#aaah the chicken!

[grey-and-stuff]

Sooo yeah, how about that last episode 🥺🤍🤍🤍

I gotta get proper screen shots of these later 😭

Yes, they’re the only ones I care about in the entire story 😂🤍🤍🤍

It’s a shame that new audiences won’t know how Phipps got his chicken if they haven’t read the manga.

And now I gotta order that cake!

[makenna-made-this]

BAWKtober Day 16 ~ Baking

Just a little taste!

[parttimepunner]

Slow cooking is both great and terrible for my mental health.

[ben-the-hyena]

With that during my hiatus I also binge watched Tex Avery clips again and came to a realization (or rather a solution for having my headcanons not too jarring or OOC) for my oldest guilty ship. Red and Wolfie DO love each other (well initially they didn't) but they came to a point it is a love-hate relationship, they both love each other but can't date too long and will end up be insufferable for each other, break up, try to see other people to move on or make the other jealous (usually he loves redheads like the Rurual riding hood, she other dogs like Droopy) then miss each other and return to each other and rinse and repeat. Not very healthy but it works for them. Also remember guys, he has a son in Tom and Jerry Kids, Stinkt Jr, maybe to him she is the cool stepmom he wishes he would return with, 2000's Tom and Jerry movies showed she is sweet with children. That's also from the moment it went from just lust to more complicated feelings he started to become less wild and became much classier than he is errupting in lust only rarely. He used to be a Big Bad Wolf dressed in rags (who lived with his country cousind I will HC, turned around his life after he made some business or something and moved to the city in which he had great cars and clothes but was still the same wild and rude wolf, met Stinky Jr's mom but it didn't go super well, tried to move on from that by doubling down being a sexist, then met Ret, just being a horny jerk about her, it became an obsession because she was the first not to want him, so a mix of frustration and need with actual nascent feelings made him truly adopt the fancier ways of the city and be a better more present dad, and he went from McWolf to Slick Wolf as he is referred to in recent media and like he is in the Little Rural Riding Hood short, in which he is unsensitive seeing Red perform because "tsk, moved on" yet he can't help but be here etc

Yes too long and chaotic of an HC I know

This had all sprang back in my head because

IN THE SECOND MOST RECENT TOM AND JERRY CARTOONS HE APPEARS ALONG THE OTHER AVERY WOLVES AND ARE ALL COUSINS AAAA

[sorcererofsolitude]

Yoko, taking a rip of a bong and passing it to Enid: You ever wonder what would happen if like... a dude was about to have sex with a lady... but his dong was just one of those rubber chickens that screams?

Enid, taking a hit of her own and choking on the smoke in an ill-timed fit of giggles: OMG. And if they actually did it, you'd just hear AAAH, AAAH, AAAH!

Yoko and Enid laugh so hard that they fall into each other, prompting even more hysteria as they roll around on the floor.

Wednesday and Divina are off in the corner of the room, shaking their heads at the tomfoolery unfolding before them.

Divina: So... when did you realize your girlfriend was-"

Wednesday, sighing deeply and cutting Divina off: When she told me she thought cat burglars were actual cats.

Divina: At least she doesn't throw paper zeppelins between your boobs and call them 'Hindenburg Hooters'.

Wednesday: I'm surprised you tolerate such chicanery.

Divina, scoffing: Give me a break. You let Enid test her homemade glitter bomb on you.

Wednesday: ...

Despite their grumbling, they couldn't be happier.

AO3: SorcererOfSolitude

Also, it's my birthday today, yay! 🎂

[matchadobo]

Hello! I absolutely love your work and wanted to ask for a request with Kidd and possibly Killer if you can fit him in! Basically I was thinking something with since Kidd and Killer are from the SouthBlue theyre probably used to being in warmer temperatures, so how about they have a partner who is from the North and absolutely thrives in cold temperatures, wearing regular pants and a shirt and only maybe a jacket if it’s sub temperatures and being able to live off cold foods even when it’s below freezing, meanwhile they’re looking at them like they’re mad crazy because they get chilled and annoyed at even the thought of a snowflake.

KIDD & KILLER; north blue s/o

wc: 955 warning/s: gn reader, all fluff!!

"how are you not cold?" kidd asked, buried in his fur coat. he tightly wrapped it around his burly build, shivering as he approached your tshirt-wearing ass. the cold wind of the wintry, evening air ruffled his crimson locks when he crossed the deck.

"we don't experience this shit in the south, shut yer trap." he rolled his eyes, sitting next to you and shuffling closer for warmth. "you're even having ice cream for dessert for god's sake."

"thought you didn't believe in god." you hooked arms with him, pulling him closer as he nestled in your embrace.

"know what? i'm fuckin' startin' to cuz of this goddamn snow." he scoffed, rubbing his shoulders to feel less frosty. he lied between your legs, head settled on the cushion of your chest. you placed your hand on his hair, you combed the strands between your fingers as you giggled at his remark.

"where's that beanie i got you? the one with cute bear ears?" your hands trailed down to his red ears, warming them up by your palms.

"it looks stupid on me." he rolled his eyes, sighing at the relief of your warmth. "keep your hands there." he told you, a little smile on his lips spreading.

"heeeyy, i made that beanie especially or these occurences!" you pouted, pinching his ears instead. "look at them! their red as hell! so is your nose!"

"that's because you pinched my fuckin' ears!" he protested, sitting up from his comfortable position to ready and argue.

"kidd, name." killer called out from the kitchen, peeking over the doorframe to see you two in a heated argument. "i made bread pudding." he donned a frilly, white apron that had flowers scattered on the surface.

when kidd was almost in your face, ready to kiss you to shut you up, he didn't hesitate to follow the sweet, delectable aroma of the freshly baked bread emanating from the brightly lit room. you did the same.

"you really are the wife in this relationship." kidd gave killer a little tap on the chin before walking past him by the doorframe.

