#WE ARE SO SO SO BACK BABEYYY

[casgirlisms]

imagine you see a guy, absolutely drop dead gorgeous and you tell him you're clumsy and he says. No. It's worse. Wild thing to say to someone and then just leave

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Lackadaisy Enrichment

[literalite]

i now permit you to gaze into the sun

obviously inspired by the fallen angel by alexandre cabanel :DD

[bacchuschucklefuck]

way late for lny but hey the brain makes the connection when it does. aka caducean/asclepian

[deoidesign]

Someone killed my boss last night and he sent me this I'm so fired

god I can't wait to make this comic.

[cyber444angel]

she keeps me sane i stg

[doriansbutt]

guess who’s back, back again

[orcelito]

Somehow I'm already on episode 65 of Naruto & I'm ready and raring to watch Sarutobi die again. Fuck that dude. The worst part about it is that it spans like a million episodes so I'm just like UGHHHH JUST DIE ALREADY!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭 but then I get Naruto and Gaara fight and that's SO much fun 😃😃😃 I'm excited for it

[astrxealis]

me rn having the biggest hots for leon kennedy and astarion sorry LMFAOOO <3

[god-was-the-first-thot-slayer2]

pre-orders for spondgebob neno are open till the 8th of this month :)

:O

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!

[david-watts]

cannot wait for everyone else to get their shit together so we can get my curtains ready (would do it myself but I have to concede that I'll need help on this one) so I don't have to hear the obnoxiously loud convos and child screams from next door

[mosspaceship]

GRAVITY FALLS FANDOM WE ARE SO BACK BABEYYY

[frudoo]

what happened with Oliver’s Dad???DID THE BOYS SAVE HER?!?! I NEED TO KNOW

WE’RE BACK BABEYYY

Warnings: Violence, of course. Poor reader is discovering too many things about herself. John is kinda mean in this one but he means well. Dark!Fic, DDDNE.

“Would ya bloody drive faster?!” Kyle is shaking uncontrollably in the backseat, shoving off Price who keeps trying to calm him down.

“M’already goin’ twice the limit,” Simon snarls, dark brown eyes focused on the road.

It’s a bumpy, borderline suicidal ride whenever Simon drives, but with the added anxiety of your message and the uncertainty of what it meant, the experience is far scarier. Johnny is the quietest he’s ever been, holding back tears as he watches the trees and street signs rush by in a blurry daze. He’s got one hand on Simon’s thigh, thumb rubbing in slow circles to try and ease both of their nerves.

“Two minutes, darlin’, two minutes,” Price mutters to you, wherever you are, his grip on the phone so tight it’s almost sure to crack.

One perk of being a killer is knowing where all of the backroads and hidden trails are that police either don’t know about or refuse to patrol. It eliminates the fear of getting pulled over or followed, and greatly reduces the risk of passing civilians reporting them. It especially comes in handy now as the truck screeches with every reckless turn its driver makes, nearly spinning out of control as they approach the house.

Your car is in the driveway, but you’re not inside. That in itself has each of them seeing red. Simon barely remembers to put the truck in park before hopping out, wide shoulders bouncing with every broad step he takes. He doesn’t bother checking to see if the door is open, just kicks it down with full force. It comes off of its hinges without a fight, slamming onto the floor right by your unconscious body.

“Fuck- John! Get in ‘ere!” Simon yells, knees croaking as he crouches to check for a pulse—when he finds one, he gently picks up your body and cradles you to his chest.

Price comes running in with the other two men right on his heels. John’s eyes harden when he sees the state of you, instantly on high alert.

“Simon, take her out to the truck. There’s ammonia in the glovebox—wake her up. Garrick, Tav and I are gonna go find the fucker who did this,” John barks, crooking his pointer finger in the direction of the truck urgently.

Simon follows orders without hesitation, long legs carrying him to the vehicle faster than he can blink. He throws open the door to the backseat and carefully lays you down, hands shaking as he rummages through the glovebox. Sure enough, there’s a bottle of ammonia buried at the bottom just as Price said. He opens the bottle and cradles the back of your head in one big palm, holding the substance right beneath your nose. It wakes you up instantly, and as you suck in a deep, almost painful gasp, Simon allows a tear to fall.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, pulling you up into a sitting position and engulfing you in his burly arms. “Fuck- fuck, th-thought we lost ya.”

