#OKAY IM SORRY I SUCK

[4kts]

THE SILLIES........!!!! I finally got Leo's event card and hes so cute in his outfit 🥹🙏

[dipperscavern]

thinking about stark men pet names. sorry ive already sent you like 3 asks this is getting embarrassing. but im here and i live here now.

jon is TOTALLY a ‘woman’ and ‘girl’ kind of guy always going ‘there’s a good girl’ ‘you’re my woman’ and robb naturally is always calling you ‘my lady’ and i fully accept and believe you when you have him calling reader ‘pretty’, ‘pretty thing’ etc… chivalrous till the end!

but i cannot for the life of me land on what cregan’s style would be. i feel like it would be very teasing but also with an edge of possession. i can see him always calling you ‘wife’ in place of anything else…

don’t apologize!! ur asks are delicious & i will forever appreciate any ask anyone sends me 🫶🏻 send ten and we’ll debrief about every single one my lovely

jon is so accurate. “there’s a good girl” & referring to u as his woman are just stamps in his vocabulary. he’s not really a words type of guy, but they just spill out sometimes.

robb is very chivalrous and charming, pet names come to him naturally. “my lady”, “pretty”, “pretty thing” etc. his mouth literally never stops running. omg i can also see an “atta girl” escaping every once in a while.

okay i’m putting on my bulletproof vest for this one but… cregan doesn’t seem like a pet name type of guy. don’t get me wrong, he still showers u with compliments & things like that, but idk i just can’t see it 😞 would definitely have “wife” slipping from his lips pretty often though!! i can see it as a teasing thing between the both of you.

“husband.” & he pulls you in by your hips, “wife.”

[k9effect]

Bradley "Boyfriend" Bradshaw

Messy hair, hickies and soft clothes <3

[plasticbabyart]

Listen if we're going to talk about Skylanders Academy lets talk about how bad of a Father Master Eon is to BOTH his sons !!

[jackietaylorsghost]

#im just like her fr

YELLOWJACKETS 105. Blood Hive

[the-maidofmischief]

Straight women are so annoying i'm sorry, bridgerton is one of the most heterosexual show rn, and they are already threatening to not watch Francesca's season because Michael is now Michaela lmaoooo get a grip.

[emilyartstudio-s]

Style (Stan x Kyle) please?

Here's a doodle I will finish for patreon :,)

[beef-unknwn]

cheerleader gf x player gf

I drew this on my phone because I can't find the time to draw on my ipad

[asteria7fics]

I'm not gonna spoil anything from the special, but just know.

Freckled Kyle truthers have won.

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.

[poisonousquinzel]

"I'm nobody. I haven't done anything with my life like you have."

Todd Phillips, Scott Silver, Lady Gaga genuinely, lovingly, fuck you.

I will never forgive you. I hope every day your bones get softer and softer and then one day when you're not expecting it, I shall be there, and I will gnaw through your Achilles heel<3

[mir3n3]

HOW DOES THIS

TURN INTO THIS HIBHHGDIJNSKJNA

Ignore my terrible baby dragon and rushed Malleus. You get the memo though. Probably.

[martyrbat]

for when dc releases a new comic that mischaracterizes him again AND the humiliating ordeal of telling ppl that arent your mutuals that bruce fucking wayne aka mr cashcow is your favorite character

[bunnyreaper]

shy fingies

im having a really bad dysphoria day

if possible can i have some trans masc reader/141 comfort? no pressure, im just havin a hard day bc i have medical issues that make a medical transition unsafe and my dysphoria is kicking my asssss

hi!! no need for shy fingies! the dysphoria has been coming too for me lately, so im sending my love your way!! if this sucks im sorry in advance!! ;__;

tf141 x trans male! reader, platonic. brief mentions of transphobia, protective!141, reader users a binder.

It had been a shitty day all round, and things only continued to get worse. 

The day had started with forcing yourself into the shower, in the pitch black darkness, because you just couldn't face it with the light on. Your chest felt tighter than usual, and your skin just felt distinctly not like home. 

When you'd made your way into the canteen for breakfast, the new recruits were staring again, clearly talking about you amongst themselves as they snickered and judged and whispered words and phrases you really never wanted to hear.

Your only salvation was that you were ending this shitty day with a movie night with your task force. 

"Lad!" Soap calls out to you as you enter the rec room with a bag of snacks in hand. "It's yer lucky day, you get ta pick the movie." 

Soap pats the couch beside him as Ghost, Gaz, and the Captain offer their usual smiles. 

