#In fact I have! And I'm not afraid to do it again

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Buck's at the grocery store buying his umpteenth bag of flour when he sees a very familiar silhouette waiting in line at the cash.

Tommy.

Three months apart and now they finally run into each other?

At two am at the closest twenty-four grocery store Buck could find? When he's dressed in a pair of holey sweatpants and a stained hoodie with dirty hair and a face full of scruff? No cart! Just him and his twenty-pound bag of flour that he's cradling to his chest like a powdery security blanket?

Amazing.

Awesome.

Fucking perfect.

Exactly how he's pictured it.

As Buck gets closer though, his eyes narrow at the sight before him.

Not at all like he's pictured it.

Tommy's shoulders curl inward as he hunches over his cart, head low. His threadbare shorts hang off of him in a way they never would have three months and one day earlier. His feet are shoved into his shoes without socks.

Tommy hates going without socks.

His curls have grown long and messy, lying limp against his scalp.

Buck carefully sidles up beside him, not quite in his field of vision yet, frowning at how pale Tommy's skin is. Practically grey.

He looks like shit.

For one whole moment, Buck wishes he could feel some kind of vindication—gloat, maybe—but he doesn't have the energy.

Or the heart for it.

And one glance into Tommy's cart has him refocused on being incandescently enraged over the bullshit currently sitting in there.

"What the hell, Tommy?" Buck bursts out, making the man jump and whirl around.

"Ev—Buck, what? What are you doing here? What's—what's happening right now?" Tommy stares at him, wide and unblinking, like he's afraid to take his eyes off him.

"What's happening is I'm saving you from this cartload of crap," Buck says, elbowing his way past him to gain possession of the cart.

He shifts the bag of flour to one arm and uses his free hand to pull out the package of bakery donuts that somehow manage to look cracked and soggy all at the same time.

Then the box of cookies that he knows for a fact taste like they're one step away from cardboard.

Then the cake that says 'Happy Birthday, Leo!' and has a seventy-five percent off sticker on it. He side-eyes Tommy for that one.

Tommy makes a face right back.

Buck keeps going, pulling out the lemon loaf that doesn't actually look too bad, but whatever—his is better.

Everything of Buck's is better than this crap.

...Tommy just doesn't know that yet.

"Just stop! For one second." Tommy reaches out to grab Buck's wrist before he can grab the package of—gross—bran muffins. He takes a deep breath before he finally meets Buck's eyes.

"What is this?" he asks again quietly.

"Me, actually stopping you from making a mistake this time," Buck says, yanking his wrist back with a scowl. He falters for a second when his own words register in his brain, but he shakes it off and grabs the muffins out of the cart, dumping them beside the cookies. "This stuff is all terrible. You deserve better, Tommy."

"It's what they have," Tommy said tiredly.

"Yeah, well, I have better stuff at my place." Buck sets his flour down in front of the unimpressed-looking cashier. "Sorry about that," he says, digging out his wallet. "We'll just take this. And these."

"Oh, I'm allowed to keep the oranges?" Tommy rolls his eyes as Buck grabs the bag out of the cart and places them alongside his flour.

"For now," Buck snips back.

Maybe he'll make an orange loaf.

Right after he convinces Tommy to come back to his place and he feeds him edible baked goods and—and maybe they talk and...

Yeah.

This isn't a half bad plan.

He can work with this.

"Just the flour and the oranges," he says to the cashier, pulling his card free as he flashes a grin at Tommy. Feeling it spread wider when the corners of Tommy's mouth twitch reluctantly in return.

He can work with this.

[tricksh0t]

helping hand (Hamburger Helper)

jaime lannister x m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ dw about the hamburger helper its a joke

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.14k

cw: handjob, frotting, spit, sub Jaime, dubcon, swearing

Jaime is stressed. Actually, Jaime Lannister is stressed, because all his troubles seem to stem from his house duties.