“Simon,” you hug him as tightly as you can, nails digging into the flesh of his back through the shirt, but he can’t find it in him to care.

His girl—their girl—you are alive.

“Si- Si, where are the others?” Your eyes suddenly widen in horror, and you scramble to exit the truck.

Simon firms his hold on you, dragging you into his lap. He can see the beginnings of tears glistening in your eyes and he cups your cheeks in his large hands, wiping them away before they can even fall. Somehow he doesn’t see the fury that presents itself in your pupils.

“They’re fine, lovie, findin’ the bastard tha’ did this t’ya.”

“No!” You yell with an undeniable edge of rage in your voice, trying to break free from his grip. “No! I want him!”

He’s never seen you like this before—feral. The fire in your eyes is something he’d expect from his other partners, but not you. Honestly, it scares him, enough to make him let you go, but not to make him stay back. He’s right on your trail with a fist tangled into the back of your shirt, keeping you on a short leash so that you don’t go and do anything crass.

You walk in on Johnny putting your attacker in a chokehold, the muscles of his biceps rippling beneath his tanned skin. You’re ready to pounce, shove your lover aside and rip apart Oliver’s father yourself, but Simon calls John over to help restrain your wriggling body.

“Darlin’- hey! Watch!” Price grabs your chin and cheeks and forces you to observe the scene in front of you—Johnny is, in fact, not killing him, just knocking his sorry ass out. “See, baby? You’ll get your chance, but ya have to wait.”

Kyle appears from around the corner with a roll of duct tape. Johnny slowly lowers the bastard’s body onto the floor so as not to crack his skull and spill blood all over the floor, then aids his partner in taping his mouth. Then they flip him over carelessly and hobble him, tying his wrists to his ankles so that when he wakes he’ll be rendered unable to move. It’s cruel, and it makes you salivate.

Johnny and Kyle hoist the deadweight up and head for the open entry where the door was before Simon broke it down. Price carefully carries you bridal-style back outside, setting you in the passenger seat of your car and buckling you in. He shushes you with a harsh snap of his fingers when you try to protest.

“Zip it. One o’us will drive ya back home, and the other lads will deal with the… cargo.”

His voice is sharp, demanding. It’s the way he talks to his victims, a snarl evident in every venomous word that pours from his lips. Instead of rage, you feel humiliated. You feel silly. Your eyelids droop with exhaustion. You blame it on your sudden lack of energy.

“I-I want Johnny,” you mutter, fiddling with your fingers as your hands rest in your lap. “Can he drive me? Please?”

John’s eyes soften at the change in your tone—it’s obvious that the rush of adrenaline that the ammonia caused has run its course, and the sweet, timid girl he knows and loves is coming back to light. He leans down to press a long kiss to your temple, breathing in the scent of you like an expensive perfume.

“Yeah, darlin’. Johnny’ll take ya home,” he whispers, muttering a soft apology against your hair.

You nearly nod off while waiting for Johnny to finish loading up the truck. The sound of the driver’s side door gently shutting stirs you back to consciousness and you find the Scot biting his knuckles as he looks at you. Gently, you pull his hand to your face and rest your cheek in his palm, holding onto him tenderly.

“Gave us a reit scare, ye did,” he chuckles sadly, leaning in to give you a proper hug as best as he can while you’re buckled up.

“I’m glad you came,” you whisper into the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply to ground yourself with the smell of his sweat.

“Anytime ye need us, bonnie. We’re nothin’ withoot ye.”

Johnny cups your face in his clammy hands, leaning in to passionately lock his lips with yours. It’s like the first kiss all over again, albeit less desperate, but with all the same electricity. He’s home to you, your safe space, the first one who captured your heart out of the bunch of them.

It’s silent as he holds your hand the entire way back to the farm, calloused thumb caressing your knuckles adoringly. You finally speak up when he pulls onto the familiar dirt road, breath stuttering as you look at his profile.

“I-I don’t wanna kill him.”

“Tha’s fine, hen, we dinnae-” he begins, but you cut him off by squeezing his hand tighter.

“I just wanna watch.”

