#I had sm food

[imjustagirlblog3ger]

Time for a carb induced nap

[jadecantcreate]

theyre holding hands……(and being shy about it)

hootsie and gricko doodles (mostly hootsie)

both requested by @nicohasperished !

[greenlaut]

tea & dates

continuation of bitter tea & oranges

[almondcroissantsandink]

something something if they had found each other earlier

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[owlyflufff]

After all these years, we finally have art of Akaashi eating his supposed favorite food, we've reached a milestone

[prettyprincess-888]

A fantasy involving you:

You are permitted to live in a mansion with a full and expansive library of any books you enjoy. You will have ample time to read as well as solve puzzles. You are allowed to have as many cats as you’d like. And all of it is rent-free. The catch?

You may not wear a single stitch of clothing, other than a collar with a bell on it. You must always be exposed to the Lord of the Manor and to his Lady. You will be trained to assume certain humiliating positions upon command and subject to frequent inspections. “Pet” is what you will be called.

Pets off the furniture! Pets should crawl on the floor. Pets eat and drink out of bowls. Pets do not speak, they may only purr and meow.

Of course you will still have the printed word as a reminder that you are, in fact, a human and an intelligent one at that. But nobody else will see you that way. The owners… the staff… all those guests at dinner parties, as well as caterers? To them you’re little more than a large, hairless cat.

Good kitty.

well damn

that's my new favourite fantasy.

[hischiersjohnston]

GQ | Taylor Zakhar Perez & Nicholas Galitzine Take a Friendship Quiz

Nick + Confusion with Ants on a Log (and What a Neutral Food is)

bonus: Taylor being a little sassy and smug with Nick's confusion after being stumped on the Traditional English Fry Up question

[gotchibam]

Heyo! Sorry for keeping my commissioners waiting 😔 Had to pause working on the latest batch of comms since I had to look around for a good wifi router to replace the one I have that got broken last week (am still disappointed how it didn't even last for a month 🥲)

The thing is I don't have enough budget for it since I wasn't really able to reach even half of my kofi goal for this month (I only got around to 36% u_u) so I need a bit of help ;_; I still have a couple slots open for the PCM style comms so if anyone's interested, it would be a big help! If you'd like to help in a small way instead, tips are also very much appreciated! 🥹🙏

PCM style comms: https://ko-fi.com/gotchibam/commissions

Ko-fi tip jar: https://ko-fi.com/gotchibam/

Thank you sm as always!! Signal boosts are also very much appreciated! 🙏🙏🙏

[a-noodle-named-daemon]

Have Daemon being a very dramatic boy while I heated up his rat last night 🐍

[teacolouredink]

Drawing some lalaloopsy cuties today after wanting to for a while :D I wanted to keep their noodle looking arms like when I draw betty spaghettys 🩷 Hopefully after I draw enough of them it can manifest me finding mine from my childhood lol SHES IN MY ROOM SOMEWHERE I KNOW IT anw the food ones are some of my favourites 🩷🩷 I have loads and loads of designs saved to draw eventually :D The beach one and the umbrella one.. they SPEAK TO ME I LOVE THEM

[enbysiriusblack]

screaming from the characterisation and headcanons of peter pettigrew being all food related. free my boy from the fatphobia.

[erineverly]

the  confession  alone  is  more  than  enough  to  throw  erin  completely  off  guard,  but  it’s  the  sound  of  the  all-too-familiar  voice,  echoing  in  the  foyer  of  her  two-bedroom  condo  again,  after  what  feels  like  an  eternity,  that  makes  the  muscles  in  her  legs  stiffen  and  the  hair  on  the  nape  of  her  neck  stand  up.  her  natural  instincts  urging  her  to  pull  him  into  a  hug,  assure  him  that  everything  will  be  okay  in  the  end,  pretend  he’s  still  hers  and  she’s  his  —  that  it’s  the  two  of  them  against  the  world,  the  way  it  used  to  be  a  few  years  back.  oh,  how  easy  it  would  be  to  forget  about  everything  and…  but  the  more  rational  part  of  her  wants  to  just  stand  here,  linger  in  the  doorway  for  a  while  longer,  and  pretend  she  hadn’t  heard  him,  wishes  the  ground  beneath  her  feet  would  open  up  and  swallow  her  whole,  get  her  out  of  this  strange,  uncomfortable  situation.  why  would  he  say  this  now?  why  did  he  have  to  say  this?  

