#and i am not good at writing hcs

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest

[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]

[snoflurriee]

james potter would make the perfect 80s movie jock. like he would rock those jersey crop tops and tiny little shorts over a pair of gray sweatpants with some pristine white sneakers. he has a red sports car that he and his pa spend the weekends working on and it's his pride and joy (no one else can drive it.) he's ridiculously rich, unfairly fit, a class clown but still super smart, and the definition of being a heartthrob. he could have anyone he wants but he's doomed to pine after the one person that doesn't give him the time of day. not to mention the character arc he'd have!!! anyways i love him

[kokushibosbestie]

ok so idk if u do like x reader stuff but if you do, can u do like a Sally face fic or headcannons with Sal and Larry. I wanted to request what it would be like for them to have like a very busy s/o. Like I do marching band and outside of school I do volleyball and lessons for trombone and piano. Along with that I take AP classes and student council which give me more work to do so I feel pretty drained by the end of the day

♡~ Sal and Larry w/ busy S/O HCs ~♡

A/N: Yes, I take requests and do (Character) x reader headcannons! AND I'M SO SORRY IF THIS WASN'T GOOD AND I KNOW LARRY'S PART ISN'T LONG I HOPE YOU CAN FORGIVE ME ANON. ALSO IM SORRY THAT IT TOOK SO LONG, I'VE BEEN REALLY BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND I HAD WRITERS BLOCK FOR LIKE 3 WEEKS 😭🙏

Warnings: None, just pure fluffiness and love. GN!reader.

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♪ Sal Fisher ♪

· HE'S JUST A FKN SWEETHEART 😭😭 · I will say that he is going to make sure to make your life easier no matter what · like doing chores, helping you with projects and assignments, and planning out your week · I don't think many realize this, but he is not the "badass player" people portray him as. 😔 · So, he will make you sit down with him on the weekend and ask how things are going. · And this is with everything. Work, school, family life, your relationship with him, your mental health, etc. · He is serious about it too. 😅 He cares a lot and he doesn't like to see you stressed. · So when you come home tired and worn out, he will not be happy. · he knows it's not your fault and you can't help it "Love, please stop doing this to yourself. You know this isn't good." · Like I said, he loves you 🥰 · istg this man HAS and WILL beg you to take a break · so when you come home, he'll already have a bath ready for you · once you're done taking a bath, he'll make you sit down on the floor in front of the couch so he can brush / comb your hair · and I honestly think he's not the best cook, but he will cook your favorite food no he won't, it's going to be takeout because he failed · your room is already cleaned and he bought you squishmellows to add to your collection · he'll cuddle you to sleep while playing with your hair · definitely the big spoon on nights like this "Relax baby, you need to get sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?"

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☆ Larry Johnson ☆

· I'ma be fr with you, he would NOT notice at first · Not until Ashley said something but after she brings it to his attention that you need a little bit more attention, he will do exactly that · and istg, he WILL pick you up bridal style and carry you away from whatever you were doing 👀 · If you protest, he will glare at you and ignore it. · Any kind of work you do is "overworking yourself" to him · so beware · Imma be completely honest, this man CANNOT keep up with you · Your ship dynamic is literally "busy mastermind and their assistant who worships them but can't keep up." 😭💞 · larry is the one worshiping you "Look, I know you have a lot going on, so don't try to convince me that you aren't. I might be stupid in school but I'm not stupid with you." · he will say shit that doesn't make sense WHATSOEVER. 😔 · Ofc, he won't admit that he's trying to take care of you · or keep up with you · obvi 🙄 · I have my own hc that he actually does know how to cook nicely, so I think he'd make you food you'd watch a movie together and talk · once your social battery is completely out, he'll offer you to sleep on his chest. 🥰 · and when you wake up, he's gunna make you breakfast. "Don't try to keep yourself up babe. You've had a long day, so just rest."

DISCLAIMER: THE HEADER IS MINE, THOUGH THE FANART IS NOT. THE DIVIDERS ARE NOT MINE, ONCE AGAIN, THEY ARE NOT MINE. ALL CREDITS GO TO ORIGINAL POSTERS / CREATORS!!! ALL WRITING BELONGS TO ME!!!

[python333]

since i just woke up from one and came here to seek comfort and get it out of my head,i had the idea of "why not ask them if they'd like to write such a thing?" So here i am.

The main thing is reader having a really grotesque, explicit and horrific nightmare (that's how most of mine are) could be getting tortured,put in a meat grinder,you get it,work your magic and write as you wish haha.And after they wake up with a heavy and tight chest, horrified naturally,it being out of their control,could you have the 141 members comfort us? Perhaps one way of getting most of their reactions would be setting up a scenario where they had to camp and sleep in the same place, something of the sorts,so yeah.