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS DOING KARAOKE. I WAS DELIRIOUSLY FEVERISH.

offense: they’re singing it wasn’t me by shaggy. they have pyro do the raps. it’s close enough, the rest of the team finds it to be a hoot.

scout: scout will always do baby got back. the team finds it hilarious, if he’s drunk he can be a little gay goofy and nobody will really. think anything about it, a very nice time! the team knows it’s during scout’s song they need to get drunk, because soldier is just ridiculous.

soldier: soldier… jane doe…. jane doe will pick from one of the many songs in the great american songbook. and he loves doing the star spangled banner. he’s not good. but frankly, if the team can get drunk enough, it’s just eight men (and pyro) scream singing the star spangled banner. at this point sedate them. sometimes engie will make him do this land is your land. it’s kind of touching for the rest of the team. they get fuzzy feelings. like they really belong here.

pyro: bust out that taylor swift discography babey! will generally do you belong with me. at this point the men know it word for word, it’s popular, it’s cheesy, it’s a good karaoke choice. the team cheers, they get into it a little. it’s an enjoyable performance!

defense: you know they’re busting out its tricky by run-dmc right? we all know this? their timing is insane. has the team hooting and hollering.

demo: he’ll get the team out of their seats with boogie wonderland. sometimes literally. “get up! get on your feet!” but he definitely gobbles it up. gives a whole show. he’s really just missing some sequins and a wig and this would be a hell of a drag show. definitely has the charisma uniqueness nerve and talent. team is thoroughly pleased.

heavy: it takes a little more coaxing to get heavy up there on his own. but when you convince him… he’s doing one of the saddest renditions of live and let die you’ve ever heard. sometimes snipes will get up there with him and do the horn solos. just an oddly soulful performance. leaves you thinking.

engineer: ….turn it up some. he’s pulling out honky tonk badonkadonk by trace adkins babeyyy! got his guitar, got the amp, he’s turning the base into a country dive bar. kinda hot. everyone ends that with some feelings.

support: they’re soooo wretched i hate these men. they get up there, they’re discussing quietly amongst themselves, they start snickering. never a good sign. demo gets on stage, takes place at the piano. they begin the most heartbreaking rendition of bohemian rhapsody. the team is genuinely tearing up. they never pick regular songs. it’s always some of the saddest shit they can think of.

medic: oh he’s eating i need a hero. he’ll get the team off their feet with that one. he’ll also fall back on any elton john song. he loves im still standing. so does the team. it’s a little funny with the respawn machine bringing them back, right? they think so.

sniper: you know he’s doing who can it be now, right? we all know he’s doing who can it be now? he’s pulling out his sax; they’re all eating up who can it be now. does a different sax solo every time. the team screams when he busts out the sax.

spy: he’s doing le festin. everyone normally gets very confused and then scout realizes it’s the ratatouille song and everyone cheers. it annoys him, he hasn’t even gotten to the good part! let him get to the good part! a lovely ender.

[writinghotchner]

i need more girl dad aaron before i lose it.

you and me both, babeyyy.

--

hotch x fem!reader sfw, no explicit material

you come home from work to see aaron and your 4 year old daughter having a tea party :')

you step inside your house, shrugging off your coat and toeing off your shoes. your immediately hit with your little girls infectious giggles and your husbands low voice. without even knowing what's going on in the playroom, you huff out a laugh to yourself as you make your way through the living room and down the hall to where your family is. you lean against the door frame watching their shenanigans.

aaron his basically crouched down on a toddler sized pink chair with an equally as small toddler table in between the two. he has a pink and purple tiara sitting on top of his head and your daughter has somehow wrangled a pink tutu around his waist. she is opposite him, sitting comfortably in a chair fit for her size.

"is this how i drink it?" aaron asks the little girl, holding his tea cup upside down trying to sip from the solid bottom of the cup. she is absolutely in fits over this gig. "no daddy!" she tells him through gasps of laughter. "like this!" she holds her cup right side up and takes a sip of imaginary tea - with her pink out, of course - to show him how its supposed to be held.

"oh, right, how silly of me." he turns the cup over. "so like this?" he asks, but this time he has the handle to his lips and his big fingers holding the cup by its side. the little girl erupts into breathless laughter again, nearly falling out of her chair.

"daddy!" she yells incredulously, trying to be stern through her laughter. she gets up and walks over to him and takes the cup out of his hand, turning it around the right way and puts it back into his hands. "like this!"

"okay, thank you so much for showing me how to hold it correctly." he smiles, taking a sip of air.