Jaime knew that his father, Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, seasoned army commander, war winner, and expert at giving disappointed looks was likely to strip him of his titles and send him back to Casterly Rock to continue the family line if he so much as made a single mistake, even going as far as taking back his words of disowning him, now that his little brother, Tyrion, was a very persecuted criminal. A breeding mare, he would be, because as much as Jaime hates to think about it, he is a one-handed knight who lost his sword hand.

If there's something he has, it's his cock, and it works; but he can't say it stands proud anymore, because his secret sister-wife Cersei denies him so much as a hand and he is nothing but blisteringly loyal to her.

So here he is, sexually, emotionally and physically frustrated, without his usual duties to fulfill like flaunting his sword.

The only thing that's not Lannister about his troubles is actually Tyrell, or rather, the cocky knight his new to-be-in-laws have brought with them from Hightower to become part of the King's Guard, you.

Already, you think yourself a God not to be fucked with, the second coming of Ser Meryn Trant, not for the asshole's skill but for his arrogance and blatant discourtesy.

What you have over Ser Meryn is actual skill as a swordsman, something you are right to be proud of, if you weren't so arrogant about it. Then there's your looks.

The Tyrells and Hightower love to be pretty. Margaery is a good match for his son already, despite what Cersei says, she is pretty on the outside as well as the inside. Loras, the Knight of the Flowers, is a popular bachelor, even though he has apparent, different tastes, he knows how to use his looks to fool a girl for his house duty. Olenna, though old, still decorates herself with the finest dresses and jewelry, almost as if it is second nature to her.

Naturally, you must be pretty too. You're not a Hightower kind of pretty, though, you're handsome, more rugged, scarred. You wear the Tyrell colors, their embroidery, their style, and yet you remain in Jaime's eye different.

It's too bad you're an asshole. He might've been good friends with you.

Jaime doesn't know why he's thinking about you while he's doing this. Initially, he'd just screwed his eyes shut to try to empty his mind and think of better things.

He tries to drift his attention towards what he usually likes, another's soft hands he's proud to have kept soft; long, flowing, and wavy blonde hair, emerald green eyes; but then he finds himself thinking of you again.

Rough hands that might just feel good on him, short hair, narrowed, mocking eyes, and another mocking smile to accompany them. Then muscles beneath armor, then muscles beneath nothing, then sweat and that sword hand wrapped around your sword and then imaginatively, wrapped around his cock.

And it's getting him off.

Imagining the hand he's got around him is yours is a filthy, guilty pleasure he'll never admit to, but it only helps that it's his left hand, because it feels foreign.

"Need a hand?"

Jaime jumps. His eyes snap open and he flings his hand away, only to sloppily pull up the sheets of his bed to cover himself decently.

"Just what are you doing here?" He asks, because he knows you've heard of knocking.

Evidently, you spy on the fact he hasn't gone soft. You continue taking steps forward. "I asked you a question first."

Jaime steels his dignity to speak next, "Jerking off is a one-handed thing, I'm afraid."

"Not going to take my so very kind offer?" You only stop nearing when you get to the edge of his bed.

You look down on him like you're in some position of power over him, even though he has all levels of seniority on you, because that is how you are. Cocky and arrogant and self-entitled.

Jaime sits up, but you push him back down, placing a hand on the unlaced front of his sleeping tunic, on his chest. His weak flesh hand comes up to fight yours, clutching at your wrist. His gold-plated, heavy hand is useless, and thus though he may not surrender, he cannot push you away.

You suddenly place your other hand beside his head, making him jump pathetically, but he is unable to go elsewhere as you lean down to whisper, "Let's not pretend that you do not fancy me, Kingslayer."

Your hand plays the part of a seductress, pushing his tunic loose around the top to caress at his hairless, toned chest. A warm touch, and he was right: a rough one too, the pads of your fingers are calloused.

"You swore an oath when you joined the King's Guard."

"You did too."