Honestly still not over the nightmare yet that shit was horrific haha,but yeah,hope this'll be a nice writing for you,if you wish to do so.Take great care of yourself dear,and take as many breaks as you need<3

how the sausage gets made — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have a very graphic nightmare, the 141 comforts you!!!

relationships platonic! 141 & gn! reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 3.2k

warnings nightmare about getting put through a meat grinder (not too graphic, but the imagery is still there), usage of [c/n] (code name/call sign), 2nd person pov (you/yours/youself)

note hi!! this is actually right up my alley, i really enjoyed writing this!! :D hopefully this somewhat comforts you/helps you get over the nightmare, and hopefully this was horrific enough for you!! ALSO i have a discord server now!! enjoy :3

You’re in some sort of freezer, it seems. 

Your vision is a bit blurred at the edges, and your head feels awfully heavy, making it hard to keep upright on your neck. Your shoulders feel tight and tense, as though the muscles in them were physically bundled and tied into tight knots. Though, they aren’t tense in the way they typically are. Somewhere in the back of your mind—as your gaze wanders around the blue-tinted room you lay in—you can recall times after sparring sessions with a few of your teammates when your shoulders felt tight, and it was nothing like this. Those times, you could feel the knots as though they grew roots from your shoulders to your wrists. Unlike now, your shoulders feel lighter than those times. 

Those times. You aren’t sure what “those times” refers to. All you can see and think about is the light blue tiling of the ceiling above you. It’s strange; you’ve only seen tiling like that on dingy bathroom floors in the public gym you used to go to. It’s never been on the ceiling like that. Huh. 

You can’t really feel your hands, which is even stranger. You know where they are—they’re right at your sides, laying on the stingingly cold concrete floor of whatever room you’re in—and can hear the echoing taps they give whenever you lift and hit them lightly against the floor, but yet they feel numb. You move one of them, not nearly as off-put by the numbness as you should be, and lift it up and over your face. It looks normal. No, yeah, that’s my hand alright. Don’t know what I expected. 

You put the hand back on the ground and using both hands you push yourself up from the floor, letting out a small grunt as you do. It takes an uncanny amount of force to push yourself upwards, but you manage to do so anyway, and you finally have a look at the room around you. You look ahead of you. Blue tarp. It’s shiny and almost looks woven, and if you squint your eyes enough, it looks grainy. You look to your left. More blue tarp. It’s of the same quality, the same quantity, and is in all aspects the exact same as the other blue tarp. You make a quick prediction before looking to your right, and, lo and behold, another blue tarp. How shocking. 

It looks the same as the other two. Frowning, you look behind you, and surprisingly you are not met with yet another blue tarp. This time, there’s a large, shiny, stainless steel machine behind you. It’s a good ten feet away, about the same distance away as the tarps, and for some reason it beckons to you. Like Princess Aurora to her spinning wheel, you find the strength to push yourself up to your feet completely, and immediately you begin walking towards the metal machine without much resistance. 

It doesn’t really hit you that you have no idea what this machine is or what it does. You don’t think you’ve seen anything like it. As you get closer, you can see a few items strung from the ceiling past the machine; weird plastic-clear looking tubes that are linked together in the same way clowns at parties twist balloons, and there’s iron-cast skillets hung on the ceiling from invisible hooks. Huh. Weird. Despite the oddities of the items strung from the ceiling, you keep walking towards the machine. 

When you get even closer, the machine becomes less blurred and comes more into focus. It looks completely untouched. There’s a large funnel at the top, one that requires a ladder to get to—conveniently, there’s a ladder set up on and welded to the machine itself—and beneath that is a horizontal tube that tapers off into a smaller, funnel-like shape at the end with a much smaller opening. You tilt your head curiously at the machine. It’s so shiny. Though, the longer you stare at it, the grainier it gets. 

Suddenly, cutting through your thoughts, you feel a harsh push at your back that almost has you knocking into the machine. Before you can even turn around to see who felt that they had the audacity to push you so harshly, that same entity that pushed you quickly lifted you into the air. Whatever they’re using to hold you up feels like absolutely nothing—as if they were just gathering enough air molecules to swoop you up. 

“H—” You try to protest, but your throat doesn’t work. Before you can say anything, it just gives out, and leaves you wheezing for a moment before trying again only to discover that, to your horror, you cannot talk. 

Your throat seems to close up every time you try to say anything. All that comes out are breathy wheezes and coughs that leave a strangely bad pain in your chest. As you try to stop your coughing, whatever is picking you up quickly dumps you into the large funnel on top of the machine. It’s cold and bites at your skin unforgivingly, making you hiss in discomfort. You don’t even clock how the cold is irritating your skin, despite you being fully clothed and none of your bare skin being exposed to the metal of the machine. 

You try to move your hands to the sides of the funnel to push yourself up, but you move at a painfully slow speed, and can’t do anything but stand still. Like a mannequin, you’re forced into a standing position and can’t do anything but stand in the funnel. You look down, and you’re standing on what seems to be some sort of cylinder. The bottom of the funnel ends around your mid-calf. 

Oddly, this reminds you of those nightmares you used to have when you were younger, where you were running from something or someone but moved too slow to get away. 

