#I DUNNO MAN

[annonnex]

Uhuhu i actually tried to draw Sebastian this time(still he looks kinda off to me but like whatever)

[theroundbartable]

Arthur: my servant touched me

Geoffrey: Sire, there is no need for you to worry. There are several law books on how to sack a servant, even if he was promoted for saving your life

Arthur: no

Arthur: you don't understand

Arthur: I need more

Geoffrey: ... Sire, there is no need for you to worry. There are several books on master servant erotica available, requested by several of your ancestors.

Arthur: that's my man

[monkeybebop]

Jesse Pinkman come home the kids miss u…

[ancunincurator]

It just dawned on me that Astarion's confession after killing Yurgir doesn't simply come from a sense of gratitude that you helped him, but from the realisation that his plan is working and yet he doesn't feel good about it at all.

Not only doesn't feel good, but to quote Astarion himself, he feels awful about it.

Imagine how it must feel for real romantic feelings to weave their way between cold-hearted habits, instincts, imprinted across 200 years. Forming cracks in the wall he built to keep any unuseful emotionss away. And instead of reinforcing the baricade, he decides to tell you how he feels, willing to let it crumble away peice by piece.

Which is why, perhaps, the confession post-Araj can feel a little less sentimental. Because it's more a reflection of how Astarion sees himself than a reflection of how Astarion sees you.

Just a thought...

[hyperfixiation-station]

Ex-soldier!reader who nannies Ghosts kidd while he's away on missions. Who notice people who have never been on theirhis street before out and about. Who gets his kid out of the house just before it blows up. Who goes on the run with the kid while Ghosts enemies hunt them down. Who is injured and solely focused on keeping the kid alive. Who makes it to the safe house Ghost gave them "just in case". Who pistol-whips Soap when he shows up. Who almsot cries when the kid screams daddy as Ghost walks in behind Soap. Who resists the urge to run unto his arms just like his kid did. Who end up in them anyways when they collapse from exhaustion and stress.

Who finally gets a kiss when they wake up in the medbay.

[spheresr4cubes]

Rereading again for peak brother interactions: Brother's Blood, by @alicewritingstories

[xyfanficarchive]

returning the favour

Mouthwashing - Jimmy x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Jimmy calls upon you to care for him after you infected him.

Content warnings: fluff, Jimmy, he’s too sick to be much of a bitch in this one.

i wrote this directly in the post editor because im still fucking sick. and sickness is just on my mind. i think he would be adorably pathetic if he were sick. anyways enjoy <3

After the click of the deadbolt unlocking, you opened the door and met with Jimmy’s face- pale and colourless save for the feverish splotches across his cheeks, all chapped lips and puffy, watery eyes, scruffy beard even scruffier than usual. A ratty, well-worn comforter wrapped around his slumped shoulders. His hand retreated underneath to clutch the loose edge closed again as he turned away from the door, went back towards his couch, the slow shuffling gait of an old man with back pain.

“Look at wh-” He started, voice deep, clogged and croaky, but the words caught in his throat swiftly and he devolved into a deluge of coughs, dry and painful sounding. By the third time he tried catching his breath only to start hacking again, you dropped your bags and went to his side, rubbing his back as he doubled over, as his whole body heaved with each attempted expulsion. Though there was nothing to expel from his lungs, you knew that well enough, having gone through the same thing the week before.

“Relax, Jim, relax. Try to breathe slow. It’s that tickle in your throat, huh? It’s awful, I know.” Your own voice was still a little raspy, still recovering from your own week of hell. He caught hold of his breath, each respiration shaky. You felt him tense underneath your hand again but he stopped, wrestling down the autonomous instinct to cough.

“Look at what you’ve done to me…” He moaned at last, soft and weak, and gave a thick sniff through his nose as he stood up, turning his red-rimmed gaze to you. A look of betrayal playing on his face.

