#but he doesnt like it

[myceliumsunshine]

Hear me out, Sam Winchester x reader based on the song Wagon Wheel(apologies I’m having a country phase)

Either Sam or Reader desperately trying to get back to the other because they miss each other sm. could take a turn or it could be fluff

Wagon Wheel - Sam Winchester

A/N - hi @sweetiecelin my lovely moot sorry this took me so long i was camping but i have the writing bug again and i'm also in a country phase (it's not a phase!!) so take this *thrusts fic at you* simp sam winchester. like, he will die without her kind of simping. very codependant relationship. dean is very unhappy to be there. southern reader. word count - 917

The bunker is quiet with the sound of your absence. The sound of the electric kettle you’d bought to make tea in the mornings, the sound of your laughter after a particularly bad joke from Sam or Dean in the afternoon, the sound of your soft snores as you snuggle into Sam’s arms in the night, the absence of them all creates an awfully loud silence that seems to threaten to smother the Winchester boys.

You’d been gone a week. Sam barely remembers why you’d left. Something about an old friend needing help, and you’d rushed away before he could offer to go with you in the old yellow Mustang you insisted you kept, despite the fact that you rode in the pitch black Impala with him and Dean pretty much every time you left the place the three of you all called home.

Sam misses you. It isn’t actually that revolutionary of an idea. Sam misses you when you leave the room he’s in, Sam misses you when you take your hand from his when playing FBI on cases, he misses you when you’re asleep and he misses you when you’re awake. Sam could miss you professionally, in the Olympics, score gold and set a new world record for missing you. Sam misses you a lot. But this is different. The ache in his bones is from missing you. You’ve been gone a whole week. He’s starting to feel like a dog left at home while its owners go on vacation, the way he’s staring longingly at the door all times of the day, his tail between his legs and a low whine in the back of his throat. Metaphorically, of course. He isn’t actually whining at any point (Yes he is. But he’s made Dean swear never to bring it up again, never to tell you, and he’s been more careful to make sure his brother wasn’t around ever since. Not that Sam would admit he’s been whining.)

You’re gone and it’s changed the way Sam goes to sleep. He no longer sleeps his full 8 hours, not without your waist to sling a heavy arm over. A pillow just doesn’t cut it, even if he puts an unwashed shirt of yours that still smells like you over it as a pillow case. You’re gone and it’s changed the way Sam wakes up. He no longer wakes to the feeling of kisses to his eyelids, to his nose, to his cheeks, to his ears, to his lips. The smell of the coffee that you’d somehow managed to slip out from under him to make doesn’t fill his senses either. Sam spends his waking hours moping around the bunker.

Dean’s sick of it. Everytime you call he’s complaining about Sam, and though it makes you stifle a giggle that your 6’5” boyfriend has been keening like a sad puppy dog, you have to admit you miss him too. You’re just as pathetic and needy and whiny (Yes, you can admit it. Yes, it makes you think you’re both more mature and more well-adjusted than Sam.) as your boyfriend back home. You call Sam at least once a day, usually two, three, or even four times a day. Yeah, you miss him.

Which is why, when you walk through the bunker doors, you drop your duffle and you’re running through the bunker to your shared room, hat flying off your head as you’re jumping into his waiting arms. The bouquet of flowers that you’d picked back in Tennessee clutched tightly in your hand squished up against Sam’s back, mostly wilting from the lack of water on your 14 hour drive.

“Hi.” You whisper into his shoulder. He’s lifting you off of the floor, and then your legs are wrapped around his waist, hoping to push your very being into him, hugging each other as tight as humanly possible. If you could crawl into his skin and never leave him again, you would, and so would he.

“I missed you.” He mumbles into your hair. You laugh, because you know that he missed you, he hadn’t stopped telling you over the phone, and also because you’d missed him. Missed the way he smelled, like salt and iron, lighter fuel and smoke, something sweet and something distinctly Sam. Missed the way his hugs seem to cover every inch of your skin. Missed the way he’s kissing you now, like you’re something delicate, like you’re something to be worshiped, something to be adored, like you’re the air in his lungs, like if he doesn’t kiss you now, he’ll never get the chance again.

“I missed you too.” Sam missed the way your southern accent seemed to get deeper every time you went to the south. The twang of your thickened South Carolina accent is something he can never get enough of, because it only lasts for the week after you leave the southern states.

“I missed you more.” You hand him the twisted, wilted, squished dogwood flowers, smirking.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He’s smiling at the back and forth now.