Suddenly, the cylinder begins to move. 

It spirals in place, making you quickly lose your balance and soon you’ve fallen in a lying position on the cylinder as it turns. It starts at a slow pace but starts to speed up, in time with your panic. You try to scramble to your feet but your limbs don’t allow it, keeping you stuck in place, the cylinder starting to turn even faster. 

You’re uncomfortably folded and pushed through the small ending of the funnel as the cylinder keeps moving, and once you’re through, you start to hear a strange whirring. 

It’s loud and sounds like some sort of shitty metal fan. It clangs against the sides of whatever tube you’re in and occasionally makes a horrible screeching noise that, if you could, you would cover your ears to escape. You turn your head to the side ever-so-slightly and see the “metal fan” itself—four sharp blades that spin clockwise, with a weird hole-filled circle behind them. You furrow—or, well, try to at least—your eyebrows at the sight. 

The fuck is that? You don’t realize you’re getting closer to it. 

The cylinder is now turning at an exceptionally fast pace, and only when you’re a few feet from the blades do you realize just how close you are to them. 

“Wait—” You finally find your voice, though it sounds far away and is muddy in your ears, “Stop, stop—” 

You’re not sure what else to say. You can’t tell if you’re begging, commanding, demanding, or anything of the sort. All you know is that the cylinder is going faster and faster, at an almost punishing pace that leaves you wondering what you could’ve done to deserve whatever the hell is happening to you. The blades emit an ungodly screech each time they get caught on a bump on the insides of the tube, and as you get even closer you can spot bright orange rust on the blades. 

The texture is enough to make you gag. You’re getting closer, and closer, and soon you’re barely a foot away from it. The screeching and the whirring is so loud. You can’t hear anything else—or, wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, if there was anything else to be heard. 

You can barely continue your train of thought before you feel a sharp, cold rush through your ankle. 

You hadn’t been paying enough attention. You didn’t realize how close your feet had gotten to the blades. 

The sound it had made when it was cut off was sickening. A loud pop, the same kind of pop that sounds when you break open the tab of a can. You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out, and suddenly the rest of your leg is getting shredded by those same blades, and dear God, it’s so cold. It feels like dry ice cutting right through your calves, making its way up to your knees, soon to your thighs, much faster than you can process. 

Your thoughts come in small fleets that go as soon as they come and you’re never able to continue or dwell on a single one, always getting interrupted by the white-cold pain that literally cuts through your upper thighs. You can’t feel anything from the waist down. You can’t feel your legs, your feet, and you’re losing feeling in your hips—

Your hands desperately grasp at the cylinder, and you’re not sure what you’re doing but you’re trying to do something, anything, as long as it delays the inevitable shredding of your torso and head. But it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Whatever you had intended to do doesn’t work, and soon there’s a sharp cold pain that cuts into your ribcage, and suddenly you can’t even feel your stomach. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can recognize the small sobs that escape you. 

Your chest is the next to go, and soon it’s your shoulders, and even though they’re not gone yet your hands have already gone numb, and you’re bracing yourself for the sharp-cold pain to reach your neck when suddenly—

You wake up, body immediately getting into an upright sitting position and your chest heaving as sweat drips down your forehead. The sweat is cold and your breathing is loud in your ears, your ears which are filled with ringing, the sound of just anything enough to make your breath hitch and a sob crawl into your throat. With open-mouthed pants, you blink rapidly at the space in front of you, before quickly raising your hands to your face and letting out a loud, shaky sigh when you can actually feel the air moving through your fingers. 

They aren’t numb. You plant them on the ground and just feel around, the rough fabric of your tent gliding under your hands. You shake your head vigorously, letting out another relieved sigh when you find that it’s still attached to your neck and hasn’t been sliced through. You move your legs and they’re still attached to your body. Everything is still on you. You’re in the same clothes you went to sleep in. You have all of your body parts. You are in one piece. Nothing is missing. You’re fine. 

Despite repeating to yourself that everything’s okay—you’re physically together, you’re in a tent in the middle of the fucking woods and the worst thing that could happen to you is getting jumped by a bear in your sleep—nothing feels okay. There’s still the phantom feeling of getting put through a meat grinder that keeps a perpetual tremble in your bones, that keeps you unknowing of how to act like you’re in one piece. Not act. You are in one piece. But you aren’t. You swear, even though it was just some stupid dream, that it felt real enough to have actually happened. 

“[c/n]?” Soap’s tired voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Right. We’re sharing a tent. You quickly whip your head to look at him, chest still rising up and down rapidly as your unstable breathing continues. You don’t say anything, simply staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Are ye alright?” He frowns, quickly growing more awake the more concerned he gets, “Whit’s wrong?” 

Maybe you’re in some form of shock, but you find yourself staying silent out of the fear of something happening. You’re not sure what that ‘something’ is, but it’s there, and it’s holding you back from even attempting to speak. Your breath hitches and your throat stings. 