Jaime clicks his tongue at your audacity, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. You only return a smirk, that damned smirk, audacious and playful.

And then the seductress trails a path down the line between his pecs, down his sternum and abdomen, slipping below the covers to do so.

Jaime doesn't fight this time, in fact he lets go of your hand, and you can tell it's because he wants it.

His narrowed eyes change expressions, from an angry glare into a look that tells you he's watching you.

They only narrow further when you lift his tunic to trail your fingers not around his cock like you know he wants it, but down his happy trail. You take your sweet time swirling the short, thick hairs around your fingers in circles, thumbing at the end of the trail and the beginning of the tactile, trimmed bush. You switch from your whole hand to two fingers, tracing down the messy, crooked trail until you're almost at the base of his length.

Jaime is about to complain about how you edge right around it, but then you're suddenly grasping the base in one full hand.

He gasps.

Rough, is his first thought. Rough because of how tough the palm of your hand is, calloused and worked, and rough because you spare him no mercy in how tight you grip him.

"Softer, ass–" Your eyes silence him, that smirk again, you're in control of his pleasure. Jaime sighs, "please."

The pleasure lighting up in your gaze brings him no pleasure, not until you move your hand and, "Shit."

He tries to keep stoic, biting his lip to keep his mouth closed. It's a fight in it of itself, one he can fight. Though he has lost his swordsmanship, he has not lost the discipline and endurance that come with it.

However, the simple motion of your hand makes him want to roll his eyes back, even though you're barely doing him any good.

Already an electric shock fires through his body. His left hand feels foreign, yes, but it is slow and the fog of pleasure forming in his mind would make it sloppy. Your hand is perfect; actually foreign, big and motivated.

Jaime hasn't been the best swordsman in Westeros in a long time, and so he finds that he is losing his patience. The sexual frustration and this very moment are evidence of it, because he finds pleasure in all of it.

When your face leaves his view, it makes his eyes refocus. He looks down at you as you lean over his cock and not take it in your mouth, but let your spit drool over it.

"Fuck."

It's a sight, the new asshole of the Red Keep pleasuring him willingly, eagerly at that.

You spread the drool over his length evenly, but then only pay attention to his tip, thumb pressing against the slit and swirling.

His hand finds the back of your neck, an outward, sudden thing through the fog of pleasure and unmediated strength. "Don't make this impersonal, at least."

"If you can sit a while, darling."

Jaime rolls his eyes, but sits back and waits.

He's seen your body before, your boundless muscles and scarce scars, but of course he hasn't seen your cock.

You don't make a show for it, but his anticipation only makes things feel slower as he watches you undress. Just the faulds and scale groin guard, and then your pants and underwear, and the wait is much too long.

He reaches out to help, but you push his hand back against the headboard roughly. Jaime scoffs, and you only laugh in turn.

"Asshole."

You take your time, and Jaime takes his to watch. He bites his lip at the sight of your V line, but he focuses more on your hairy happy trail, lets his eyes follow it down the more you expose.

Your cock slaps your abdomen when you finally free it, and Jaime has to bite back an exclamation when he sees it.

He hadn't noticed, but precum had been dripping down his length as he watched. You press the tip of your cock against it, against his, collecting and spreading the pre around the both of you.

Jaime groans.

"Is it personal now?"

"Uh-huh." Jaime huffs breathlessly, eyes glued to what you're doing to him.

You straddle his legs and slowly press your cocks together lengthwise. He has no time to dwell on the size difference, before you're wrapping your hand around the both of you at the same time.

Jaime's breaths grow to match the pace of your hand, slow for now. His eyes close.

"Jaime."

"Hm?" Lazily, they open once more, only to widen when you part his lips and keep them open with your thumb at the corner of his lip.

Drool gathers at the bottom of his mouth forcibly, and he can't do much about it, not until you tell him to spit into your hand.

With his mind truly lost now, he obeys, and you soon spit into the same hand and use the mix to continue jerking the two of you off.