“Oh…” You intoned in mock insult, but softened. “Okay. I take full responsibility. But I’m here now to help. Go sit down.” You waved him over to the couch and he flopped down, slumped over on his side and curled up under the blanket, knees to his chest. You shed your outerwear, hanging your jacket on the hook and lining your boots up neatly on the tray. He groaned as you went to bring the bags closer to the couch.

“I’m freezing… I can’t get warm,” he mumbled. “And I’ve never ached so bad in my fuckin’ life…”

“I’ve got you some medicine, don’t worry.” You rifled through the bag, and placed a rattling bottle of Advil and the same bottle of NyQuil he had brought you, now half empty, side by side on the coffee table. “Advil will help with the aches, the NyQuil is for everything else. Let me go get you a glass of water.”

You got up and headed to his kitchen, bringing the crinkling brown paper bag with you, the savoury smell of fried food wafting about. “Are you hungry, Jimmy?”

“No… But I know I should eat. I haven’t really had anything today.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a little plate. You should have something if you’re taking ibuprofen anyways.” After placing the bag on the counter, you opened it, staples tearing strips out as you recalled his feeble voice over the phone: “…and could you go to the fried chicken place? With the good mac and cheese… And fries, and coleslaw.”

You smiled with warm affection, how cute he could be without even meaning it. This was definitely less nutritious than his soup he had so graciously made for you, but it was calorie dense, at least. You took a glass and a plate, and a fork from his cupboards and spooned out a small portion of everything, selecting a prime piece of chicken, and filled the glass with water from the tap. Then, brought both back to the living area, setting them down in front of him.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. He was sat upright now, shivering under his blanket. He had poured himself a dose of the cough syrup and knocked it back with expert skill. Opened the Advil and shook out two little reddish brown pills, swallowed them down with a sip of water.

You went back to your bags, pulled out a big rolled up blanket, and unfurled it, the electric cord hanging from the corner falling to the ground with a plastic thud. “I went and dug my electric blanket out of storage, just for you,” you sang with a grin.

All folded in on himself, pale and clammy, with dark bags under his eyes, he looked so small sitting there, listlessly eating from his plate. It tugged at your heart. “Aww, you look terrible,” you kissed his messy hair as you wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, taking the cord and plugging it into the wall socket next to the couch.

“Thanks, babe. You looked fresh as a spring rose when you were all snotty, hacking your lungs out,” he muttered sarcastically through a mouthful of food, while he took the control for the blanket and clicked it up to high.

You just smiled, gently scratched his scalp with your fingers as you passed by on your way back to the kitchen. “I’m gonna make myself a plate. Hang in there, Jim.” He just hummed. You heard him flicking through channels on the TV behind you as you walked away. Coughed a little, though not as intense as he had when you came in.

When you came back, there was some documentary playing low, and Jimmy was laid down, curled and trembling under the heated blanket, eyes shut, shuddering breaths passing his lips. His plate was abandoned, half eaten on the coffee table, though he had drank the water down. The only free space was at the end of the couch by his feet, so that’s where you sat. Jimmy stretched his leg out, just enough to make contact with the sole of his foot to your thigh. You pulled the edge of the blanket over to cover him and keep his body heat in. Then you started eating, half-watching the documentary that you couldn’t really hear, time punctuated by the occasional cough or groan coming from him at the other end of the couch.

When you were finished, you got up, and Jimmy’s legs retreated back further under the blanket with a low whine. You took both plates and his glass and went to the kitchen, scraping the leftovers into the trash before leaving the plates in the sink. You refilled his glass and returned to the living area.

“…I’m really cold… and it hurts so bad…” Jimmy whimpered, eyes still closed, and you pouted, feeling so sorry for him as you looked down. You set the glass down, and pressed your palm to his forehead.

“Hopefully the meds kick in soon. You’re burning up.”

“Yeah I bet,” he murmured as your palm went from assessing his temperature to caressing his face. You moved to sit back down where you were before, but he stopped you. “Wait- c’mere,” he looked up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. “I want- I need your body warmth…” He pleaded. He sounded so sweet when he pleaded with you.