“Hey, uh,” Soap pushes himself up with a grunt and walks over a short few steps to you, kneeling down once he’s beside you, “Jist breathe, everything’s gonnae be alright.”

You know he’s not exactly the best at comforting people. He’s always been better with more technical things, and would much rather help you with math homework or something over trying to comfort you after something traumatic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—of course he does, and he wishes he was much better than he is now at it—but he can never manage to find the right words. 

He puts a tentative hand on your shoulder and you stare at it as it reaches you, flinching back immediately when you can actually feel his hand over your shirt. He pulls his hand back instantly, expression growing even more concerned. 

“Do ye wannae tell me whit happened?” Soap whisper-asks. When you quickly shake your head ‘no’, Soap thinks for a moment before offering, “Do ye want me tae get onyone else?” 

You think about his words for a moment before nodding. He sighs. 

“Who?” 

Your gaze flickers from the exit of the tent before going back to Soap.

“… Cap’n Price,” You quietly decide. Soap nods and reluctantly gets up, making his way out of the tent. 

A few minutes later, you hear Soap walk back into the tent as well as another set of feet that trail right behind him. You look up and over at the entrance of the tent and see your Captain. His eyes are immediately on you, and as soon as he sees the mystified look in your eyes, he’s quick to make his way to you and kneel down beside you. 

He doesn’t know what to say for a moment, you can tell. He instinctively brings a hand up to put on your shoulder like he typically would in situations like these, but something causes him to bring his hand back down and away from you. Maybe Soap told him how you reacted earlier? You brush off the thought for now, more focused on whatever Price is trying to do. 

The reason you wanted him here instead of the others was mainly because you felt the least embarrassed around him. Which was weird, considering that he’s of the highest rank compared to you and the others, but still—you can’t imagine him judging you, not even for the most outrageous things. Maybe he’d have a small fit over you saying “soccer” instead of “football”, but otherwise, you can’t think of a world where he judges you for something like having a nightmare. 

And sure, the others have them too and probably wouldn’t judge you either, but still. Price will probably always be your first option for situations like these. 

“Soap hadn’t told me what happened, yet,” Price says softly, “D’you mind filling me in?” 

If this were anyone else, you’d be fighting the urge to jump off a cliff, but because it’s not, you simply answer, “Nightmare.” 

Your voice is a little clearer now, much to your relief, but it still carries that rasp from earlier. It doesn’t pain you to talk, but it does shock you that you even can, considering that you could barely form a whisper in your nightmare. And yes, that’s a silly thought, knowing that all of that was a nightmare, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“A nightmare, alright,” Price hums, before suggesting, “My tent’s bigger than yours, y’know. You wanna bring your sleeping bag over there, so we’re all together? Power in numbers, yeah?”

 You nod mindlessly, agreeing with anything Price says. He smiles at you and hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder, doing it slowly enough that you have plenty of time to let him know if it’s not okay, but you allow it. Price shoots a look at Soap and the latter nods, confirming whatever Price’s silent look asked him. 

“Alright,” Price gives your shoulder one last squeeze before standing up, waiting for you to stand up as well. Once you do, he starts to walk out of the tent, expecting you to walk after him. Surprisingly, Soap gets up as well, sleeping bag and pillow in hand. Huh. Maybe that’s what he was confirming. You quickly pick up your sleeping bag and pillow, movements a little more stilted than usual as you didn’t expect to actually be able to move as quickly as you can now, and follow Price out of your tent. 

You shiver as you walk out into the cold outside of the woods, and are quick to walk to the much bigger tent across from yours. 

When you enter the tent, Gaz remains asleep while Ghost almost immediately wakes up. It’s uncanny, the speed at which his eyes open and dart to your figure—as if he was never asleep in the first place. You push those thoughts aside and wait for Price to walk in. 

“Wh’t’s goin’ on?” Ghost asks sleepily, his British accent making his slurred words nearly impossible to decipher. 

“They’re stayin’ in here for the rest of the night,” Price answers for you, nodding over to you as he refers to you. 

Ghost looks over at you and you can sense his raised eyebrow despite not being able to see it. You look to Price to explain your situation for you again, and once he sees you look at him, he explains, “Nightmare.” 

Ghost blinks before nodding understandably. Almost immediately, he conks out and goes right back to sleeping like the dead, making Price snort. Price turns to you, and gestures towards the empty spot next to Gaz, the spot conveniently empty and just perfectly sized for your sleeping bag. You walk over there as quietly as you can, shuffling around Ghost’s and Price’s sleeping bags, and gently lay your sleeping bag down next to Gaz’s. 

You set down your pillow inside of the sleeping bag and kneel down as quietly as you can, a soft rustling sounding from your sleeping bag as you settle in. You turn on your side and let out a quiet sigh, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You’ve turned towards Gaz, and he’s turned towards you, and you look over his sleeping face for a moment before deciding to catch up on your own rest. 

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, you watch his open. 

