of the atrocious scenes you had been a part of in the past few years.

“It was so scary.” 

“I know, I know.” He responded softly rubbing circles on your back and placing light kisses onto the top of your head. “But we made it out alive, and that’s what matters.”

You began to sob again.

Please, don’t cry (Y/N)…“ He begged.

“C-can we please leave?”

“Of course.”

He stood up and offered you his hand so you could support yourself. However, your legs, exhausted after such strenuous use, practically gave out from under you. George immediately caught you around the waist, and effortlessly lifted you into a bridal carry. You leaned into him as he began making his way back.

“Now let’s get you home, my love.”

Some thoughts on multiplicity and traumagenic vs. endogenic

We know why we’re multiple. It doesn’t boil down to a simple traumagenic vs. endogenic thing.

We’re autistic, and because of our autism as a little kid we experienced a lot of things as extremely overpoweringly overwhelming to the point where dissociation was a good coping mechanism. These weren’t things that are normally considered to be traumatic, but fairly “normal” things. Like, our own emotions, and also social things. Like, fairly innocuous things like us smiling and other people seeing it was so mind-blowingly overwhelming and terrifying that 3-year-old-us was doing things like covering our face and hiding under furniture until dissociation allowed us to cope with life better and not be an overloading mess all the time.

Is that trauma-based? If so, that’s saying that being our flavor of autistic is inherently traumatic, and we’re not really into that. It’s just how our brain works.

Dissociation + a highly active imagination gave us worlds and people and stories and our system. We like calling ourselves “imagination-based”. A lot of people might find this offensive, thinking imagination is trivial or “not-real”. However, we consider it to be one of the most real and important things in our life. Imagination is a very real thing, generated by the brain, and I think it can be related to dissociation in some very interesting ways.

We ALSO are from a very screwed up family and most definitely were abused and traumatized. We just don’t think it was the origins of our multiplicity. We’ve sorted through some repressed stuff and it had jack-all to do with us being multiple and was also not contained to individual ones of us, was more like general denial and not realizing how screwed up and not-normal some things were until we’d gotten away from them. We definitely fit the “well, things were kind of bad, but not like real abuse or trauma bad, other people have it worse, and nobody ever hit us except that one time and also that other time…” denial thing. Yes, it actually was that bad. Trauma has shaped us in some ways, though. Just not the repressed-memory DID way.

We relate to endogenic multiplicity a lot because we just don’t fit the repressed-trauma-causing-dissociation DID mold, and we think we’d probably be multiple regardless of abuse & trauma stuff just because of our neurology, and as far as we can tell we were already multiple before stuff started getting really bad.

We’ve described ourselves before as an “it’s complicated”-based system. Some combo of our autism, our natural neurology, imagination, trauma… Unless we could see ourselves in some kind of alternate universes where various ones of these different factors don’t exist, and how we turned out in those universes… who knows what definitely factored into it and what didn’t? We’re here now, no matter our origins, that’s what matters.

In the end, I really feel like it’s not anybody else’s business why a multiple system exists, or to judge whether or not those reasons are valid, or whether that system has explored trauma enough to properly declare themselves to be endogenic or not.

In a lot of ways we’re actually sick to death of all this debate and focus on origins and causes.

We’re autistic, queer, grey-ace, gender-weird… For all those things, it’s usually considered enough for us to say that’s what we are, and to just exist.

For multiplicity, though, people want REASONS and JUSTIFICATIONS. Can’t just say “hey, this is who we are and how we identify”.

If people got like this over our autism, queerness, or gender identity, wanting to know WHY we are this way, and wanting to focus on the causes, and wanting to delve into what trauma might have caused these things, that would be considered rude as hell. For multiplicity though, it seems to be the standard. I know things are complicated with this due to links between dissociation and trauma. But on some level all of this stuff still feels rude as hell.

Possibly because we are old and crotchety and have been out of the closet for a long time and are at the point in life where we don’t want everything we do to be about our multiplicity or about analysis of why we are the way we are. In our IRL circle of friends we know systems of all types, trauma & endogenic & other, and we don’t spend our time in some kind of deathmatch over who is the one true way to be multi, we are friends. We hang out and play video games together. Not having the same origins is harming nobody. We just kind of want to exist and have the focus be on WHO we are, not on WHAT we are. However, here it seems like there’s no escaping all this focus on origins and demands for justification.

All the gatekeeping stuff is harmful bullshit. If you’re a multiple system and you exist, you exist. The importance of your origins and how much you want to share is up to you. Nobody should ever have to justify their own existence. Existing is enough.


  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: i'd forgotten how much i thirsted for diego luna after i saw him in dirty dancing: havana nights shaking his lil body for cuba and love and freedom but DAMN DID THE ROGUE ONE TRAILER REMINDER ME TALK REBEL ALLIANCE TO ME BB

Hey speaking of sims rip to this sweet baby sim. She’s alive and completely healthy but she’s aged up now and I miss this cute baby form. 


Mads Mikkelsen’s new Bo Concept Commercial

Vampire Academy - CollegeAU - Part 1/?

Rose POV

I sighed, glancingat Lissa who was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. I smiled and raised my eyebrows.

“This is the one, isn’t it?” I asked. Lissa nodded and clasped her hands.

“Oh Rose, it’s perfect, look at this little breakfast bar! Plus our rooms have little window seats,” she said, grinning and glancing around in wonder. I glanced at my dad, Abe, and smiled.

