Fave Exes Lol

WHAT I IMAGINE CHB TO LOOK LIKE

crazy knights and wild went to overtime just to see who gets to lose to the avs later

DUNE

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

PAUL ATREIDES/FEYD-RAUTHA

we dream of knives – one shot. angst.

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

CHANI KYNES/IRULAN CORRINO

brock nelson just took a stick to the nose... safe to say he's seeing stars... i'm funny right?

Hes so funny BUT PLEASE FREE HIM

Charles: is there a leakage?

Pit: a leakage of what?

Charles: I have the seat full of water, full of water!

Pit: ahhhhh.... It must be the water.

Charles: lets add that to the words of wisdom

“it has to be so painful for the colorado fans watching this”

eat my ass

what you do when my polycule pull up

new video from today… IT CAST REUNION WHEN💔💔

I think it’s worth a shot guys

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

moving into a house together after college wasn’t exactly the smooth transition you’d hoped for. the idea sounded nice in theory: both of you finally out of the chaos of dorm life and finding some semblance of normalcy in the real world. you quickly realized that your expectations had to shift. everything about this new chapter in your lives felt different from what you imagined, and not in the easy, carefree way you’d hoped. it was messy. in more ways than one.

the first sign things wouldn’t be a walk in the park was when you both arrived at the house, a modest two bedroom tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. the previous owners had left behind remnants of their lives, old furniture, strange smells, and more dust than you’d care to acknowledge. it was the kind of house that had potential, sure, but needed a lot of work. you could already see michael’s hesitation as he stood by the door, scanning the space with that distant, unreadable look he always wore. he didn’t say much, as usual, just shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "it’ll do," was all he muttered. and that was that.

the first day of unpacking was a mix of frustration and awkward silence. you both had a lot of stuff, old books, clothes you probably should have thrown out years ago, random trinkets and mementos that didn’t make any sense. michael didn’t say much, just quietly took boxes from the car and brought them inside. you tried to talk, tried to make small conversation, but his replies were short and detached. when he did speak, it was almost like he wasn’t really speaking to you at all. the words were more of a distant observation. "this stuff’s not going to fit in here." "we’ll need to fix that." he wasn’t unhelpful, but he wasn’t exactly engaged either. it was like there was this invisible wall between the two of you, and every time you tried to climb over it, you realized it was sturdier than you thought.

and then came the furniture. or, rather, the lack of furniture. michael had picked out the couch, a ragged, secondhand thing that seemed like it had been through at least two decades of college parties. but the rest of the house was bare. you went to the store together to pick out a few pieces. it should’ve been a fun experience, but it turned into a disaster. michael was overly picky about everything. he didn’t want anything too “fancy” or “flashy,” and while you understood that, you started to get frustrated by his refusal to even consider anything that might bring a little color into the space. every time you found something you liked, he would shoot it down with a single look, a soft grunt of disapproval, or, worse, silence.

"what about this one?" you’d ask, holding up a throw pillow that was soft and vibrant, the exact opposite of everything he usually gravitated toward.

"it’s fine," he’d respond, barely glancing at it, like it didn’t matter at all.

"you don’t even like it, do you?" you would press, your voice a little sharper than intended.

"it’s a pillow," he’d shrug.

you knew better than to push too hard. michael wasn’t someone who took kindly to being told what to do. so, you tried to pick your battles. but the mess kept piling up, and the tension never quite dissipated. on days when the house seemed especially chaotic, when the boxes were still scattered across the floor, when the furniture still hadn’t found a permanent place, when it felt like nothing was in order, he’d retreat into his own space. it was like he couldn’t deal with the noise, the mess, or the feeling of being trapped in this house that wasn’t quite "home" yet.

the first real argument came on the third night, when the kitchen was a disaster and you were tired of cleaning up after him. you hadn’t even meant for it to escalate, but something in the way he carelessly left his things all over the counter, again, broke something in you.

“michael, seriously?” you asked, your voice low but edged with frustration. “you can’t just leave your stuff everywhere.”

he turned to face you, his expression unreadable, a mix of annoyance and something deeper. "i’m not the one who’s making a big deal out of nothing," he said, his voice quieter but sharp.

"it’s not nothing! it’s about respect!" you snapped, your hands gesturing wildly toward the mess. "this house is a mess, and we can’t even get anything done because you won’t help with anything!"

the silence that followed was thick, suffocating. michael’s eyes darkened, like he was suddenly somewhere else, his thoughts miles away from the moment. "i’m doing the best i can," he muttered under his breath, but it was almost like he wasn’t talking to you at all.

you didn’t know what to say after that, and you both just stood there in the kitchen, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. you knew he wasn’t the type to open up, to tell you what was going on in his mind.

after that fight, things were quieter for a while. you both settled into a routine, kind of. the dishes still piled up, the boxes still went unpacked, but somehow, the house started to feel a little more like home. there were still awkward silences, still moments where michael would disappear into his own head for hours, but there were also moments of calm. times when he would sit next to you on the couch without saying anything, but you knew he was there.

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