#But it’s obnoxious in general

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

posted without comment

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

This week's Discord Prompt!

JJK X OHSHC

Find @cocoabell drawing here

[sha-brytols]

listen not to pull the "wont anyone PLEASE think of the straight women" card but it has to be said i'm mildly convinced the so called "solas hate" from the devs is actually just misogyny.

[hezenkossapologist]

I should just block this poster bc everytime I see xyr post I get psychic damage

But on the other hand, how could I let myself miss out on “Bellara isn’t Dalish bc she wears shoes”

[clownakai]

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[red-moon-at-night]

Today I present: my attempts at trying to understand Paris' phrygian cap from greek pottery, for science.

[gemsbian]

bad at it

[heliotrope155]

In my far improved version of post canon Dean would spam Cas with dirty messages and then really bad puns any time he was on a hunt and not with Cas. And talk about hot vampires or hot ghosts or hot bartenders until he walked into a wall smirking at Cas's annoyed non replies and realized he'd walked into Cas. It works every time and is far easier than admitting that Dean just wants him around for the hunt.

[bad-system]

equo ne credite, samuel x oc (blasius) drabble Horsing around, and something as tender as a bruise. Set in 1402. before the events of KCD2. __________

“Hah,” Samuel grunted. “Fuck.”

Blasius looked up from counting groschen he’d won the night before inquisitively. Samuel barging into their shared room was hardly an oddity, but him gripping the door with a winded breath was a less common occurrence. 

“Getting too old for the stairs?” Samuel pointed a sharp glare in his direction before trudging towards his own bed and collapsing on it. “Your prized cow kicked me again,” he bristled. He lifted his tunic carefully, revealing a wide, developing bruise on his hip. Blasius, more alert now, crossed the room in two steps to crouch in front of Sam. He nearly reached for the mottled skin before remembering himself quietly, like a coward. “I told you,” he hummed, voice infuriatingly mild as he rummaged through his travel bag. “He hates being fed a kosher diet.” 

Basheer, his beloved bay Arabian, was a fickle beast at best, a fiend at worst. He was a content creature with Blasius’ ever-changing horizons, filled to brim with wanderlust almost as much as his owner. Though recently, Blasius’ unusually prolonged stay at Kuttenberg had started making the animal feel restless. Samuel, by extension, was bearing the brunt of it.

“Farshiltn vildeh khayah,” he winced, undoubtedly venting his frustrations at the horse as he gingerly touched the bruise.

Blasius tossed a calendula ointment from hand to hand as he returned to Samuel’s side. He took a seat next to him on the bed, tutting sharply at Sam when he failed to raise the tunic high enough. Exasperated, Samuel rolled it up higher as Blasius’ long, slender fingers carefully spread the orange ointment over the discloured skin. Smooth, warm. Almost as mottled with want as Blasius himself.

“You’ve been hanging out with my mame for too long.” Sam noted as he regarded the careful, tender motion. 

Blasius snorted. “You could do with some mothering.”

His glee, however, was cut short as he stood up and his knee made a noticeable ‘crack’ in the quiet of the room. He froze for a moment before catching Samuel’s face bloom with a barely suppressed shit-eating grin. 

“Not a word,” he warned.

“By the sound of it, I think you might be fit for the job,” Samuel laughed. Blasius shot him an unamused glare.

“Mind your manners, boy,” Blasius hissed, but it did little to assuage Sam’s unrepentant laughter.

Samuel let himself collapse on the bed with an exhale as he regarded the cartographer again. Though, instead of retiring back behind his desk, he watched Blasius gather up Samuel’s sleeping shirt from the floor—watched, but didn’t expect him to make for the door with it.

“Oy!” Samuel shot up. “Where the fuck are you going with that?”

Blasius didn’t slow down. “Feeding your tunic to Basheer,” he called over his shoulder, letting the door thud shut behind him.

Samuel swore colorfully and scrambled after him, barefoot and cursing.

[themintman]

"won't you be embarrassed to go out dressed like this?" No you don't get it that's the POINT of how I dress I want people to judge me. I look like this so I can control what they judge me for rather than being judged for stuff I can't control like I normally am, like for being trans or autistic. I want people to look at me and think "wow why's that freak wearing goggles and a tutu" instead of just calling me a slur. If I feel embarrassed than that means I think people are judging me which means I'm WINNING and it makes me feel HAPPY okay keep up

[idonthaveacontract]

why are the people on subreddits for TV shows so uniquely stupid and bad at understanding human nature

[ssruis]

Saw a post comparing how tsk sounded at the beginning of the game vs now and his voice was. So much higher and more annoying back then. Starting a conspiracy theory that hirose slowly but steadily lowered tsukasa’s voice over time so that he would be able to sing in character without it being a huge flop.

[obscenicon]

WOE BE UPON YE: 1 MILLION HOMESTUCK PRIDE FLAG HEADCANONS

june: aroace transfem (just canon)

rose: bi lesbian

jade: agender canine therian

dave: bi transfem

jane: bi transmasc

roxy: pan transfem

jake: aro transfem

karkat: bi agender transfem

kanaya: lesbian transfem (also just canon.)

[allgremlinyaps]

jetko knifeplay... discuss

[blondie-drawings]

My headcanon is that Ianthe dresses like an annoying ass tiktok influencer who's trying to sell you something. Also I didn't draw her skeleton arm because I am. Um. Lazy.