"ah shut the fuck up, kidd." you blurted out, kicking his ass. "you cold, kil?" you tiptoed to place a kiss on his neck, he was wearing the mittens you made him.

"your hands are warm," he pulled you by the waist, hugging you to feel your embrace. "aaah i want to stay like this, name."

"fine by me, i'll eat the goddamn pudding for myself." kidd spoke through a full mouth, munching on the custard-filled pudding.

you and killer laughed a little at the pouting redhead by the counter before walking towards him. killer let you sit by the chair opposite to kidd's as he leaned by the chair of the head of the table. "how is it?" he asked, genuinely observing how you two stuffed yourselves with it.

"phenomenal." you clapped your hands, savoring how the pudding melts in your mouth. "c'mere, taste it!" you raised a spoon while your other hand acted as a support to catch any falling food as you gestured closer to him.

killer took off his mask and ate you offer, he sat by the chair and gave you a smile, satisfied at his craft. "what do you two want for breakfast tomorrow?"

"chicken noodle soup." kidd answered with a tap of his hand on the table. "just any goddamn soup that is hot."

"you, name?"

"oh i'm fine with leftover fruits by the fridge, i'll make a fruit bowl or smoothie bowl or whatever."

they both looked at you like you grew another head. desperately waiting to see if you're joking. kidd had that usual scowl but it was deeper and killer had an eyebrow raised, anticipating your next response to say sike.

"what?" you asked as if what you said was the most normal thing during the cold especially mornings are the coldest. "it's tradition in my village who always gave out cold foods at the start of winter to have plenty of hot foods for january which was the peak of winter. i'm just conserving!"

"you north blue people are somethin' else." kidd shook his head, munching on the pudding some more. "hardcore shit."

"not my fault you're too weak to handle the cold, love." you teased, sitting on his lap as you waited for him to feed you pudding.

"whatcha say?! the fuck are you opening your mouth for? not in the mood right now, name." kidd rolled his eyes, but he sturdied his thigh so you can have a proper seat.

"it's not that!- feed me!" you wiggled in your seat, poking at him to piss him off.

"you can fuckin' eat by yourself!"

killer just watched you two with a tender smile on his face. clutching the mittens close to his chest. "well, we better sleep now. name wants to go skate and snowman building tomorrow, right?"

"yes!"

"it's too cold for this shit!" kidd grumbled. he then carried you to your shared quarters when you start to nag and whine at him for his remark while killer cleaned up. they snuggled to you that night, since you were the warmest. they soon adapted to the cold; now eating fruit bowls for breakfast, cold salads for lunch, cold ramen for dinner, and ice cream for desserts because they kept eating with you. they soon began to see the charm of eating cold, sharing habits with you. kidd begrudgingly for that matter while killer enjoyed seeing you have fun eating cold with them. the crew had begun to surmise that you three are just on some kinda bullshit they can't relate to. because who would voluntarily eat cold foods during winter?

ok first of all, i just researched about the winter times bc i live in a tropical country so i have NEVER experienced snow or winter. i read that january is the peak so if that is wrong, please educate me and lmk what should be written 🥰. i didn't really know what else to put other than what was being asked and some flirtings here and there so this is pretty short 🥺

[johnpriceslamb]

Hiii, i love your writing so much!! I just saw your requests were open and wanted to ask for a Ghost x fem!reader. Maybe she is sick and little and Simon has to take care of her. Of course only if you want to, no pressure. All your work is so adorable i just wanted to babble about it really (ˊᗜˋ) ♡

𝓢𝓘𝓒𝓚 𝓓𝓐𝓨𝓢 ,

˚₊‧꒰ you’re sick. And off in fairy-land. Simon takes care of you. ꒱ ‧₊˚

BEFORE YOU PROCEED ! ‧₊˚ ┊ littlespace ! reader . fem ! reader. afab ! reader. caregiver ! Simon Riley . sickiesickie reader :c . da snifliez . reader is mentioned 2 be physically smaller den simon . not proof-read . OOC !!! simon . 1.3k words

˚₊‧꒰ 🍼 ꒱ ‧₊˚ A sniffle and a sneeze.

That is what Simon had woken up to.

There you lay, sniffly and hiccupy at the far side of the bed. You sneeze again into a tissue. A teddy bear placed on your dainty lap as you whimper meekly.

You want to be held, but you don’t want to either. Hot and icky from the fever you have just caught.

You want papa.

You turn your head around- and only then does he capture you into his strong, warm, papa-bear arms. You’re not sure if you’re grateful about the heat he radiates and produce, but you’re clearly happy to be in his arms.

He squishes you as if you were just a little teddy bear. Your cherub cheek lies on his chest as you sniffle again. “Papa..”

“I know, I know luv.” He grunts softly, murmuring soft praises of affections in your ear- so much alike of sweet serenades being hummed. He presses a firm kiss on your forehead, “You stay ‘ere, yeah? I’ll make you some-

Clearly, you did NOT want him to go. As he stood up whilst mumbling, your hand clings onto his sleeves with a soft sniffle. This elicits a soft hum. Big beady eyes stare up at him, lashes dew-dropped with tears from the discomfort you were feeling as of now.

His heart pangs. He hates seeing you like this.

“Wan’ papa.” You simply state, shaking your head stubbornly. Clingy girl.

“Luv, I have to..” He trails on when he sees that sad look on your face. Much alike of a baby puppy seeing her owner at the door, closing it in front of her face. He clears his throat, calloused fingers coming to rub off the dew-drops that stain your chubby cheeks. For your sake and his, he has to be firm.

You begin to tear up again. Argh. He can’t do it.

Then- without a word, he grabs your fluffy burberry blanket and throws it over his shoulder. And he picks you up with the utmost care in the world- as if you yourself was just a porcelain puppy. Your little legs wrap around his waist, face in his chest, with arms around his broad shoulders.

