#i should. my baby boy

[jaysunderwear]

i cannot believe i put dear wormwood on the lloyd playlist i cannot believe i cannot believe i would do this to myself to my son my god

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

[thewiglesswonder]

"NO, I WANT TO KILL HIM!"

[yuwuta]

you ask yuuta if he wants a bite of your food and when he says yes you offer your plate to him, but he’s just sat there looking at you with his dumb big bambi boy eyes and his mouth slightly open and he will not look away or blink or close his mouth until you lift your fork to his lips to feed him and then he grins like shit’s sweet and hums about how good the food is like nothing happened like he’s not ridiculously attractive. gonna chew on steel

[cryinginthedeep]

matthew tkachuk - florida!!! (also uploading on tiktok later, might be the first and last vid i'll ever post there lmao)

[fernsnailz]

hello everypony it’s time for my yearly oc redesigns/reboot yaaaay :] and by reboot i mean like. FULL fuckin reboot. basically forget anything i've ever said about these guys in the past because just about everything has changed in some way LMAO

these three are part of a story i’m currently calling Junkyard Phantoms! they're a trio of mechanics (well. two mechanics and one robot who isn't particularly good at anything) trying to rebuild their lives and explore the solar system after living as outcasts on the moon Callisto. ok cool bye (explodes)

[tblsomedoodles]

Might I request a seer twins doodle? It's been a long time since we've seen the bois

oh yes! the bois!

Leo had a bad night so donnie's putting a Jupiter Jim movie on one of his computer screens while he works off a different one. : )

Thank you!

[lotus-pear]

finally started p5 royal ‼️‼️‼️‼️

expect some royal trio art soon they are my dearly beloveds (minus akechi i hope he dies in this reality too)

[vaguely-concerned]

every time gricko semi-mockingly imitates kremy by going 'and then kremy'll be like 'waddadoo waddadoo fellas etc.', years get added to my lifespan and my skin clears

[aphicelend]

They love you Ice.

[zephyrs-bliss]

everytime i read a fic where naruto and kakashi affectionately bicker over iruka's attention, a year is added to my life <3

[mo-ok]

putting teeth on helmets i think should have them

[lenle-g]

I wrote the sentence "All Scott can think of is that skinny kid with the scraped knees arriving home from summer spacecamp, his noodle arms full of freebies and one baby tooth missing from his megawatt grin." in a fic this morning anD

Jeff has this in his wallet

[welcometogrouchland]

Dick as Damian's third parent while also having bad parent Talia: stale, boring, relies on poor characterization of Talia. Yawn.

Dick as Damian's third parent with good mom Talia except Dick and Talia still hate each other: beautiful, talented, show stopping, never been done before, etc. They take Damian out for a day and constantly try to out do eachother in who can be the most fun. Dick takes him to the circus except the high wire act is actually the two of them doing an old Flying Grayson's routine. Talia takes him to the arcade and buys the cabinet for his favourite game right there on the spot (also she's surprisingly good at DDR. Dick gets demolished in a match with her). Damian's torn bc on the one hand he knows they're both losing themselves in the competition instead of just being in the moment with him but on the other hand. Richard and Mother are taking him to his favourite Lebanese restaurant where they plan to buy him an all you can eat buffet bc Talia thought he looked thin and Dick agreed bc he knows Bruce can't cook good meals for shit. So who is he to deny them their whims?

[yuwuta]

Wow I have been nonstop thinking about tennis king yuuta and his little baby boy I’m going to kill you (affectionate) - @yuutito

teeheeeeeeeee….. here’s some more, aleks :’) enjoy :))))))

“Everybody thinks he looks like me, but I don’t see it that way. Maybe it’s because every time I look at him, I see my wife and I’m reminded of her […] I’m a little biased so I see her in everything.” 

You find yourself with tears welling in your eyes the more you read into Yuuta’s latest magazine interview. Between his sweet quotes and the pictures of him with your son, it’s taking everything in you not to burst into full-blown tears. 

Your boys look so handsome. You and Yuuta shared your concerns with publicizing your child at such a young age, but you two came to the conclusion that you’d rather have the control in the narrative than to let private family pictures be leaked uncontrollably. As another point of reassurance, Yuuta’s career provided him with just enough lime-light to be a household name without the crazy fame and criticism that came along being a true celebrity. Besides—Yuuta talked enough about you and your son in press conferences and interviews that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. 

The article wasn’t entirely about you, or your family—or at least, you’re sure it wasn’t intended to be; you knew your husband had a knack for rambling about his loved ones, even where work was concerned. As you continue to read, you find a segment where the author compared Yuuta’s current statements with something similar he’d said about you twelve years ago—at the very start of his professional career: “If I owe this [winning Gold] to anybody, it’s my girlfriend. She’s always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I wouldn’t have qualified or even thought to qualify if it weren’t for her.” 