It's disgusting, a mix of your spit and his that will soon be accompanied by both of your seeds.

There's a wet squelch each time your hand reaches the top again, and that's disgusting too.

It's disgusting, but a part of him feels like he's missed this. A foreign hand, a sexual partner, pleasure like he's never had before, and he could only ever want more.

It's disgusting, but it's so fucking good.

Jaime's hips buck into your hand, wanting more and only more.

You're not selfish, either. The attention you pay to his cock makes it swell all the harder. It's almost as if you're servicing him, and only him.

When you add more spit into the mess, right on the tip of his cock, he yelps. His hand reaches for your wrist, and yet it does nothing to stop you.

He can't stop the moans from spilling from his mouth anymore, a steady "uh uh uh".

The coil in the pit of his stomach turns and turns, coiling and making him clench his stomach. He's close, so very close.

More pre weeps from the tip of his cock, and you swirl your finger around the tip, spreading it around.

Jaime's eyes focus once more on the movement. He winces, "Please."

But you're an asshole and he's forgotten that.

You wrap your hand around the both of you weakly, languidly dragging it up and down your cocks. It's not enough for him, not after how mind-blowing you were, not while he knows how mind-blowing you could be.

In a spurt of determination, Jaime's hand wraps right around yours.

No longer weak, his left hand guides the movement again, rough and fast that has his reactive hips bucking in tandem too.

You're very clearly amused but he does nothing about it.

No, he's in control now, doesn't need you.

Jaime chases after his pleasure, as he deems he rightfully deserves. He uses your hand like a vessel, a puppet, just to get off.

Hips bucking, pre and spit squelching, tip swollen red; it's instinctual, animalistic, the way he chases to snap the coil in his stomach with no regard for his energy.

When Jaime finishes, it's his first in a long time, and it has his entire body going limp.

His cum washes over the both of your lengths, but he's already got his eyes closed when it does. He doesn't know when you finish, only that it's later.

"Do I get a thank you?"

Jaime opens his eyes and looks at your now clothed body, then at his cock. His spit, your spit, his cum, yours. His nose turns up.

"No."

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"EXTRAORDINARY"

A short fic with Friedrich Harding (Aaron's character in Nosferatu)

I hope you like it!

The first time Friedrich saw you, you were covered in blood.

You were a nurse at the city hospital, and you had just performed surgery on one of your patients to cure him of the evil that was taking over his body.

You were heading to the room next to the medical procedures to change your clothes, when he saw you.

Friedrich didn't know why he was more surprised, whether by the blood, or by the fact that you were wearing pants and dress shoes like a man.

He had never seen a woman in that outfit, so when he saw you he stopped to look at you closely.

The shirt you were wearing, which had previously been white, was now stained with blood and other things, which Harding had no intention of knowing what they were.

You both looked at each other for a moment without saying anything, until you broke the silence with a question:

-Can I help you with something, sir? - you asked pleasantly-

He cleared his throat, looking away slightly, as if he had realized that he was scrutinizing you too much.

-You are very kind, miss, but I do not need your help at this moment - he answered politely - however, I would like to know the condition of the patient whose operation you have carried out

-He cannot speak at the moment - you answered, you paused for a moment - excuse me, but I would like to get all this off my chest - you pointed to your clothes - we can continue this conversation in the bathrooms, if it is not inconvenient for you

-Of course not - he answered, gesturing with his head for you to lead the way - please - he indicated pointing to the hallway where you were -

You opened the bathroom door and he entered after you. He stayed there covering your back.

From time to time your eyes connected again through the mirror.

You took the bar of soap that was on the sink and rubbed your hands and arms up to the elbows with hot water.

-The patient I was talking about came in with convulsions at six o'clock this evening," you said as you wiped the blood from under your nails. "I had to operate on him urgently, as he was suffering from cardio-respiratory arrest due to the amount of blood accumulated in his lungs," you said, remembering how the procedure had been. "So I emptied his lungs so he could breathe." You dried yourself with the paper next to the faucet. "I've given him several opiates so he can get some sleep."