“Papa.” You babble sweetly, nuzzling your cheek on his chest.

“Mhm. That’s me, bug.” A faint smile on his cracked lips is evident.

He plops you on the sofa, before wrapping you up in the soft blanket like a bunny nestled into its burrow.

“Y’want chicken soup with yoghurt or bananas, luv?” He calls from the kitchen.

You sneeze, peaking your head from the blanket to watch papa, “Mmm.. Yoghurt.” You hear a can being easily opened, and a slow pour to the ceramic bowls. The ones with the floral print. Your favourite bowl.

“Strawberry or.. Vanilla?” He asks with a gentle grunt.

You blink the sleepiness out of your eye. “Wan’.. Strawberry.”

You hear a low hum, indicating that he heard your little voice from afar.

You feel dizzy from the fever that had come to bite you. You feel miserable without papa. You let out a weak whimper from the sofa, “Paaapaaaa..”

“I hear ya, luv. I’m comin’ soon.” With a small plastic spoon and a bowl of chicken soup warmed up from the microwave, he comes to you with a stride brooding yet loving. He beckons for you to sit up, and you do so with a bit of trouble. You weakly crawl to him.

“‘Aaah,’ baby.” He cheekily coos. A spoonful of yummy chicken soup near your mouth. It oozes with a scent so homey and comfy, you eagerly open your mouth and allow him to put the spoon in.

But.. You droop.

You can’t taste it. At all.

You try to stiffen the tears that almost drip from your waterlines. It coats your wispy lashes as you blink multiple times to get rid of the dewdrops.

He looks at you with a sad frown, “What’s wrong, bug?”

With your frustration and sadness from just taking one spoonful- he notices, “Ah.”

“Can’t taste?” He places the spoon in the bowl to rub your head affectionately.

“Nuh-uh,” You shake your head sadly.

“‘m sorry luv,” He grabs the spoon and gently places it in your mouth again- and again, again. Until the bowl was empty, “At least you know it’s warm, yeah?”

You brighten up just a bit, “..Uhuh.”

“Warm just like your blanket,” A soft squish to your cheek. This elicits a hoarse giggle from your throat- and a soft sneeze.

“Still want the yoghurt?”

You look down at your fuzzy socks, tiny tots wiggling from inside out of pure boredom. “Uhm.. mhm.”

“Good girl.” He brings the yoghurt to your mouth. You can’t taste it, but at least it makes your throat feel just a bit better.

“Tummy full now..” You babble sweetly.

“Mhm? That right, bug?” Standing up to go put the dishes in the sink to wash up quickly, he does. He throws the empty yoghurt tub in the bin with a quick step on the pedestal of the trash-can.

“Luv?” He calls out for you from the kitchen-area.

“?” You peak your head from the blanket again, staring at him with those sleepy baby eyes of yours.

“Y’know I love you..”

Suspicious arises in your tummy. “..Uhuh.”

You squint your beady eyes, a tiny cough escaping your throat.

“And I want what’s best f’ you..”

“…Oki.”

“And.. you want what’s best f’ yourself, don’t you?”

Smart little girl you were. “Nuh-uh.” You don’t want to drink pills.

“Bug..” He frowns, “Just one.”

“It’ll make you feel much better baby, I promise you.” He grunts, filling up a cup of water. He feels bad for doing this- but for your sake.

You can’t help the whine escaping your lips. It’s hard enough to swallow things whilst sick!!!

“No no noooo,” You shake your head as he strides closer with the medicine. You try to back away, even holding the blanket closer to you, but you could not get out of this. Not one bit.

“..Yes, yes, yes,” He plops the medicine in your mouth and- dunks the water as soon as he could.

You sniffle and force yourself to drink it up. You shake your head vigorously, low pigtails bobbling about.

“Bad papa, bad bad..” You rub the sleep in your eye yet again.

He squints his eyes at you, “Oi.”

You meekly look at him, “Sorry..”

He softens up a bit, before pulling your burrito-wrapped self near his frame.

“You’ll be okay soon, luv.” And he presses a soft kiss on your forehead. A squeeze from his arms made you feel much better, as you rest your little head on him yet again.

“My good girl, so strong.” He grumbles out. The praise makes your cheeks bloom like a flower. Your papa-bear. With his warmth, you can’t help but shyly cuddle into his toned-self. You feel just a bit better since you were in his arms, and you were fed a yummy meal. But alas, the everlasting feeling of sickness always comes at you from behind, and catches you off-guard. It makes you broody and crabby.

“Daddy?”

“Mmhm?” He hums gently, watching you play with his much larger fingers.

“My tummy feels dizzy,” You hiccup.

“Dizzy?” He questions, amused.

“Uhuh..” A tiny ‘achu’ escapes your lips. A chuckle rumbles out of his chest at your little sneeze, which causes a glare sent his way.

“Not funny, papa.”

“Mm.. Just a bit, bug.”

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 8!!

I see your votes everyone, and I hear your voices. But before I can, in good conscience, place us in Heathrow, I need to share this with you.

Beginning|| Previous || Next

******************

In the end, convincing Aziraphale (who, surprise surprise, had never flown on a plane) that First Class was the way to go wasn’t all that hard.

“Otherwise you fly all cramped with hundreds of other people!” You say. Crowley nods.

“Mmmmm yes,” the demon agrees, “Imagine being elbow-to-elbow with all those humans. Feet in your face, children kicking the back of your seat, sharing an armrest!”

“I rather like humans though,” says Azirphale, even though he looks a little pale at the mention of armrests, “And I would be next to you anyway.”

“What about the humans who haven’t showered for days?” You ask, “How long has it been since the last time you were near one person, nevermind a hundred-ish, who didn’t follow basic hygiene practices? A few hundred years?”

Aziraphale’s face falls. Crowley chimes in.