“Do you approve of this one?” I asked. He sighed and glanced around the room.

“I have to admit girls, it is a lot better than the crack den’s you were looking at before,” he said, pursing his lips and tapping on the walls. He pulled out his phone and stepped into the hallway. I glanced at Lissa and forced another smile. I was worried about her. Right now she seemed happy…but still, I worried about her. Ever since her parents died she had been going through waves of depression. Lissa turned to face me and held onto my hands.

“I can’t wait to show Christian this place,” She said softly. Christian Ozera…her long time boyfriend. I smiled and nudged her hip with mine.

“We’ll need to come up with a system for when you two are being sickly sweet,” I said, pulling a face. My father stepped back into the room and glanced between Lissa and I.

“I hope you’ve both picked your rooms,” he said. Lissa let out a squeal of happiness and jumped into a hug with him. He made eye contact with me and smiled.

“You both know that you can’t escape your fortnightly dinner obligations right?” he asked. I nodded, joining him and Lissa for a hug. He pulled out his wallet and scanned the cards, pulling out one and handing it to me.

“Furniture and essentials,” he said, handing me the shiny credit card with ROSEMARIE HATHAWAY written on it. Lissa let out another squeal and tugged at my arm.

“Essentials, girls!” He reminded us. “Right, I have to go I have a business meeting, goodbye girls,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to our heads. Lissa grabbed the card in my hands and let out a small sigh of contentment. She grabbed my arm and gave me my car keys.

“Let’s go,” she said brightly.

Dimitri POV

I don’t know what I was expecting when Abe Mazur called me asking to meet up with him at the bar he had hired me in…but it wasn’t a flat offer.

“Sorry?” I asked in confusion. Abe arched an eyebrow and took a sip from his glass of water.

“I said that I had an offer for you,” He repeated. “You’re starting college this year. I’ve just bought a block of apartments and I was wondering if you wanted one of them. At a discounted rate of course. I was thinking you and Christian could share one of the apartments. Instead of paying over the top rates,”  

I felt my eyebrows furrow together and my heart leapt in my chest.

Are you sure?” I asked. Abe laughed and looked at me.

“Consider it a worthwhile investment in your future. You’ll be transferred to the bar closer to your apartment,” he said. My heart leapt and I glanced at him.

“You’re serious?” I asked, he nodded and glanced at me.

“Of course, you should know by now, Belikov. I’m a man of my word. I only wish that Andrew was here to see it with you,” he said softly, his voice trailing off. My throat tightened and I tried to stop the thoughts of Andrew flushing my mind. He was Abe’s son…and my best friend. Or at least…he was, before he was mugged and left to die on the sidewalk. Abe cleared his throat and forced a business like smile onto his face.

“The furniture is already at the apartment but feel free to decorate it however you’d like,” He said standing up and dropping a set of keys into my hands. “I’ll be in touch,”

I watched him walk out of the bar before picking up my phone and dialling my mother. Finally, some good news.

I held my bags of clothes and books, balancing them on one hand as I turned the key to the door of my apartment. Then I heard it her laugh. I almost dropped my bags and I cursed in my native tongue, catching the book with my other hand. I lifted my gaze and my eyes met Rose’s.

Dimitri,” she said softly, taking a step forward to help me. I forced a smile and steadied myself.

“I’ve got it, Roza. Thank you,” I said, opening the door and placing my bags inside and mumbling a quick goodbye to the girls. I leaned my head against the door and let out a groan. I was pathetic.

“Smooth,” I heard a lazy drawl from behind me, and I spun round to face Christian Ozera. I rubbed the back of my neck and picked up my bags, heading towards the rooms. I noticed one was open and guessed that Christian had claimed it. I pushed open the second door and put my boxes down on the bed. I let out a sigh and glanced around the room. It was massive.

“It’s great isn’t it?” Christian asked, sitting on my desk and arching an eyebrow at my fascination. I nodded. It was a lot bigger than my last apartment…my last apartment could have fit inside this. Christian ran his eyes over my book collection and raised an eyebrow.

“History?” he asked. I nodded and Christian let out a bark of laughter. “Really, Belikov? We’re going to be living together and this is the conversation I get out of you?” he teased. I smiled and stood up.

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to having someone here,” I joked. Christian leaned back against the wall and smirked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have you talking in no time,” he said smugly. I shook my head and started organising my books. Christian glanced at the Westerns and frowned.

“Are they in Russian?” he asked. I nodded. “Is it hard to read your college books?” he asked, gesturing at the English textbooks. I shrugged and stood up.

“I manage,” I said. Christian nodded and headed for the door.

“I’m going over to see the girls. Do you want to come?” he asked.

No!” I said quickly, too quickly. Christian raised his eyebrows and gave me a pointed look.

“Whatever, weirdo. We’ll talk later,” he said, heading for the front door. I groaned and pulled one of my books off the shelf and tried to focus on it. I was being ridiculous. Rose was my best friend’s little sister…and I couldn’t even speak to her. Not after what happened during summer. I groaned and covered my face with my book. I’m sorry, I thought to Andrew. There I was lying on a bed that by all rights should have been his…crushing on his younger sister.

ok but did shisui ricochet off shit when learning shunshin as a kid. did he stubbornly copy it off someone bc no one would teach a tiny child how to move at high velocity? did he practice indoors. did kagami have to peel him off all the furniture he face planted into. i have so many questions