#MY HEAD HURTS DUDE…

[antonios-pizza-number1-fan]

IM HIDING AWAY IN MY ROOM UNTIL I HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY TO GET WATER

[wasyago]

tango doodles

first you make up a guy and then you struggle to draw him correctly

[doctorsiren]

stupid idea I had last night where there’s a joke version of the Monster Hunter Pines AU, but instead of being more like Supernatural, it’s more like Wild Kratts 😭

[avocado62524]

[flipflopmaster]

After 30 years, they finnaly did it. finnaly.

.

[lokh]

also i think if roleswap laios and canon laios met theyd immediately start fighting.

[muunrabbit]

“A family of your own….. What a luxury.”

An OdileLoops AU art that took way too long and took a piece of my soul with it! Through much encouragement, I have finished it… *Checks notes*… almost TWO WEEKS after Odile’s birthday. Wow.

Anyways, it’s based off This Thistle panel from Dungeon Meshi

[kiwi-kali]

going home to a party

ahghh first art post ?? crazy . . im gonna be kinda mad if the quality is bad but urgh whatever . what can u do . inanimate insanity finale was insane i love this show so much i'm never recovering i think i love lightbrush this is like my lightbrush tribute they r so important to me i might post my other lightbrush art if i feel so inclined

[tariah23]

This is such a harmful sentiment to push considering that you don’t necessarily have to be “attractive,” (beauty is subjective, yada yada) in order for men to want to harm you in the slightest… like man, what…

[gardenofnoah]

when they come for you in the night

i love my sweet traumatized man :( cw: nightmares, thorfinn lashes out in fear/self defense, choking (this is not smut). wc: 1.1k

it’s been a while since he’s had these nightmares, but the scream that tears through his throat is so familiar that it feels like it’s haunted you all your life.

you shoot upright when it starts, frozen for an agonizing few seconds—unable to do anything but watch the man you love suffer. Thorfinn flails, a mess of limbs and hair, and it’s enough to shake you from your stupor when a scarred hand fists into the material of your tunic.

you bring your hand down to cover his instinctually, and all at once you are reminded of the dangers of waking a warrior from a nightmare.

in the amount of time it takes you to blink, you are slammed against the bed—your beloved’s face twisted into a feral snarl above you, his forearm pressed hard against your windpipe. you don’t struggle—you know better than to think you’d have a chance of getting out of his hold, even with his past as a warrior so far behind him. the moment stretches as the silence between you does, and you watch him come back to himself, and to you, as your vision begins to fade at your peripherals.

there’s an emotion that flashes over his face—something like recognition that bleeds into sheer horror, and then his weight leaves you entirely. you suck down a breath, trying to get the way you gasp and sputter under control so you don’t startle him.

you realize the harsh panting you hear does not come from you. you turn your head—letting out a clipped exhale at the immediate soreness—to find him pressed up against the wall, curled into himself and staring at you with the eyes of a terrified six year old.

you reach for him, slowly—arm moving across the bed until it’s fully extended, palm facing the ceiling and fingertips just shy of where he cowers. a white flag in the dark. a wolf with its throat bared.

“Thorfinn,” you whisper hoarsely, “my love.”

his eyes get wider still, and you give him a soft smile as they well up with tears.

you push yourself off the bed slowly, propped up on the opposite arm while you reach for him. “it’s okay,” you coax him, like you’re luring a frightened animal from its hiding place, “come here, Thorfinn.”

the tears crest and fall down his cheeks as he shakes his head once, and then again, pressing himself further into the wall like he’s hoping it’ll give under his weight. you know that it is not you that he fears, so you don’t rush toward him. you stay planted where you are, hand still outstretched to him. asking the hands that he loathes to reach for you.

“i’m sorry for scaring you, my love,” you tell him, eyes not leaving his. “i should not have woken you.”

his face crumbles at that, and he’s shaking his head furiously, like if he does it hard enough, he’ll dislodge the sentiment from his ears. like he can’t bear to hear you apologize for his sake.

“thorfinn,” you murmur, palm turning to meet the mattress in front of him, smoothing over the sheets. “will you come back to me?”

you see it in his face when your words register—it twists into something pained as he lurches toward you. he curls around the arm you’ve extended to him, careful not to get too close to you as he presses his clammy forehead to the back of your hand.

“m’sorry,” he chokes out, holding your arm to him with both hands, curled over top of it like it’s the thing that can grant him forgiveness, “sorry, sorry, m’sorry—“

you push yourself to a full sitting position with your opposite hand so you can reach for him. turning your body to face him, your fingers card through the hair on the back of his head. he whimpers at your touch, trembles under your hand, but you don’t falter. you wonder who he is right now—if he stands in his family home, warm and fed and knowing nothing of what’s to come, or over the bodies of those he’d been forced to cut down. fearful all the same.

“you didn’t mean to, did you?” you ask softly, already knowing the answer.

his head shoots up then, watery eyes snapping to yours.

“no—no—“

“right,” you whisper, brushing stray hairs from his face. “you didn’t mean to, Thorfinn.”

its quiet between you, save for the shuddered breathing of the man before you and the faint morning calls of the roosters out back. you wonder if they ever dream, and if they too have nightmares. if their hens worry for them.

you run your fingers through his hair, fingers pressing lightly into his scalp. you ease up a bit when you feel the ridges of scar tissue, unwilling to be anything but gentle to the skin that's worked so hard to keep him whole.

he makes his way into your lap—slowly and quietly, like he still needs protect himself from something. you don't call attention to the way his head rests cautiously on top of your thighs, as if he’s waiting for you to sense his vulnerability and strike—you just keep brushing his hair from his face, and you are patient.

it would seem strange to some to see the son of the Troll of Jom curled up and whimpering in the lap of his lover, but it makes perfect sense to you. he’s seldom known a gentle touch, and after the horrific decade he spent as a warrior, you think you’d have fared far worse than he. so you leave him be.

when you’ve known nothing but cruelty, kindness would surely be terrifying.

and you’d certainly expect him to be hardened—cruel to you, even, if only out of self-preservation—but he is not. he is soft spoken and curious and kind, despite the ghosts that cling to him. he is someone who wishes to take accountability for actions he was forced to carry out as a child. he is someone who has done enough soul searching to fill the next three lifetimes. you wish you could take some of the weight off of him now.

“thorfinn,” you whisper finally, cutting through the thick silence that’s settled over you both, “do you think we’ll have enough firewood for the winter?”

you know he knows what you’re doing, but you think the way he settles further into your lap is his way of showing that he appreciates it.

“i would never let you grow cold,” he rasps, muffled by your skin. it makes you smile—the lengths he’d go to ensure your contentment. you think he’d cut down every tree in the countryside if he saw a single shiver from you. you think it’s unfortunate, the way he has no idea of the depth of love he carries in his warrior’s heart.

he might not say it often, but his actions show enough. so this is how you show him your heart—when they come for him in the night, you show them that they will have to go through you first.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[j00stkl31n]

Another video I’m gonna put up and walk away from 🫣

[eenadu-varthalu]

you know the money we put aside for rajamouli to adapt the Mahabharata???

yeah, we’re gonna give that to nag ashwin instead.

[izzysfizzies]

🎵Let It roll of your back, and let it slip off your tongue before you lose your nerve and end up right back where you started from🎵

finally playing Postal 3... the plus side is that this game introduced me to Tokyo Rose (band) cause is the Ost is a banger and the dudes design is so good haha

[royaltea000]

You ever read a fic so good it changes the whole characterization of the dude in your head

[libelelle]

WHERED MYFUCKING PEN GOOOOOOOOOOOO