“Oh yes, just imagine all the sweat and grease from the airport food.”

“And then there are the babies that travel. I mean, their ears pop when the plane takes off and when it lands, and they only really have one coping strategy.”

“Aaah,” Crowley says, “The crying babes! Think of all the crying babies and no escape! Not for hours and hours and hours.”

“And then,” You say, “There’s the in-flight meal.” Here, you seem to have struck a cord. Duh, you should have led with this. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? They serve food?”

“Psh,” You say, “If you can call it that. They ask you if you want chicken or vegetarian, and then they plop a cardboard box with a film top in front of you.”

“It’s dreadful,” agrees Crowley, “All bland and clearly frozen and warmed up in a microwave.”

“And if you’re lucky, you can tell that it’s meant to be a sandwich,” You add.

“Supposing you can tell that it’s food at all!” Crowley says with a nod, “And their wine list is small potatoes.”

“Small bland potatoes,” You say, “If you can call them potatoes at all – served in the tiniest bottles and the tiniest glasses you ever did see.”

You noticed Aziraphale’s eye twitch ever so slightly.

“And in First Class they...they serve actual food and wine, do they?”

“Oh yeah,” You say, “with proper service and cloth napkins and everything. Most of the airline websites say that the food’s prepared by an actual chef.”

“And the glasses are normal sizes, and made of actual glass,” adds Crowley for good measure. Aziraphale hums.

“Yes, fine. Clearly First Class is the only acceptable way to travel.” He leaves the room. You hear the kettle turn on. He probably needs some tea to calm his nerves after hearing all that. You turn to Crowley.

“So you’ve gone on a plane before, huh? Did you invent the food? I would not be surprised if you did.”

“Me?” Crowley says, “Naaaah. Never flown on a plane. Never needed to. But I know a bit of fun when I see it.”

You look up at him and sigh, cradling your chin in your hands for effect.

“It really is no wonder why Aziraphale loves you so much.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says, his ears turning pink.

-----

And now, dear Reader, we arrive at Heathrow. Anathema and Newt had met you at the bookshop, and the four of you drove over together in the Bentley after bidding Newt and Muriel goodbye. You spend the entire wait in line at airport security feeling nervous. Airport security is always a test for your nerves to begin with, but this time you have no passport or paperwork of any kind to twiddle in your hands to take the edge off. Instead, you fidget relentlessly with the button in your pocket (Muriel, being an observant and kind soul, had given you a large-ish green button to put in your pocket “Because you seem nervous, and it looked like it helped you last time.” You swear if anyone harms your new best friend while you’re gone you will end them). The line goes quicker than you would like, and when it gets to be your turn, honestly you’re not sure what happens. It all goes smoothly. Did Aziraphale and Crowley miracle you a passport? Did they click a finger or wave a hand to convince the guard that everything was in order? You have no idea, because you’re too focused on your nerves and Trying Not To Look Suspicious While Worrying That This Makes You Look More Suspicious Than You Would If You Could Just Be Normal About This (if you know the feeling, you know why it gets to be capitalized like that).

Once the stress of airport security is done, you head to the bathroom for a break from the chaos so that you can figure out how to breathe again. Normally, you wouldn’t be That Person to occupy the Accessible Washroom, but since you are desperately trying not to have a panic attack because of all the pent-up anxiety from the whole airport security thing, you decide that you Really Cannot Do People Right Now, and that the single-occupant washroom may be your saving grace. You lock the door and sigh, leaning against the cold metal. It’s comparatively quiet here, and you’re grateful for it. Thank Someone. You resolve to try not to be too long in case someone who actually needs this washroom comes by (although I’m gonna be honest here, reader, right now you need this room for invisible accessibility/health reasons). After a minute or two, you are finally starting to feel your anxiety return to a manageable level. Everything is okay. You are traveling with the most ideal companions you could ever dream of, and the worst part is over. Everything from here on out is smooth sailing.

Except, dear reader, you all voted. And So It Shall Be.

You’ve just finished drying your hands.

“Aah,” says a voice behind you. You jump a solid 3 feet in the air. “I thought I might find you here.”

“HOLY! FUCKING! ZOMBIE! JESUS!!!” You sputter.

“Mind your manners, human.”

“Manners?? ME?? This is a WASHROOM.”

The Metatron looks at you blankly and shrugs. Ah yes, the biggest jerk in Heaven doesn’t know or care about washrooms or privacy. Or actually being polite.

“I merely wanted to have a word with you. Away from the others, of course.”

“Yeeeaaaaah,” You say. You’ve seen a million movies (approximate), and read a million books (also approximate), you know what this is. This is the maybe we can still solve this problem quietly plot. And you know that actually having the conversation is a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”

You reach for thee door. It’s locked, and it won’t unlock. Of course. You (gently) pound your head against the door, before turning to face Metatron. You take a breath, and answer as calmly as you can given how angry you are.

“What. Do you want?”

“I merely hoped that we could agree upon...an arrangement.”

“Pretty sure I made it clear back at the bookshop that I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”

“Oh dear, no. This has nothing to do with the demon or with Aziraphale. This is about you.”

You mentally brace yourself. Here comes the manipulation. You inwardly remind yourself of the tropes of villain manipulation and all the things you’ve ever shouted at the tv screen after one of these interactions. You need to be prepared, because apparently you need to play this out. And so, you give him the response he clearly wants.

“What about me?”

“Well, my dear, I only thought that perhaps you might like to go home.”

“Ha! Nice try.”

“You have no desire to return to your family? Your friends? Your life?”

“Not right now, thanks.”

“And you think you’ll get a similar offer later?”

“I mean...well yeah. I don’t know whether I would actually want to go back yet but --”

“You think Aziraphale and his associates will want to keep you as their pet forever? My dear, they only entertain you right now because you’re useful to them.”