“I don’t know, I think it might-”

“God, shut up.” You both turn to Dean at the door, and then you’re laughing again and the breath is gone from Sam’s lungs. And then your forehead is pressed against his, and Sam might have a stroke. And then you’re kissing him, and Sam has died and gone to heaven. You pull back, looking at him.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

taglist - @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[seagull9111]

chat, i HATE AI ART

ai art is a soulless cash grab

REAL art is supposed to make u feel something

REAL art is a form of expression

people work YEARS at that art skills just for someone to come along and throw their ai generated image at them that they made using the prompt "ginger haired girl standing in field" or some shit.

AI art is just so that some tech bros can get more money

[bulbabutt]

i don't know the etiquette for posting other peoples tiktoks but the delivery of this punchline hit me like a FUCKING TRUCK please

NikhilClayton <- you should follow this guy on tiktok he's fucking hilarious

[starridge]

puppet hour was brutal

[fanaticalthings]

Jason Todd with his goons:

[narwhalsarefalling]

my (cis) brother is using my old license to buy wine and it has the gender marker F on there. so whenever he gets asked he just says “oh i’m trans”. its literally worked every single time.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

no guys wait u dont understand she really doesnt care about him at all she swears

[stemmmm]

group therapy

[dcxdpdabbles]

Alfred: I'm afraid I don't have any open positions right now available

Danny: There isn't? But what about the ad on Gotham Job Connects saying a nanny was needed at Wayne Manor?

Alfred: I am unsure how that go on there but I can assure you, no one here put up that-

Damian: Excuse me, are you Daniel Fenton?

Danny: *Blinks down at child* Oh um yes I am.

Damian: Excellent. You're right on time for your interview. Please follow me.

Alfred: Master Damian? You put up a ad for a nanny?

Damian: That's right.

Alfred: You....want someone to care for you?

Damian: Heavens no. I'm searching for a nanny for the real child of the house. I know you're overwhelmed with the day to day duties running the household and didn't want you to have a heart attack from the stress. A professional nanny would lift the load off your shoulders.

Danny: That's so sweet that you care so much for your staff. Who's the child you want someone to help take care of? You're baby brother or sister?

Damian: My father.

Danny: .....

Alfred embarrassed: Master Damian....why would you-?

Damian: Richard says Father acts like a child, and children need minding if they make idiotic decisions too often.

Danny: .....

Alfred: I'm terrible sorry about this young man. I'll reimburse any millage you wasted driving out here.

Danny: No, it's okay. I-

Damian: The pay is fifty dollars a hour. Eighty hours every two weeks. We cover all benefits such as medical, dental, vision and auto insurance, and lodging can be provided if needed. Depending on how long we need your services I'll set up a retirement fund for you matching your bi-weekly pay.

Danny: So I would be like a in home caregiver? Most of my experience is with children but I'm sure I could handle your father.

Alfred: Master Damian!

Damian: *Hands Alfred a piece of paper*

Alfred after reading it: How soon can you start sir?

[dead-in-a-damn-ditch]

permit office: sending one of their own men to exile to cause chaos and unrest in an attempt to justify the existence of the permit office and the poepoe

cleo: riding a horse for 4 days straight on the nether roof to quit exile out of pure spite

doc and xisuma: traveling to and from exile to sell things/help the exiled hermits

the rest of the server: hiding their beds, creating bunkers, doing their best to not get exiled

meanwhile, mumbo: fan go whirrrrrrrrr

[zeropro]

Which massive murderbots does Buster like the most?

She loves all of them because Buster is everyone’s friend.

[the follow up]

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[rayveneyed]

nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.

he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.

("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."

"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."

someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."

"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."

"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")

eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"

her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.

"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."

disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"

"well, actually..."

he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.

of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[exilley]

I do sort of wish western anime fans would analyze anime and manga from a framework of japanese historical and cultural context. Specifically a lot of works from the 90s being influenced by the general aimlessness and ennui that a lot of people were experiencing due to the burst in the bubble economy and the national trauma caused by the sarin terrorist attack. I think in interacting with media that’s not local to our sociocultural/sociopolitical sphere it’s easy to forget that it’s influenced and shaped by the same kinds of factors that influence media within our own cultural dome and there ends up being this baseline misalignment of perception between the causative elements of a narrative and viewer interpretation of those elements. It’s a form of death of the author that i think, in some measure, hinders our ability to fully understand/come to terms with creator intent and the full scope of a work’s merits

[crystallized-cheese]

PAPYRUS! HE SMELLS LIKE THE MOON.