"Uh, I'm not too fussed, you can pick." You offer Soap a forced, tight smile as you try your hardest to get comfortable, despite the constriction at your chest. Today it felt a little worse than usual. 

Gaz lets out a groan, as Ghost's eyes narrow. "He picked last week." 

Offering a shrug, you remember you need to grab a drink before you get too settled into the plush of the couch. When you approach the kitchenette, you notice Price beside you.  

"Everything alright, son?" He asks, his hand clasping down on your shoulder as he offers a soothing smile. "Not yourself tonight." 

Son. As the youngest in the taskforce, Price's sweet and affirming nickname for you makes your heart soar.

You struggle to meet his eye as you mumble your response--a clear lie. "I'm fine, just tired." 

Your captain doesn't seem convinced in the slightest, as he remains by your side as you move round the kitchenette. 

"Can always talk to me, you know that? Or any of the boys?" 

"I know." You sigh, knowing they'd be supportive even if they never can quite understand. 

Another body comes closer, joining in the concern party that Price is throwing. It's Gaz, the same look of worry plastered over his face.

"Something happened?" He asks. 

"No." You snap, just a little too quickly, and the entire room falls silent with Soap and Ghost's conversation ending as they turn their attention to you. "Oh god, can you all stop staring at me?!" 

Gaz's hand replaces Price's on your shoulder as he tries to soothe you. "Talk to us, c'mon." 

Ghost and Soap join you all in the kitchen, and the pressure of them all worrying about you is almost too much to handle. They all look so worried, so protective--though you'd long come to accept that it was mostly because you're the baby of the team. 

"The new recruits were talking shit about me behind my back, you know, that kind of shit." You sigh, staring at the floor and wishing it would swallow you whole. 

The atmosphere of the room changes in an instant. 

"I want names, now." Price's words are a demand laced with anger, though not a shred of it directed at you. 

"Captain..." You call out, as Price is already halfway to the door ready to pull the recruits out of bed and give them the dressing down of a lifetime. 

Soap shakes his head. "Easier if you just tell him, lad." Soap's eyes are kind and soft as he considers you, though you know that he will have some choice words for them too next time he's training them. You almost pity them. 

You mutter out the names of the ones you had recognised, and try not to flinch as Price nods and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

"How long have you had your binder on for?" Ghost asks, his gaze severe with concern. 

"Uh... since 6am." 

He sighs, in his 'not mad, just disappointed' older brother way. "Did you take a break at lunch like you're supposed to?" 

You give him a sarcastic look, and cross your arms over yourself defensively. "It'll be fine, promise." 

The door swings open, Soap coming back into the room with Gaz in tow, and you hadn't even realised they have left in the first place. 

Soap holds out a massive bundle of black fabric, while Gaz has a silky garment in his hands. 

"Biggest hoodie of mine I could find, lad, and a fresh compression shirt." Soap explains, as passes the clothes to you. "Binder off, yeah? Then we'll get under the blanket and turn off the lights." 

"And you still have to pick the movie." Gaz smiles.

You nod in compliance before you head to the bathroom to get changed--freeing yourself from the binder and quickly covering yourself with Gaz's shirt and Soap's hoodie. While your chest still aches just a little, the unease you expect doesn't come on as strong as you expected. 

Maybe it's the sense that you get to go back into that room with a group of guys who accept you for who you are and have never made you feel lesser. 

When you get back to the rec room, Price has returned, and the room is cast in darkness. The Captain gives you a nod, but offers no further comment--which means he won't be addressing it tonight. 

You get comfortable on the couch between Soap and Ghost, and try to ignore the groans as you make suggestion after suggestion that they all hate, and you eventually settle on something all of you have seen before. 

You snuggle under the blanket with Soap, and feel euphoric when Ghost wordlessly accepts your toes wiggling under his thigh. Every once in a while, you'll meet the eyes of your captain and see his fond gaze, or Gaz will look to you when there's something funny so he can see if you're laughing too. 

Right there, on that couch, you feel at home with your brothers, with yourself. 

[sonknuxadow]

my honest reaction

[moldy-flowers]

The interesting experience of being pro Sasuke, anti konoha, pro tobirama, anti Naruto ending, pro Sasusaku, anti Itachi, pro Sakura, anti SasuNaru, pro Tobirama×Izuna, anti Madara, pro karin, anti Orochimaru, pro Uchiha and anti Hashirama. And also as much as I hate the guy danzo was kind of hot when he was younger...