Okay, I mean you knew that already but still. Ouch. Hearing it out loud is just...Ouch. Unfortunately, you do not have the Acting Prowess of either Michael Sheen or David Tennant, and so the Metatron sees the Ouch. He smiles kindly.

“Here, you are merely a tool,” he continues, voice smooth as honey, “And back home there are people who love you and value your presence in their lives. Back home there are people who miss you purely because you are you. Here, you are well, a convenience. A help. But that’s all. And once this is all over, there is no promise, no guarantee that you would be able to return. And no reason for Aziraphale to keep you. You would need to start again, and since you needed the help of an angel to get through airport security, I’m guessing that would be very difficult for you. And then, of course, there’s your immortal soul to be concerned about once the Final Judgment comes to pass.”

You ignore the bait, even though it stings. Take a breath. You’ve got this.

“That’s all irrelevant right now,” You say.

“Is it? It seems that you’re….what’s that charming human expression? Flying by the seat of your pants?” He chuckles at his own joke. You smile awkwardly. Well, yes you are, but the heroes in stories do all the time. They figure it out as they go. You are doing no worse than any of them. You don’t find the joke so funny. And frankly his laughter is unsettling.

“Um...” You start uncertainly, “Well if that’s all, then can I go now?”

“In a moment,” the Metatron says smugly. Oh you hate that he has so much control right now. “First I would like to extend to you the offer of some help. I would like to see you home safely, at a time of your choosing. Whenever you feel that you are ready.”

“And you have the power to do that, do you?” You’re skeptical.

“I have the power of all Creation at my disposal.”

“Riiiiight. Just out of the goodness of your own angelic heart. That’s very kind of you Metatron.” You’re not sure if he hears the edge of sarcasm. He shrugs regardless.

“There is of course, one and only one thing I would like from you if you decide to take my help.”

“Oooooof course there is. I’m not letting you near Aziraphale and Crowley.”

“Once again, my dear, this has nothing to do with them. All I would like is to know why your first instinct was to take that coffee. The full truth, mind you. None of that sarcasm or loophole nonsense that you humans are so fond of. And do not be foolish enough to think I can’t tell the difference.” He looks at you pointedly.

That’s...a suspiciously innocuous request. But then again, it usually is with these sort of things, isn’t it? You feign non-chalance and tap your foot for emphasis.

“Are you done yet?” You ask obstinately. The door unlocks audibly behind you.

“Just think about it,” says the Metatron, “No rush.”

Oh yes there is one. You rush to open the door. Never before have you felt so relieved to be in a crowded place.

Don't worry about airplane route logistics or whether or not you can actually get a direct flight from Heathrow to Orlando. Just vote for whatever you would like :)

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

[passingbypainfullyaware]

Aaah the preview for next weeks ep??? The Tan/Fang scenes??? Chain and Pun playing yet another game of gay chicken??

[haribote-no-otona]

Here he is! Our big gurl with chicken legs ❤️ I'm so happy with the result 😍 Aaah, Die... what a man... Happy Fanart Friday!

As a reference, I used a beautiful photo by @/Hilda_dePolaris on Twitter❤️✨ she captured him perfectly!

Software: Procreate

Brush: Nikko Rull (from the Aaron Griffin pack)

Fanart of Die from Dir en grey

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #2: High Flying

Prompt: horizon || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: Very mild spoilers for the beginning of Yak T'el--an expansion of canon.

---

The dirigible ride from Tuliyollal to Yak T’el had begun well enough; the air currents above the Turali capital were warm and stable, allowing the dirigible to rise quickly but smoothly as it traveled south. Wuk Lamat had been a little queasy, but a dinner of arepas filled with shredded chicken and pear alligator with cold mint tea had settled her stomach, and she had perked up as the evening deepened, enough that she had even braved the observation platform to oooh and aaah at seeing the waterfalls of Kozama’uka pass below them. She hadn’t asked quite as many questions as usual during Rere’s after dinner storytelling, instead content to listen from her hammock as they had all clustered together in the passenger compartment.

Unfortunately, turbulence was turbulence.

Synnove was awake as the dirigible suddenly heaved, and then she was wide awake as a SHRIEK filled the air and the gold and orange shape of Wuk Lamat fell past her hammock and landed with a THUD.

A very pathetic ow drifted up from the floor.

Even as the dirigible kept swinging, the Scions moved quickly. Synnove and Heron rolled out of their lowest level hammocks, with Synnove manhandling Wuk Lamat out of the way as Heron caught first Krile, and then Rereha, leaping from the highest level hammocks. The twins, Alakhai, and Erenville followed, shoving up into a corner with everyone else as the off-duty crew scrambled for the ladder up to the observation deck.

Synnove managed to get Wuk Lamat upright, and she and Heron bracketed the young woman between them, with Synnove sticking out her leg to brace against the wall to keep herself as stable as possible. Alphinaud crawled over, balancing his knees on Heron’s thighs—Heron grunted, the twins were finally hitting their growth spurts—and gently peeled open first Wuk Lamat’s right eye, then the left, a small wick of light glowing on his fingertip. Wuk Lamat groaned, but submitted to the inspection without further complaint.

“No concussion,” Alphinaud said at last, drawing back to wave a diagnostic spell over her. “Do you have any pain?”

Wuk Lamat shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. There was a green tinge to her skin, visible even beneath her fur. “No,” she bit out, “just bumps and bruises.”

Shouting echoed from above, and the dirigible heaved again, and this time didn’t stop juking and juddering. Alisaie cursed as she went skidding sideways, stopped only by Erenville fisting his hand in the back of her shirt and hauling her back. Wuk Lamat slapped her hands over her mouth with a moan of utter misery.

Heron wriggled her hand between Wuk Lamat’s back and the wall and began rubbing firm circles between her shoulder blades. As Synnove began a tuneless hum to help try and district Wuk Lamat from her nausea, one of the dirigible crewmembers poked his head through the hatch.