-Will he be okay? Friedrich asked, stunned after hearing your story

He couldn't have done it, he would have fainted on the spot.

His blue eyes landed on yours, making you suddenly nervous.

-I reckon he'll be able to return home to his family in a couple of weeks -you replied-

-Extraordinary -he murmured, looking at you curiously- It's been a real pleasure meeting you, Miss - he replied, touching the brim of his top hat in a sign of respect. But I'm afraid there are matters that require my immediate attention-

-Of course, sir. I wouldn't like to bother you or interrupt your chores, --you said- -You haven't - he reassured you, smiling kindly - maybe we'll see each other again someday

-I hope not - you replied quickly, and you hastened to add - if you do, it would mean that you're ill

-Then it will be a relief to know that, if that happens, I'll be in good hands - he smiled, leaving the room.

[lena-thinks-too-much]

Batdad's Mediocre Parenting

It should be noted that this headcanon is my take on fanon Bruce and has not resemblance to canon Bruce mostly because Bruce's parenting skills are wildly inconsistent in the comics.

So Bruce is kinda of a head over heart kinda guy right? As someone with a dad who approaches emotional problems with pure logic and nothing else, I kinda get it. Genuinely, if I hear "think like an engineer" while I'm going through a crisis one more time I'm going to break something. (I love him though, he's doing his best)

Bruce Wayne who loves his children and isn't great at expressing it. Bruce Wayne who wants to make all their problems go away but isn't particularly cognisant of how they would want to go about that.

Bruce Wayne who appeals to their logical side because that's what he understands best.

I think this is why, when his kids mess up, Bruce has a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth. Emotions muddy the mind and make decisions difficult. Solution? Push the emotions aside and focus on cold hard facts. But his kids are teenagers who aren't as emotionally constipated as he is so they can't actually do that.

So everytime he fires or benches someone, he thinks it's obvious it's out of concern. "You're acting rash and impulsive" or "you disobeyed direct orders" translates to 'I'm afraid you're going to get hurt'. But they don't hear that part.

I think the source for this theory is actually from Tim's run as Robin. I know I said I wasn't going to bring canon into this but it's relevant.

So right before Tim officially quits as Robin because Jack Drake finds out, he was actually indeterminately benched(it was like a couple weeks or so), followed by him quitting. Actually they day Jack forces him to quit Tim had just made up his mind to be Robin again

This was because of a series of events where a villain attacked Steph and breaks her leg, while threatening to kill her and Tim loses his shit and starts whaling on the guy. Then I think the guy disappears or disintegrates or something? I don't really remember but Tim fully believes he just killed a man and it really fucks with him. they find out later that the guy survived but that's irrelevant to the point

because Tim is convinced he just committed murder, he kinda starts losing control in the field. It gets bad enough that Bruce basically tells him to either get his shit together or stay home because he's a liability. Tim gets pissed off at Bruce's cold lack of empathy for his struggle and basically quits on the spot.

The reason I bring this up is because that conversation could have easily been read as Bruce appealing to logic instead of emotion. After all, Tim was the robin most similar to Bruce and Bruce is a logically driven person. Bruce probably relates to time via facts and logic. Bruce tried to put it in terms that he thought Tim would understand: logically pointing out the objective observations of behavior and why they're a problem, when Tim was too emotional to think logically.

so yeah. TLDR: Bruce is a good parent who cares about his kids, he's just really bad at speaking their language

[onthewallwiththis]

its ma birthday! my gift to u are some of my fave quotes I've gathered from tlou fanfics!!

suitcase full of stars - @barlowstreet

"Three out of ten," he says, picking her hands up and rubbing them between his. "You're rating my bite?" she wheezes in disbelief. It's the first thing she's said besides apologies since they got to the hospital. "Didn't even break skin. You could do better.

one of my absolute fave foster fics!! and between such whump, this made me giggle.