“...” He stares at you for a moment, before he sleepily whispers, “Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

“… Y’good?” He asks, looking at your still-glassy eyes and very-clearly-worn-out expression. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You answer, trying to offer a tiny bit of reassurance. 

“Alright,” Gaz hums, accepting your answer easily, and closing his eyes once again. 

A small smile graces your lips. You’re all used to going to sleep easily, of course, on missions like these—you kind of need to be, given that you’re all military. It took you a bit, but you eventually got used to it, and gained that skill just a few months after joining the task force. 

Speaking of which, you find yourself drifting off to sleep not long after Gaz closes his eyes again, and soon enough, you’ve already fallen asleep—this time, without nightmares or dreams.

[whaliiwatching]

How do you think hurt/comfort noirpunk would go?

they deal with blegh days by distracting each other. crafts that require engagement like block print carving or making jewelry or other diy stuff, aimless conversation with the goal of making each other laugh.

bad days mean closing the blinds. less engaging activities like watching movies, sewing, lots of reassuring touch and just.. being there for each other. hobie strikes me as someone who prefers to talk—fuck suppressing your emotions until they rot—so he can air it all out, and it won’t fester inside him. he doesn’t like to be alone when he’s hurting, and loves staying in contact to help ground him. if he goes to make tea, noir will follow him and hold his hand as he goes about it. imo hobie is also more prone to crying; crying feels damn good, and noir’s sweater never minds the tears.

i think noir prefers to work through hurt internally, sitting with the emotion bc yknow, every emotion is part of living and just bc despair/anger/grief hurt doesn’t mean they’re Evil. he gets quiet, sometimes likes to be alone, but more often prefers to curl up with hobie, listening to him murmur reassurances (breathe, one step at a time, i will always be here, i love you), and stay like that until the world feels manageable again. he doesn’t cry often, but his voice does break, and he hides his face. usually in hobie’s hair or the crook of his neck. it helps remind him he’s not alone anymore.

[clowningaroundmars]

punkflower hcs bc i need to see more of them being cute teen boys together.... like, playful and creative and stuff

looong long wall of text under the cut (no nsfw)

♡ miles and hobie definitely exchange art often, even collabing on some punk zines and graffiti pieces occasionally. hobie also makes mixtapes on cassettes and slaps a million stickers on them just for his bf. miles appreciates the kind gesture but reminds hobie that he doesnt have a cassette player. "yet," hobie tells him with a wink :)

♡ miles draws a million little doodles for hobie on scrap paper, post it notes, hobie's gear, hobie himself. ofc hobie loves them all, esp when he gets to go home with his arms and chest covered in stars, cartoons, graffiti, and hearts

♡ miles is a lot more shy about dancing in public than hobie is, but whenever they manage to have any downtime at all hobie will wrap his arms around miles and sway them around. if music is playing anywhere, hobie will bop to it and get miles to join in

♡ hobie's love language? touch. any kind, anytime, anywhere, for any reason. words of affirmation come next

♡ miles' love language? quality time, and he's big on kissing. hobie isnt much of a kisser but loves his sunflower just the same, and does not complain at all when miles places little kisses on his hands, ears or his back

♡ sometimes hobie will be a lil mean to miles just as a flirty thing. just usual teenage boy stuff like kicking miles' sneakers, manspreading to get into his space if they're sitting anywhere together, using his height to bully miles into a corner away from everyone so they can flirt some more, crashing into miles on purpose just to be annoying

♡ anytime they get to go on multiverse missions together they somehow manage to get into the craziest shenanigans. breaking into a zoo to stop a villain from mutating the animals, saving a group of schoolkids on a field trip from a killer robot (?), one time hobie even drove a runaway car to stop it from crashing right into jamaica bay and miles was scarred for life

hobie tries to control the car as he haphazardly swerves it around pedestrians and barely manages to miss a group of elderly people.

miles clings onto his seat for dear life. "HOBIE!! you're gonna kill us man, where'd you get your license from!?" he yells.

hobie scoffs. "license?! i said i could drive, mate, i aint mention nuthin' 'bout no license!"

♡ hobie's universe is set in the 1970's and living in a dystopian police-state means it's too risky to bring back a phone with him, so he's often left out of spiderkid groupchats. miles still tries to keep him up to date on the latest memes and inside jokes though. they also have their own inside jokes too

♡ hobie wouldn't bring a smartphone with him anyways since he's so mistrusting of tech in general. video games, laptops, and "smart" tech mystify him, and smart watches? forget about it. when miles gets one for christmas one time, hobie clowned on his bf so hard the watch was never seen again

♡ that being said, they love exchanging music often so the only piece of technology hobie ever brings back to his dimension is an ancient half-busted ipod (it was probably rio's at one point) filled with music miles managed to download for him that week. spiderman-ing and living as a homeless teen means hobie doesn't get much time to explore genres outside of the UK punk scene and listening to brand new genres is often a trip! hobie finds out he loves drum n bass, grindcore, industrial techno, UK drill, deep house and 90's hip hop