“Northbound air stream’s closer to the southbound one than it should be,” the mamool ja called down. “Pilot’s getting us back on course, but there’s going to be another bad bump when we move back into the southbound air stream.”

Erenville gave him a thumbs up as acknowledgment, and the crewmember ducked back topside.

“I hate boats,” Wuk Lamat said, the words muffled by her hands still covering her mouth. “I hate boats that float. I hate boats that fly.”

“What about boats that fly between stars?”

As Alisaie reached over her brother, rolling his eyes, to swat at Rereha, Wuk Lamat groaned. “I hate them, too.”

Krile crawled over Heron, flashing a quick smile of thanks at her when the Hellsguard hooked her fingers into the hood of her jacket, and gently patted Wuk Lamat’s knee. “Deep breaths, Wuk Lamat, nice and slow now.”

Krile had coached Wuk Lamat through two sets of controlled breathing when the dirigible basket swung extra violently and the sound of falling crates in the storage hold echoed up to the passenger compartment. Krile clung to Heron with a yelp, and Synnove braced her other leg while throwing her free arm in front of Wuk Lamat to try and hold her in place, idly noting Rereha losing her grip on Alakhai and smacking into Erenville’s stomach. Erenville’s wheeze of pain harmonized oddly well with the unhappy burbling coming from Wuk Lamat’s throat.

Finally, the dirigible settled and after a few minutes of tense quiet, the hatch opened once more and the same crewmember as before began climbing down the ladder. “Back on course now, very sorry about that, folks,” he said, and jumped the last three fulms to the floor. “We’re stable enough for passengers to come topside, the fresh air should help the Third Promise.”

As the crewmember headed down to the storage hold to assess the damage, the Scions and company climbed to their feet with a minimal about of wobbliness—save for poor Wuk Lamat, whom Synnove and Heron had to haul upright. The Xbr’aal leaned heavily against Heron as she let herself be guided towards the ladder.

“This is not going to be fun,” Wuk Lamat moaned.

“Let me go first,” Synnove said, “you can hold onto one of my boot straps, and Heron will spot you.”

It took time and some more manhandling, but they finally got Wuk Lamat up onto the observation deck, and the rest of the group soon followed after them. Another crewmember came around to clip safety lines onto them all, and they proceeded to sprawl in an inelegant pile out of the way of the crew to settle all of their equilibriums. Alakhai passed over a waterskin, and Synnove had Wuk Lamat take careful sips to bring her roiling stomach back under control. The Xbr’aal ended up stretching out on her side afterward, eyes squeezed shut and breathing through her nose.

After a bell or so of quiet, Heron gently poked Wuk Lamat’s shoulder. “Sun’s coming up,” she murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Something you can focus on besides your poor stomach.”

A weary sigh escaped the young woman, but she opened her eyes.

The dense jungle of Yak T’el stretched for malms and malms below them, and the sea of night-dark leaves turned red and gold as the first rays of dawn stretched from the east. The sky turned from black to gray, and then to pink, and yellow, and orange, with the few clouds hanging in the air reflecting the same colors.

Wuk Lamat sighed again, but this time it was a peaceful sound. “I do love a good sunrise,” she said.

“When you bother to wake early enough for one.”

Wuk Lamat kicked at Erenville, who merely slid out of the way with a chuckle. “High Tide Harbor shines like a diamond, especially from the palace,” she continued, ignoring her childhood friend. “It’s one of the most beautiful sights in all of Tural.”

The sound of escaping air could be heard over the wind, and the dirigible began to slowly float towards the treeline. The sky was acquiring its usual azure hue as the sun continued to climb, and Wuk Lamat gingerly pushed herself to sitting upright as the pilot called from the rudder, “Landing in a bell! Stay put until we dock!”

“Thanks the gods,” Wuk Lamat muttered. “I am so very done with—hrrk.”

Synnove and Heron hurriedly shoved Wuk Lamat’s head down between her knees. The Third Promise groaned unhappily, and began her deep breathing again.

[luxthestrange]

RoR Incorrect quotes#48 The Doctor

DPY/n*Ontop of some lower mountain of knocked out or...dead bodies laughing hysterically*BWHAHAHA-HA

God Fighters:...*Watching in horror*

Brunhilde+Valkryries:...

Humanity fighters:...

A Golden fire portal opens and a figure walks out passing thru them

Doctor Strange: Move Aside, I'm working*Tired reluctant dad walk*

Zeus: Who is the cloaked man?*Looks at Brunhilde*

Brunhilde*Shrugs at him*

Doctor Strange*Looking up at them*Y/N, YOU GET DOWN FROM THERE RIGHT NOW!

DPY/n: MAKE ME OLD MAN!

Doctor Strange:...You kiss your mother with that mouth?-DONT MAKE ME GO UP THERE, CHILD!?

DPY/n:TRY IT.NERD!!!

Doctor Strange: You spawn of evil-WHEN WE GET HOME YOUR GONNA GET IT!*Flying up towards you*

DPY/n:WOAH!?-AAAH!?hahaha!

Gods, Valkyries & Humans*Suprised by their fight and even wincing and cringing in pain as the two fight each other*Oh-...OH!?

Doctor Strange: You Lil gremlin-Not the face! I'm an actor!*got smacked in the face with a rubber chicken*I SAID NOT THE FACE!?

...If you know where this is from you are cool in my eyes

[sebadztian]

Another episode, another live reaction time...

Well, I can see why Diedrich is so annoyed... But I love seeing their interaction! I hope that someday, we'll get to see that chapter of them cooking together being animated. Now, that is going to be so much fun!

Like father like son...

I can see where Ciel gets that look from... Ciel will grow up to be like his father, obnoxious, arrogant, and very sly... But he's probably going to be worse since he's raised by a demon...