“You want me to cuddle with you?” You asked in clarification.

“…Yeah…”

“Alright, Jim. Let me in then,” you agreed. It wasn’t a hard choice. “Sheesh, and the way you fought against cuddling me…” You teased in false hurt.

“I hadn’t been sick with what you had yet. But you’ve already been sick with what I got now, so it doesn’t matter,” he lifted the blanket with his one arm and hissed through his teeth, shuddering with the other arm pressed close to his chest while you crawled underneath. You pressed your body face to face with his. He dropped the blanket over you and drew that arm in close to him, crossing them between your bodies for as much warmth as he could. You moved your own arm, prompting him to lift his head so you could slip it underneath and cradle him in your arms. You rubbed soothing circles into his back and he sighed, still trembling slightly in your embrace.

You bent your neck down to kiss him on the forehead, giving little scratches on his scalp through his hair. “You’re gonna get all sweaty and then I’ll get sweaty,” you complained, light and unserious.

“Worth it.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I’m always worth it, aren’t I, darlin’?” He mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion.

You sighed. “Can’t argue with that.” Certainly it was worth it, at least to be the one holding him in your arms instead of the other way around. Jimmy didn’t like to feel weak, or small like that. It was a precious, rare moment for him to let himself be held, cradled and comforted so softly while he curled up and pressed himself close to your warmth. “You are worth it, Jimmy.” You kissed his forehead again, and he only hummed in response.

It was nice. He rubbed his leg against yours, up and down, and gradually his shivering stopped, all while you caressed his back and his hair. His body relaxed against yours, his breathing gradually slowing until you could tell he was asleep.

Your heart softened, an aching outpouring of love flooding through your chest. “I love you, Jim,” you whispered, and closed your eyes. Not much else to do here but sleep along with him, and wait for him to wake up, damp and scrambling to cool down in the open air. But you were perfectly content to lay with him until that moment came.

[blobee]

Explodes (me)

[toxi-works-at-culvers]

the evil of ignorance

dtiys for @glitch-1983 :)

[isogenderskitty]

can we please talk about steph having a bigger body type than the rest of the cast & yet even in a show centred around the theme of bullying it's never so much as pointed out let alone mocked & she's universally regarded by other characters (and a large portion of the audience, from what i've seen including me) as cool and sexy. because it means a lot to me actually

[lifenconcepts]

BRO.. IM A MUSKRAT THERIAN?! Naahhh 😿 you mean I’m this bastard?! /aff …..wet beast…

Augdsghhsh wyd if I pull up to your place and stare at you like this

NAH THIS PAL AT FLICKR GOT SOME BEEF WITH MUSKRATS!???!!

😿 Ik I’ve just been verbally abusing them but they don’t deserve that! They’re beautiful… rats are also beautiful..

[fluffydice]

There’s something so hilarious about Aren being a punk and Kusuo being obsessed with normalcy. Like, Aren’s whole life was spent in a world where uniqueness is an expectation whereas Kusuo would have a genuine meltdown if he were to express himself (depending on his development, obviously). Like:

"You don’t think about ever just…letting yourself dress the way you want?" Kuboyasu asked. "No, never. Why?" Kusuo replied, frowning slightly. The guy shrugged. “Dunno. Is it really all that important?” "Of course it is. There are certain styles of clothing that people associate with different groups. I'm considered a homebody, so wearing comfortable clothes makes sense," Kusuo explained. "Anything deviation from this expectation might attract attention." He could feel himself starting to puff up with pride—he'd had this all figured out since his fifth year. "'S not always a bad thing. Look: say you were to dress up like a punk or something—" "I can't," Kusuo interrupted tightly, nerves slowly creeping through his chest at the thought. "Okay, okay. But imagine that you did, yeah?" At Kusuo’s nod, the other splayed out a hand toward him invitingly. "What’s the worst that would happen?" "Someone would kill me." "Okay then!" Kuboyasu said loudly, snapping his head to the horizon so he didn’t have to look at Kusuo. 'Holy fucking shit, dude, I’ve never met a guy who needed to pop a fucking Xanax more.' Outwardly, he said, "I think you're very normal, Saiki." Kusuo felt himself start to preen again. "Thank you."