clearing  her  throat  as  she  contemplates  her  response,  she  absently  brings  one  of  her  now  shaking  hands  to  her  dainty  necklace  and,  to  occupy  her  fingers  with  something,  anything  that  will  help  her  fight  off  the  urge  to  reach  for  the  redhead,  begins to  fidget  with  a  small,  heart-shaped  pendant.  she  opens  her  mouth,  but  closes  it  almost  immediately,  her  heart  pounding  away  in  her  throat,  keeping  her  from  forming  any  coherent  sentence.  for  someone  who’d  been  subconsciously  dreaming  of  something  akin  to  this  moment,  she  feels  completely  lost  and  unprepared,  nowhere  near  ready  for  this  kind  of  conversation.  the  gifts  and  letters  that  he’s  been  sending  her,  all  the  flames  that,  perhaps  involuntarily,  they  have  slowly  rekindled,  every  little  thing  that  she’s  been  trying  to  ignore  for  the  sake  of  their  significant  others  and  her  own  peace  of  mind…  they’re  standing  right  in  front  of  her  now  and  she  can  no  longer  run  away  from  the  feelings  that  she’s  so  desperately  tried  to  suppress  for  the  past  few  months.

gaze  dropping  to  the  floor,  examining  the  pink  nail  polish  on  her  toes,  she  struggles  not  to  get  emotional,  not  to  overthink  the  meaning  of  this  unexpected  visit.   ❝   𝐚.𝐱𝐥,   ❞   she  whispers,  a  soft  plea  ringing  in  her  voice  —  not  here,  not  now,  let’s  not  go  there…  she’s  just  managed  to  put  her  life  back  together,  to  move  on,  or  at  least  that’s  what  she’s  telling  herself.  if  they  have  this  conversation,  it  will  leave  her  nothing  but  a  shell  of  the  woman  she  is.  but  she  can’t  just  close  the  door  in  his  face,  tell  him  to  leave  because  it’s  her  weekend  with  sebastian,  scold  him  for  complicating  every  little  thing,  remind  him  that  he  should  be  writing  letters  and  sending  flowers  to  a  different  woman.  god.  she’s  never  been  strong  enough  to  stay  away  from  him.  she  doesn’t  want  to  stay  away  from  him.   ❝   would  you  like  to  come  in?  it’s  almost  dinner  time.  i’m  making  ‘ghetti  and  meaty-baws,   ❞   she  offers  shyly,  a  hint  of  a  smile  on  her  lips  because  that’s  how  sebastian  calls  them.  meaty  baws.  she  thinks  it’s  adorable.   ❝   speaking  of  bastian,   ❞   she’s  quick  to  change  the  subject,  although  it  breaks  her  heart,   ❝   he’s  been  grouchy  all  day.  i  think  he  might  be  coming  down  with  something.  he  keeps  complaining  about  his  throat  and  has  a  stuffy  nose,  watery  eyes,  sneezing…  you  know  the  drill.  but  i’m  sure  he’ll  be  so  happy  to  see  you,   ❞   she  explains,  opening  the  door  a  little  wider  and  inviting  the  singer  to  come  in  with  a  subtle  hand  gesture.   ❝   see  the  pile  of  blankets  on  the  couch?  he’s  in  there  somewhere.  would  you  like  something  to  drink?  we  have  apple  juice.  i  can  make  you  coffee  or  tea?   ❞

@rcsechild​

[aleixis]

some of the ppl ik from california still follow me and they keep posting my ex because it's his birthday today !!! everyone wish him a terrible birthday !!!

[jessicanjpa]

Renesmee when they took away her human blood sippy cup

[hejihra]