♡ hobie gets miles to make him cool posters for whatever venue he plans on (or doesnt plan lbr) playing at every now and then

♡ rio LOVES hobie. hobie is the perfect gentleman (gentlespider?) around her and often tries to help her around the house when he can. miles... does not enjoy how much his mom favors his partner. jeff is also not so crazy about this smart-mouthed punk

♡ miles and hobie absolutely swap clothing as often as possible, with hobie "borrowing" miles' clothes more often. miles' parents keep commenting on how much of a rockero he looks with all the punk stuff and hobie never returns clothes without having altered them in some way (pins n bits everywhere, a mysterious rip or two here n there, pinned-up sleeves, etc)

♡ miles is absolutely horrible at cooking and feels left out when he sees hobie helping his mom in the kitchen. he desperately tries to learn, but it's a wonder how he hasnt sliced his fingers off yet trying to peel and cut platanos so they can make tostones

♡ for a person who's built like a lamppost, hobie is shockingly graceful with his movements. he always slips around a room like a cat and miles is so jealous of that. long gangly limbs should be a deterrent from moving like That and yet here he is, practically pirouetting around miles for fun

♡ which is a total TRIP when they go out swinging around a city. once the mask is on, every movement hobie makes is chaotic, frantic and unpredictable. spiderpunk and hobie are very different people sometimes

♡ rio often points out hobie's thinness as a typical hispanic mom does ("jóven, pero tu 'ta tan flaco, hobie honey come eat! i have leftovers here!") and miles also agrees that hobie could eat a lil more too. he is always sneaking bits of food into hobie's pockets or bags, saving fries and last slices for his partner. sometimes hobie brings home armfuls of tupperware filled with caribbean food back to his boat

♡ in return, hobie is like a magpie and brings back shiny gifts for them, some handmade stuff too. miles' drawers and nightstand are filled with jewelry, bottles, knickknacks, and other handmade accessories. his walls are filled with collages and zines hobie makes for him and rio bought frames for some of the pieces he makes her

♡ the first person to say "i love you" was miles, but by accident. after realizing it, he was nervous as hell worrying that hobie would clown him to death since he didnt seem like a big romantic. instead, hobie went nuts about it in his own hobie way, writing lyrics about miles' face when he said it, doodling them together more often, teasing miles about it often but lightheartedly. he flaunts miles' love whenever he can

♡ miles has a lethal puppydog face and he KNOWS it! one 🥺 look and hobie immediately folds and gives miles whatever he wants. but not before hemming and hawing about it first, playing up his hesitation just to make miles laugh

♡ speaking of laughter, hobie does Thee Most just to see his bf laugh or smile. he will always goof off in the bg, crack jokes every 2 secs and pretend to get hurt sometimes. hobie is naturally sarcastic and goofs off in general anyways but around miles he dials it up to 200

♡ hobie tries to get miles in on the whole anarchism thing but 1. the texts and manifestos from his dimension are different than miles' and 2. miles is a teen boy. he doesn't know anything about the theory of alienation or effective mutual aid and won't really care at the moment. "mm, you'll learn all 'bout it soon enough, though... eventually," hobie muses

♡ miles is not as big on pet names as hobie is. hobie has like 24984 nicknames for miles but miles mostly sticks to just calling his partner by his name. one day during history class tho a lightbulb moment happens, and when they meet up again miles is excited

"hobie!! guess what, i really got it this time. i have a nickname that i know you're gonna love!"

"spill," hobie says as he throws an arm over miles' shoulders.

"so you always call me sunflower all the time, right? and your name is ho... bee. get it? so i was thinkin' i'm gonna call you 'honey bee' now. y'know, you're not the only one who's got corny ass nicknames! it's good, right?"

hobie has to fight not to grin like a jackass

♡ hobie's sleep schedule is atrocious so whenever miles can manage it, he tries to wrestle his partner into any bed and tucks him in. hobie is touched that his sunflower cares so much about him ♡

♡ miles almost never gets permission to sleep over other friends' houses but on the rare occasions he does, he leaps into portals and goes to visit hobie in his dimension. his fave part of New London is hobie's boat, bc they set up a big hammock for them to lay in, feeling the sway of the boat and letting it lull them to sleep. not to mention that the boat itself is totally badass, and hobie more often than not encourages miles to cover it in graffiti

♡ hobie lowkey (but highkey) loves when miles gets a little bossy, forceful or stern. he loves ribbing miles about it (the "ill do it, but not cuz you told me to" line in mumbattan was a total joke from hobie btw LOL) and saying corny shit in response to a demand, but he loves seeing miles being confident and calling the shots every once in a while. it makes him proud

♡ if they can, miles and hobie try to gather up as much food as they can and take it over to the F.E.A.S.T. that's in hobie's dimension. miles meets hobie's "family" there and gets to know the community, which feels so much more tight-knit and welcoming than Visions. once miles gets over the major jarring differences between his world and hobie's, he finds he LOVES New London