[rainee-chu]

Purification

[dailydegurechaff]

Today’s Daily Degurechaff is… dailydegu socmed au

[jessfandrawer]

Logyn panel redraw

Plus some silliness:

[hyperfixiation-station]

Ghost Headcanons

TW: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, SA, abuse, canon typical violence. I got tired of seeing ooc Ghost stuff so here are my headcanons. (Yes, I know this is a repost, I'm sorry, but I heavily edited it so I am just gonna repost it) I'm so sorry. Starts off light, gets heavy under the break

All day Jan 1st it’s ‘I haven’t showered since last year’ ‘I haven’t slept since last year’. He may not be a dad, but he is the king of the Worlds Worst Dad Jokes competition. You've debated getting him a trophy a few times.

He prefers a quiet new years, watching the ball drop on T.V. as opposed to fireworks, (He humors you and Johnny though, and will buy a small pack for yall to set off) He's not scared of the sound, but the people and the being outside in dark in the middle of the night is what gets him. You're content with setting firecrackers off in the backyard.

He delights in the fact that his mask scares children, finds it hilarious. He loves Halloween, even if its not widely celebrated where he's at.

Says the oddest shit sometimes, like things that make you question his sanity. (aka you think the wind is ever tryin to tell us something?)

In a relationship he would be unintentionally emotionally abusive. And I say unintentionally because I don’t think he would realize how much he’s hurting you, because ‘it’s just words’. He would never, ever lay a hand on you, but he would 100% berate, belittle, and demean you.  

Don’t get me wrong, he would love you so, so much, but this man has a lot of baggage.(His father, Roba, Tommy, ect.) He has a lot of anger pent-up inside, and it comes out anytime you disagree, which happens a lot. He would be passive-aggressive and knows what to say to hurt you.

 He is so, so good a picking out your insecurities and using them against you. It was a defense mechanism he learned at a very young age, and it's one he's never grown out of.

He used to resource hoard(still does actually). At the beginning of his day with the 141 he would have stashes of food hidden away, bottles of water, articles of clothing. That specific aspect was trained out of him, but he simply moved his focus to people.

I don’t think he would ever have children because he knows he is fundamentally broken, but if he did, he would tolerate 0 disrespect from them. Again, he would never lay a hand on them, but yelling, screaming, breaking things is all fair game. 

He would love them so much, and would do anything for them, but again, he has a lot of trauma. He would love them though. If he’s home, he goes to daddy-daughters dances, talent-shows, plays, swim-meets, anything. If your kids are in it, he’s there. 

He would not be an alcoholic. He saw what drugs and alcohol did to his family, he would never let that happen to him. He hates drugs, and when he’s in the med-bay even morphine is pushing it for him. He never has more than 2 drinks when his squad goes to the bar. He will not be his father. 

Like I said before, he knows he has issues. And he tries. He really does try. He tries to better, he tries to not be so angry. He really, really does. He doesn't apologize, but he'll come home with flowers if he knows he really messed up.

Sometimes you wonder if its worth it, but then you look back and see how far hes come, how far you've both come, and you decide to keep working at it.

He shows his affection in gentle touches, clasping your shoulder, patting your arm, touching knees together. He’s fine with kissing, as long as it’s in private, and he would have sex with you, but he is not some feral beast. 

This man is not a sub. He would need to be in control, I feel that feeling powerless while having sex would trigger him, yk? On that note, he would not be overly sexual, in fact he barely even likes sex. This man was SA’d and tortured, and he def has issues with it. It took years for him to get comfortable enough with you to do anything more than kissing.

And that's all for now, let me know if you want a part 2, or if you want to see hc for any other characters or specific situations :3