"you're very welcome." the little girl says back, both of them using their serious voices.

"should we be using fancy british voices for our fancy tea party?" he asks her using a vaguely bad british accent.

she tries to answer him back, copying the way he sounds but she can't and it makes her fall into a fit of giggles all over again.

"i can't do it!" she yells in hysterics.

"well why not!" aaron asks her, still using the accent.

"because i'm four!"

"oh well goodness me!" aaron says back in mock surprise. "this whole time i thought you were an old lady."

the little girl's mouth drops. "I'M NOT OLD! I'M 4!"

"4 could be considered old to some people." he tells her, back in his normal voice, and very seriously.

"who?!"

"2 year olds, probably."

"DADDY!" the little girl shrieks, her fits of giggles once again taking over her body.

"what...is going on in here!" you finally announce your presence and both of them look over at you startled - giving the same expression which makes you laugh out loud.

"mommy!" your daughter yells, flying off the chair and into your open arms.

"hi, baby. are you having a good tea time with daddy?"

she nods her head furiously and then leaves your arms to clamor into aaron's lap. you laugh again and follow her, leaning over to kiss your husband on the lips and then take a seat in the extra chair next to him.

your daughter hands you a little tea cup and you hold it upside down and raise it to your lips. "like this right?"

both of them erupt in laughter so infectious it makes you join in right along with them.

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom! 

(I’m currently trapped in the hellscape of trying to finish a year of personal development hours in a week, while studying for four cert tests). 

But!!! Do we remember this quote?

“I've never lost a wingman.”

“You're lucky. Fly long enough, it'll happen. There will be others.”

What if we got to have a Rooster who did? One who has lost a wingman? What if we got a Rooster who became a Maverick to another wingman and another little boy?

Picture this, okay?

Rooster, young, angry and defiant, is at Top Gun and avoiding the piano at the Hard Deck like it has cooties — until one day, the day before he's meant to be assigned a new WSO, he decides to go for it, to play again after everything. 

Instead, he finds a random guy at the piano, one with light blond hair and a rolling laugh, who is messing around with the keys and singing an odd kind of song without any words. The song comes from his chest and throat like a howl, but with more bones than he's ever heard from anything else. So, Bradley asks about it. The guy tells him it’s not a song per se: he's joiking.

He presents a joik of the sky, of the green grass or snow in the winter. It isn't about something, it is something. It’s like creating a watercolor likeness of a person or thing through sound, using his voice. 

“I'm Máhtte Kvitfjell.” He says and at the look on Bradley’s face, he laughs and adds, “They call me Iceland — my callsign?”

“You’re from Iceland?” 

“Nope, Boston — but Norway before that.”

It isn't a surprise to either of them that Iceland is his new WSO. They become inseparable, Landy (because he could never call him Ice) learns everything there is to know about Bradley Bradshaw and he doesn't go running for the hills. He listens and loves and slowly, Bradley begins to heal. He gets to experience bits of Norwegian culture through Landy, but mainly Sami culture. Landy is South Sami, and so are his wife and little boy Loekte. They raise reindeer back home, just like Landy did when he was a little boy. But, dreams of flight led him to joining his grandparents in America when he got older, and eventually becoming Bradley’s wizzo. 

They fly together for years and in the same mission where a hotshot pilot named Hangman, Bradley’s ex, gets his first air-to-air kill — he throws them into an unrecoverable flat spin and Landy doesn't survive his ejection. 

“Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.” Much? 

So, Bradley is left to mourn his best-friend, his brother, and when Loekte’s mother dies — he's left to raise a ten-year-old alone. 

By the time the uranium plant mission rolls around, Bradley is a grown man with a metric ton of baggage and Hangman gets a brand new wizzo by the name of Loetke “Songbird” Kvitfjell. 

Give me an AU where Maverick gets to meet a Bradley who has felt the same pain as him, and get an adopted grandson too.

One where Loekte is wondering what the hell happened to his calm and level-headed dad — he's having a tantrum, what is up with that? He's forty? 

Just, a patchwork family brought together from loss. 

I need Bradley and Maverick to realize how similar they are and how they both fucked up so terribly. I need no one to be innocent in this situation (except a very normal and well-adjusted Loekte who is trying his hardest to figure out everything his dad won’t say and Iceman Kazansky, who always lives babeyyy). 

🤣