Makes me wonder, why did Vincent get a Borzoi as a dog? He should've gotten a German Shepherd. Then he'd have TWO German dogs.

Aaah! They cut the 'You're ruining the mood, Dee!' part!! 😡

Edward is asking the important question...

Hello, Phantomfam!! Long time no see!!

The battle of the shotas, Ciel vs Harcourt...

The pie sequence actually confused me. So, they have an original beef pie, then Seb swapped that out. But they ate the chicken pie prepared by Agni? So how did they get sick from that?

Anyway, it's always good to see Sebastian the butler 😁

Forget it, Ciel. Harcourt is the ultimate shota! And Druitt is very creepy... (I'm not going to put Harcourt's image since it will be flagged as NSFW for sure - and might get me banned).

I love Tanaka!!

Cheslock is so cool!!

But I think Edward is cooler for having been able to do Cheslock's signature move. Edward, you're not mediocre... I agree with Greenhill. You're a genius. Please be kinder to yourself...

The Head Master!! Oooh...!

Sebas is so cool!!

So far, the game is exciting! They mostly stay true to the manga, although I wished that they had included the sequence with the servants and Bard's pie.

I didn't remember the game being this fast-paced though. I guess, being animated really has changed the pace of the cricket game.

We're still in episode 6 and the season is slotted to have 12 episodes...

So far, each episode covers 2-3 chapters of the manga and there are 3 more chapters left of the cricket game.

If we're done with cricket by episode 8, then we're getting the boat parade in episode 9. The midnight tea party will take place in episode 10, and I think that would take 2 episodes. And if the leak is true, then we'll get the Phantomfam going to London together for the last (12th) episode! Seems about right.

I'm still salty that they've left out the Easter episode, so I really hope they'll include the shopping trip chapter!!

[ironmandeficiency]

the advice of hobbits

pairing: boromir / reader

word count: 728

summary: boromir is educated on the hobbit language of flowers, but is woefully uninformed about how your body reacts to said flowers

a/n: my april piece for the year of themed creation! maybe i’ll catch up eventually? who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️ tagging @oonajaeadira & @yearofcreation2023

“oi merry! boromir has a cruuuuuush!” “who do ya think he fancies, pip?” “do i even have to say?” “no, i don’t think you d-AAAH!”

boromir interrupts the gossiping hobbits with a (mostly) playful tackle, clotheslining them both with one arm each

he knows they’re both young, pippin not even of majority by hobbit standards, but it’s moments like these that have him wanting to wring their necks like freshly washed laundry

the topic was changed once merry and pippin were freed from boromir’s wrath, but the young hobbits were far from deterred

for days after, they continued to pester their friend about you, from teasing comments about the puppy eyes boromir gave you to preposterous claims that your eyes mirrored his

the risk of you overhearing their silly banter was far too taxing on his nerves. he’s a warrior who has seen the darkest things humanity has to offer & faced them all with limitless courage, but that courage disappears when he thinks about you learning of his harbored affection

he didn’t believe he could survive the heartbreak that would come with your inevitable refusal of a courtship offer, so he chose instead to brood about it

“i still think you should tell ‘em,” pippin remarked out of the blue one day, catching him off guard. boromir couldn’t play dumb enough to avoid thinking of what you would say and he hated how your rejection circulated in his ears

“even if i wanted to, which i don’t, i do not believe a proposition in the ways of our people would end well.” the young hobbits knew this was code for “you deserve much better and i’m too much of a chicken to offer it to you” but wisely didn’t call him on it

“then do it the hobbit way, with flowers!” “why didn’t we think of that before? absolutely genius!”

the next half hour was spent educating the captain about the hobbit language of flowers: which ones were useful in romance, which ones he’d be wise to avoid, and how to arrange the good flowers properly to convey the right meaning

once the right flowers were retrieved, it was time to teach the skill of crown weaving. in one word, that whole ordeal could be described as dismal

it took dozens and dozens of flowers and endless patience for there to be a decent flower crown, but it finally happened

boromir was losing his nerve as time went on, you making a very clear effort to avoid him that slowly broke him down

even the younger hobbits were concerned at this strange development. you didn’t start avoiding boromir until he started using the flowers, but they were positive that you shared the same feelings as the gondorian. what gives?

it got to the point where boromir was starting to toss pieces of his hard work along their walks in hurt frustration. the boys wouldn’t let their friend give up on love so easily, so they collected each of the discarded pieces and saved them

they confront you on your avoidance of boromir in the most inconvenient way possible (because that’s how these two operate) by approaching you with some of boromir’s arrangements

you had no warning when the two hobbits plopped a massive pile of flowers in your lap, the residual pollen invading your nose in the most uncomfortable fashion

sneeze after sneeze wracked your body (even legolas looked concerned at the spectacle from across the fire) until you were saved from the flowery pile by boromir, who looked pissed as he discarded the blossoms yet again

your body was too busy rejecting the pollen that you didn’t notice the harsh looks merry and pip both were wearing before the took’s eyes betrayed the appearance of an enlightenment

“merry, they’re averse! they don’t hate boromir after all, it’s just the flowers!” this certainly caught merry’s attention and led to an enlightenment of his own.

“the flowers held no hobbity weight at all when they just made them sick! oh this is a great development!” “now they can confess their love for each other without fear of an attack!”

if looks could kill, pippin would be dead several times over (but he paid no heed to this of course, that’s just his nature)

boromir, now more than ever, wonders why he took the advice of these two silly hobbits

[winniemaywebber]

oh bestie those domestic prompts are so sweet!!! Could I request 19 for Jean & Harry and 11 for Olive & Dougie?

hi pookie!!!! sorry for taking so long <3

under the cut to save space. from this prompt list (inbox is still open for these!)