A hopeful stranger - @two-birds-alone-together

A long-suffering sigh "I swear you were born contrary." "Nope." Joel glares at her as she waggles her eyebrows at him. "It's a finely honed skill, Joel. I've had a lifetime of practice. You'll never be as contrary as me." She grins up at him, giggling when he takes the now-empty mug from her hands. Joel snorts. "Now that I believe."

I <3 book shop AU, I also quote this particular one to myself DAILY

Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? - @boopernatural

"Joel." she sets her fork down and turns to face him, expression ultra-serious. "I solemnly swear not to get black out drunk, or have sex, or break anything valuable. I may do a bunch of drugs, it just depends on what they offer me." "Downers if we're lucky," he says, going back to his breakfast. "What does that mean?" "It means finish your eggs."

when I tell you i CACKLED

Ellie Williams' guide to teenage rebellion - @simoncowellstits

"You don't get to talk fake lawyer." she crosses her arms. "you're supposed to be winning my fucking legal case so I don't need to hang out with Kim anymore! No offence, Kim." "None taken." Kim says from her position near the door.

--

'questions about J-Dog.' do he and Tommy shit-talk me? did he forget how to laugh and/or smile in a terrible amnesia incident? does he know a lot of facts about the cold war or is that just his vibe? what makes him so grumpy? Is it just an old age thing? why is he so weird all the time??? why can't he just act normal and choose a personality? why does he care if I told frank I couldn't have sex with my vampire boyfriend on their honeymoon because he was too freaky with it??

This whole fic is so damn funny. In between some of the most heart wrenching story and crazy realistic characterisation I found myself in tears of laughter. I also quote the twilight reference almost daily.

Let me be your shelter - @messydepressy95

Not to be dramatic or anything, but she's a child of divorce.

--

Still, Joel continues to teach her to drive, and Tommy keeps inviting himself to their lessons.

BEST ONE LINERS IN THIS FIC

Inordinary - @heroes-fading

"Mhm," Ellie nods. "That's why every love song you've ever written has been depressing as fuck. All the mutual-ness."

--

"Just because it isn't seventy percent oat milk doesn't make it shitty, Ellie." "Thats homophobic," she tells him, and he rolls his eyes again.

the inordinary-verse is full of incredible quotes SO FUNNY

Lessons in wayfinding - @penandinkprincess

"Why so fucking nosy about it?" "Fatal flaw, I'm afraid," he says with a theatrical sigh. "Ask Joel. I had all the good gossip at family reunions."

Uncle Tommy is the root of most of my day to day happiness.

ANYWHO! I have so many more of these quotes saved, you'll never know when I'll strike again.

Pls lmk if you want me to remove a tag or quote <3

[fracturedodr]

"... ...I think Hedin scares me too much to ask him to do that." Bell responded, his voice mostly nonserious, for all that the statement was kinda true. "He was never mean, just... really serious. Ruthless in training, which is. I guess good? But I never quite... got him..." Not beyond the fact he was very serious, valued propriety and gentlemanly-ness where outings with people were concerned, and Really Liked Hogni.

Really liked Hogni. Enough to abandon Freya. That was a LOT of like.

"But... I... kinda would like help..." He admits, slowly, looking over at Eina. "Telling you guys was hard enough - telling Lady Hestia, and the others? That I - I don't remember a ton of what happened since I got here?" A quiet breath, helping to keep himself calm, then he continued- "Ideally I'd want Hogni there, but I know you get anxious easily so it's okay if it's somebody else." He wouldn't want to hurt the man just so he himself felt better. "I think... as long as somebody is there. There's... probably a lot I should say, but I'm - I'm still working through those parts and I don't wanna talk about them all yet." Not to them. Not about that.

Not about Freya, and how close he'd really come to not coming back at all.