♡ miles and hobie teach each other slang from their countries and time periods, you can't change my mind. miles walks around saying shit like "bloody 'ell" and "septic" all the time. the one time hobie said "deadass" completely unironically, all of the spiderkids DIED laughing

♡ miles learns that EVERY spider is a total dweeb in some way shape or form. even hobie! hobie's awkwardness comes out when theyre in big groups of people. hobie is oddly comfy with performing in front of crowds but when he's invited to parties and tries mingling, it's so... sooo awkward. miles secretly rejoices when he finds out hobie's weakness

♡ i'm an adhd hobie truther and i hc that miles buys hobie the weirdest fidget toys he can get his hands on. along with his switchblade, jewelry, and whatever he stole that day, hobie carries various different fidget toys in his vest to keep boredom at bay

♡ hobie definitely writes songs for miles but takes a very very very long time to actually admit it. miles finally finds out when one of hobie's songwriting notebooks falls open when hanging out in his boat, and hobie comes clean about it. with miles' encouragement tho, hobie makes the decision to add some of those songs into the usual setlist his band performs

♡ if miles ever has time, he tries to attend whatever gig hobie and his band has going on. he loves to see hobie perform on stage, his energy and stage presence is always electrifying

[bhaalbaaby]

random headcanons because im bored working and been thinking about parenting since im now indoctrinated

listing in best to worst parent lol

karlach - im probably biased but i think if she could have a child to take care of, she would be the best mom. she's would want the best for them and protect them from any dangers. she's also like childish enough that she could relate to them in a more human way than like some parents iykyk lol most of her stories start with a "do not attempt this." if her kid is into sports, she's at all the games, practices, scrimmages. the coaches call her their co-coach.

gale - i feel like he'd be that dad that like has great snacks but if you talk to him for a little bit, he starts telling you about random facts he knows. he has beekeeper vibes. i also think he would be in the PTA and at every meeting, field trips, especially to the museum. he can be overbearing but he means well

wyll - i feel like i should have put wyll higher. i think he would be a great dad and is very caring and understanding, but i think he would need to work on his demons (ha ha) first before he can be committed to that. if he is free from it, he would be the best dad. he would want to be the dad he wished he had tbh. always there and present and full of love ;-;

halsin - i think he'd be pretty good. he cares a lot. but i also feel like he'd be distant if he's on a project so to speak. he would make sure his kid is taken care of and loved on for sure. i think he would also have the best stories and go on nature walks all the time. he'd make sure his kid is always staying green and recites their 3 r's lol

shadowheart - i think she'd be a waspy mom tbh. controversial ikik, but i really think she would be a waspy crunchy mom lol i do think she would be chill as her kid got older and not so protective considering her past, but just like in the game, you're gonna have to work on that. she's like the mom you found out dated a rockstar when she was younger and she's like oh yeah w/e and never talks about it again lol

lae'zel - lol she would not want to be a mom tbh. maybe a cool aunt, but i think as a mom if she's not softened, she would be a hard one ;-; rigor and perfection at all times. i think if she is softened, she'd be more understanding, but still would require the best. she is lower because she would not even think to put herself in a position to be a caretaker of a child which ya know what good for her lol

astarion - two minds of this. evil astarion would love it for the wrong reasons. he would be setting his child to be his next in line and would require perfection like lae'zel but to the extreme. good astarion would not want the responsibility because it is a lot. he'd be worried that he's gonna mess up the kid somehow and wouldn't believe he could do it. but i think as long as he has a good village he could be an okay dad lol best dressed dad. he's not going on field trips, he's not participating in PTA lol but he will go to performances and recitals.

[tsunochizu]

I know this is not what all of you followed me for but deal with it

Ragequit head bonk

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest This art has platonic intention, please don't tag ship

[softmeetscreatureplz]

ALRIGHT. HERES ANLITTLE EXCERPT FROM A ONESHOT I NEVER FINISHED!!!!

FOR @bsd-disability-week-2024 DISABILITY BSD WEEK (DAY 1: PHYSICAL DISABILITY) - Chuuya Nakahara with Chronic Pain!!!!

(Edit; Yes I just remembered Chronic illness is technically also a day. I will either post another thing or swap them for what I post shhh)

------

Chuuya had first started dealing with- this, a long time ago. Before he'd met Dazai, before he'd even escaped the lab.

The aching, shooting jolts of pain, that spread from his fingertips up his arms, and ate away at his lowered back. When he'd been younger, it'd terrified him. The amount of pain- striking at random seeming, going from dull, easily ignorable things to something that left him in tears and unable to move properly.

He'd ended up filled with experimental drugs from the scientists- handlers there- and for the most part it disappeared.

Then Chuuya had gotten out- living on the streets alone before being found by sheep. For the most part, the pain became dull. Something tiring, that stung every once in awhile, but manageable. He ignored it, keeping his hands hidden and warm in his pockets and protecting his back well in fights. The careful control kept the pain at bay somehow, and helped keep himself in control of Arahabaki.