19. I feel so safe and warm in our cozy little nest - Jean x Harry

“I need that heading, Crosby. NOW!”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” he shrieks, fumbling with the maps in front of him. “Aaah, fuck!”

“Croz!” Dougie yells. “Come on, man! Figure it out, we're going down fast.”

“I'm trying, Douglass!”

“CROSBY!” It's Kidd this time, his voice coming across as sharp as his features. Crosby jumps; a yelp would have escaped his mouth if he hadn't controlled it.

“256. TWO-FIVE-SIX.”

All Harry can think of is Jean receiving that damn letter. Who would write it? Bubbles? Harding? For a moment, whatever they had to say about him didn't matter. He imagines his wife's sweet face crumpling as her heart breaks, reading the notice of death. He feels his heart drop, the fort hitting an air pocket, Blakely and Kidd keeping the fort level with all their might. Then, a voice.

“Prepare for crash landing. Get in position!”

Harry Crosby ungracefully sits himself on the hard floor, his coccyx taking a hit, the rush of pain making him sick to his stomach. James Douglass sits behind him, tugging him back towards his chest. He hears the small clank of metal, ragged, anxious breathing as Douglass pulls the tags out of his shirt and kisses the one that bears his girl's name. As they tear and scrape through foliage, there is only one thing on Harry's mind. His eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling out, he begins to yell like a lost little boy, his throat tearing.

“JEAN! JEAN! JEAN–”

“Bing! Wake up, my love, shhh. You're at home. You're in our bed, darling.”

A sheen of cold sweat has covered his entire body. His wife's beautiful brown eyes full of concern as she hovers above him, wiping away the hair that has stuck to his head.

“Again?” he groans, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Yes, darling, again. You were calling for me.”

“Damn Bremen,” he sniffs, flipping his pillow as Jean softly wipes at his brow with a cool wash cloth.

“There, Binger. Deep breaths now.”

“Thank you, my little wife. Thank you.”

She smiles softly, her cheeks glowing in the dim light of the room. “Remember what our friend Olive taught us,” she sighs, pulling back the bedsheets to join her husband again. “Count to ten.” She sees him mentally count, breathing much less ragged than a moment before. “Better?”

“Much,” he murmurs, eyes heavy again. He feels Jean pull more blanket around his body, tucking him in and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, darling.”

“You're welcome. Remember, you are home. And I am right here beside you.”

“I know. I feel so safe and warm in our cozy little nest.”

“Good. Sleep now, my love.”

He lifts his head from the pillow, beginning to nuzzle himself into Jean’s neck. He breathes her in, arms wrapping around her as he feels himself drift off, absolutely cocooned in love.

11. Every morning I fall in love with you all over again - Olive x Dougie

A feeble cry echoes from across the bedroom, shocking Olive out of her unconsciousness. A gasp leaves her, heart pounding from the sudden transition of deep sleep to awake. Beside her, her husband wakes with a shocked snort, head rising from the pillow quickly.

“I've got her,” he sniffs, rubbing his eyes quickly.

“No, it's okay,” Olive replies, rubbing Dougie’s shoulder to soothe him back to sleep. “It's my turn anyway.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice muffled by the pillows.

“Yes,” she nods, kissing him on the cheek. “We'll see you when you come downstairs. I'll make coffee as the bottle heats up.”

“You're a dream, Mrs Douglass.”

She giggles, padding over to the small crib at the other end of the room. There, a small swaddled bundle cries mournfully, feeling awful sorry for herself and her gassy, hungry tummy.

“Hello, little chicken,” Olive speaks quietly, scooping the baby up. “Good morning. What a good sleep, hm? Papa swaddled you up good. Cozy girl, huh?” The baby's snuffles are muffled as she snuggles in Olive’s neck, the very same way her father does when he wants to be held. “Come on, little one,” she murmurs. “Let's get breakfast.”

With coffee brewed and baby Sophia’s first bottle of the day warmed to her exact preference, Olive sits in the cozy armchair with her daughter, using one finger to stroke at her face as she drinks heartily.

“Slow down, Sophia,” Olive urges, seeing Sophia's blue eyes - the same sapphire blue as her Papa's - begin to grow heavy.

“There,” Olive coos, feeling herself begin to doze too. “All done now.” She holds the baby to her chest, the warmth of tiredness enveloping her and catching her off guard, willing her eyes to try and stay open so she can properly kiss her husband goodbye before he leaves for work. The inner protestations are useless, Olive asleep with her chin resting on the baby's head.

She feels a blanket being draped around them both, and a soft hand raking through her loose curls. “Hey, mama,” James greets in a soft whisper, the hand now gently stroking his daughter’s deliciously chubby cheeks. “You look cozy.”

“We are,” she breathes. “Didn't even know I was still tired.” Patting the baby's back as she stirs at the sound of Dougie’s voice. The pair shush her gently, both of their hands colliding as they comfort their baby simultaneously. Olive looks up at him, lips pouted for her goodbye kiss when she sees his features begin to soften.

“What is it?” she asks, eyes narrowing comically before reaching up to kiss him.

“Just this. I love it. I see this and every morning I fall in love with you all over again.”

Noses touching, they smile, looking down at the small baby in Olive’s arms.

“I can't believe she's finally here. It's just surreal.”

“It really is. And it's perfect.”

[spoiledberry]

Alpha: aaah, what a busy day... But now I can finally just sit back and relax, without any inconveniences or unscheduled duties to torment me! —Raising an eyebrow and looking around the room—

—Silence—

Alpha: Ahem! I said "I can finally just sit back and relax, without any inconveniences or unscheduled duties to torment me"!

—Silence—

Alpha: Oh. Perhaps i really can rest today. —Smiling and starting the motion to sit on the couch—

Young Dewdrop, putting his hand out from inside the sofa to grab Alpha's arm: Father, i demand chicken nuggets.

Alpha, screeching: WHAT THE FUCK-