"As for what I'm gonna tell... the truth, probably. Lying won't help, and Lady Hestia would be able to tell when I lie, so... that's not an option. Hiding it... wouldn't even work, cause everyone would catch on that something wrong, especially when things are brought up I have no memory of! So - so I'll be honest. That I... don't remember a lot. And... that, uh... that the reason I'm scared to leave the grounds is because I'm... afraid Freya will kidnap me again." More honesty, why not - after all, he was on such a roll already.

He distantly recalled the fight that had ended with his kidnapping before. Getting assaulted by Ottarl and not standing a chance. The man was terrifying.

Bell never wanted to see him, not ever again.

"What is Master Bell going to tell the others?" She asked then, hoping to help him work through things just as efficiently as Hogni was--She didn't want to admit she was a little jealous.

"Would you like help with that, or prefer to tell them about your amnesia on your own? Knowing Hestia Familia, they won't be upset if you want someone there for support. Especially knowing you," and how anxious Bell could be sometimes.

"I can stand beside him--"

"Not when Master Hogni shakes like a leaf with too many eyes on him!!"

There was a loud audible gasp from Hogni--but he couldn't argue. So, he just pulled his high collar up a little to hide the lower half of his face more.

"Either Lili will, or Master Hedin will, because he knows, right?" A small nod from the currently hiding Hogni. "Or, both Lili and Master Hedin. Whichever Master Bell is most comfortable with."

[remerg]

Can we

Can we talk about Jake just-

USING/WEARING BOOTS LIKE JSFBSKDJJD

NO BUT not just BOOTS, he WEARS: Heeled Boots

(I know they almost yell at you in the face when they're giving him his things back and the Spielberg character just says 'boots, black'. It's just the fact on how much heels those have HEJSSVBFHSJDJS)

[shannonsketches]

like why did they change where Vegeta was when Cell announced the cell games in the anime

why did they make this vegeta starting shit with yamcha instead of chillin in the lab with his family? why did they take Bulma out of the lab? Why'd they say she was Out while Dr Brief was repairing 16? Why did they change Bulma working on advanced robotics to running in late with her baby?

it's the same scene except: - Bulma's actively at work being a scientist - Vegeta's not being rude to her (or anyone else!) - Vegeta waits for Trunks instead of leaving the room - Cell interrupted the airwaves, which means Trunks and Vegeta were just hanging out with Bulma and Dr B while they were working

Those are all Great Character Details!! That the anime rails against!!

[licorishh]

Hey as a super introverted but not shy person I'd just like to say the jokes about extroverts "adopting" introverts to "get them out of their shell" are actually completely unfunny and it just goes to show how little respect a lot of y'all have for the fact that we genuinely don't want excessive social interaction and that y'all are forcing us to do something that brings us extreme physical and mental discomfort because you perceive our introversion as a failing rather than as purely a difference in personality.

We don't need your "help" to socialize. We're not children. We're simply not interested in spending every waking second of our lives talking to people and being talked at in return.

[salsa-ishida]

you're back!! it's been so long!! I missed you <3 <3

ahhhh I missed you too!! Life has been insistent on grinding me to a paste but we perservere

[musical-chick-13]

They should invent a life that is not lonely.

[the-archivists-corner]

If my lesbian friend was being bigoted and transphobic like that, I'd call her out on that because there's a difference between needing someone to talk to in a judgement free zone and being an asshole and a bigot

[manasurge]

.

[yesplsnothankyou]

I only come on tumblr when I'm at the very end of my rope and barely hanging on by a quickly disintegrating thread and I don't know what that tells you about me

[lightningfilledsaber]

I'm so fucking sick of my brain

[narcissusneverknewme]

the Earth will never be healed again until China starts producing stuff with a sufficient amount of genderfuckery again. nearly all of the most compelling stuff China has ever produced has featured a significant amount of genderfuckery. that and the gay shit. send X or whatever you fools say now