Until he was fifteen. He met an asshole of a guy- Dazai Osamu. And, he fucking sucked. He was rude, lazy, worked for the PM, annoyed Chuuya, insulted his height, and didn't know how to shut up.

Chuuya hated him. With an absolute, burning passion.

Any sort of fondness there he blamed on his exceedingly poor taste in men. Nothing serious. Nope.

But, then they were working together; and Chuuya took his hands out of his pockets, and they worked together to beat Rimbaud. Dazais hands were warm- and his grip added pressure and Chuuya tried very very hard not to let on how relieved he was that he wasn't worse.

Joining the Port Mafia was- weird.

Weird and different as strange. He got gloves, which meant he didn't have a real reason to keep his hands in his pockets.

He did it anyway.

His hands ached dully, and trying to do both his and Dazais paperwork almost made him want to say fuck it and spree, his back and hands flaring up. He pushed through it, using the fact that Dazai and the others knew he hadn't received a real education to let himself be a bit more messy.

He still didn't tell anyone. He was fairly sure Ane-san had caught onto the fact that something was up, the way he sometimes shied away from picking up his tea and hid his hands more than usual when they met up. She didn't press.

Chuuya still didn't know what was happening other than this, but the more he tried to hide it the more sure he was that no one else here felt the same. He refused to be weak and let it get to him.

Storm bringer- happened. He got electrocuted, and beaten in a fight, and used Corruption. His friends died. He wasn't human.

When they got home, Chuuya hid himself away in his apartment. His arms felt like they were on fire, still being electrocuted. His back screamed at him, aching and stabbing, and he was exhausted. He didn't know how to do this. The redhead lay in bed for ages, pained and mourning. It felt like he had aged years in that time.

The silent tears on his pillows were left unnoticed, and forgotten.

No one tried to disturb him. His phone was left abandoned, the buttons too much to handle.

Eventually, his pain eased. Worse than the dull ache it had been, but manageable. He'd been gone too long anyways. He forced himself up. Chuuya was starting to hate this, just a little bit.

If he had to be not human, why did he have to get a body that hurt too?

[entirelysein-e]

Tonight or tomorrow we wanna read about pegging Sakura, Tsubaki & Umemiya? 🫣

[shesmore-shoebill]

im not properly following sword af bc i never finished the first season, but i DID go and listen to the bit where angela (as bug) presumably tries to go for a kiss with amanda (as delores) and. MAN. Amanda's reaction to it....... the "whoa whoa whoa" and amanda's voice getting that kind of breathless quality that it sometimes gets when shes really amused or shes laughing really hard or overwhelmed in videos.......... mannnnn. sets off my rpf brain So Bad. Not implying anything about the actual interaction as much as. Thinking about the delicious potential in the fake rpf universe..... I'm so goddamn weak for the concept of RPF Amanda who flirts incessantly and is so confident in it and loves, loves flirting with Angela specifically- in part because she never expects anything to come of it, (for better or for worse) and Angela's flustered reactions or tendency to not play into the bit make it safe in a backwards way. Amanda flirts, Angela rolls her eyes/commits a bit but always bails out safely, etc. (Amanda keeps flirting, maybe harder, maybe it gets more and more ridiculous and over the top, and maybe she should- stop. But. She can't.)

And then Angela flirts back unexpectedly or spontaneously, and its like. Implosion. Function shutdown. The absolute charismatic force of nature that is Amanda brought to a halt, because hey wait NO, that's not supposed to happen. Its such a delicious concept. rpf brain go brrrrr.

There's the angst side if it, if you want- Amanda silently convinced it wont happen or somewhat in denial about her own feelings, or doing some kind of mental gymnastics where the flirting is as close as she'll get. (Angela convinced it's not real and having mixed feelings about it as a result.)

And then they're doing something and for one reason or another Angela initiates and Amanda's brain goes WHOA WHOA WHOA- and Amanda's charisma and composure go sideways even though for anyone else she could play it off so easily. there's so much comedic potential. delicious potential. etc. 👌

[mar-zom]

im good, im fine, im having a fantastic time writing Angsty Crowley crying alone in his Bently. im so normal about this.

[re-re-redline]

Hey so, I noticed a long time ago back when Traum came out that on YouTube, that there’s only one (1) video of Constantine’s theme (or whatever this song is) which is absolutely smashing, however…it was very crunchy. So. Using the power of Screen Record on my tablet and a crummy audio editing app, I humbly bring to you all this! A not crunchy version of this song that I sat for 3 minutes and 59 seconds to record in game.

The only issue is—unfortunately—that fade out is a paid feature and I don’t want to pay for something I rarely use…so we have a rather abrupt cutoff at the end. My apologies.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this nice piece of soundtrack and I hope you have a nice day, everyone.

—Redline, over and out!

[sesamenom]

dear british silm people: where approximately would be a good place for the Dagorath final battle to happen?