It feels like you and Yuuta were just two kids in love back then. You didn’t think it could be more than that—you didn’t think you could love Yuuta more than you did all those years ago, but somewhere along the way just being in love wasn’t enough to describe it; Yuuta became your partner, someone you loved fundamentally, but also because you couldn’t stand to see yourself without him. And just when you thought you couldn’t love anyone nearly as much as you love him, you turn the page to a picture of your husband and son peeping through the holes of a racket and your heart feels full. 

When you scan the image more closely, you realize that it isn’t just any racket—it’s an old one, one you’d given to Yuuta as a gift probably back in high-school. You had no idea he’d kept it, but you suppose you shouldn’t be all that surprised; Yuuta is nothing if not sentimental. 

“Ah, there she is~” Yuuta’s voice cuts through your thoughts. When you turn, you see him, with your baby boy on his hip, sliding the back porch door closed. 

Both boys approach you with a smile on your face, and you set the magazine aside to sit up in the lounge chair to greet them. Yuuta presses a kiss to your forehead, then your lips before you do the same to your son. Immediately after, he reaches his arms out for you, and Yuuta chuckles, “You wanna be with your mama? Can’t blame you, I missed her, too.” 

He hands the baby off to you, and takes a seat on the other end of the chair, reaching over to coo at his son as you smother his face in kisses. 

“How was the farmer’s market?” you question, letting the baby settle into your lap. 

“Good, he picked out some very bright peppers, and we got some more strawberries, know you’ve been craving them,” Yuuta smiles, reaching over to pat your son’s head, when the closed magazine catches his eye, and he reaches for it, quickly flipping through, “Ah—I guess that interview’s out. He’s grown so much, even though it was only a few months ago.” 

You find the blush on his cheeks beyond endearing. Yuuta always finds room to be bashful no matter how many times he’s waxed poetic about his love for you, or his family—his cheeks always stain pink like the first day you met him. 

“It’s sweet. You’re sweet,” you smile, sparing a hand to run through Yuuta’s hair, charmed by the way he leans into your touch, “I didn’t know you still had that racket.” 

“Of course, I keep everything you give me,” he says, earnestly. He closes the magazine and scoots a little closer, taking advantage of the proximity and of your touch to lay his head on your shoulder, “Did you… read all of it?” 

“Almost, but no, why?” you question, with a light-hearted grin, “Did you say something that would lead the world to believe you’re somehow even more in love with me? Because you might already be past the threshold, dear.” 

Yuuta hums. He reaches to take you son out of your lap and carefully shifts himself to that he’s laying down, his head on your lap, and the baby in his arms, happily giggling and cooing as Yuuta holds him up. He lowers and raises him back and forth a few times, nuzzling their noses together when their faces are close, before sitting him up on his chest.

Then he tilts his head up to look at you, wide, love-filled eyes blinking slowly before he says, “Maybe… depends on if me saying I want more kids is past the threshold or not.” 

[fudgelling-away]

It's one of those days

Sans.

Sans.

sans sans sans

I wake up, mind foggy and disoriented. I go about my morning routine on autopilot. Empty eyes. Blank expression. Mind far away.

Sans.

Sans squirms under the covers, nuzzling into the warmth of my body.

I brush my teeth, unseeing eyes locked onto a random spot on the sink.

Sans lets out a low grunt and I growl, clenching my teeth on the toothbrush, foam all over my mouth.

How fitting.

I wash my face with shaky hands while Sans arches against my body in the most delicious way.

My hands trace his lumbar vertebrae, edges rounded and soft. He's such a gentle, non-threatening creature. Nothing about his body is harsh to the touch. No sharp angles. Nothing to attack with. No armour. Just inviting softness.

He is so human in that regard.

I rub the intervertebral discs with the tips of my fingers and feel the jelly-like surface yield under the careful pressure. His breath hitches and he whispers my name.

I sigh and start making tea, walking around the kitchen in a haze. My shift at work starts in 10 minutes.

Sans whines ever so softly as my hand reaches inside his hollow ribcage, caressing, massaging the warm bones.

I stop in the middle of the kitchen, spilled tea trickling down my arm onto the floor.

I watch the droplets fall.

Smooth bones shiver under my fingers.

I put the glass back on the counter and turn around lethargically to get some paper towels.

Teeth pressed against my lips. Ragged breath.

Sugar. I need to get a soap. Or the floor is going to be sticky.

"please, just... please"

The floor tiles are cold and smooth when I kneel down.

I can't see my kitchen anymore.

Sans leans into my hand needily as I wipe the sweat off his forehead.

It's going to be a torturously long day.