#it's MY headcanon and you can't take it away from me!

[fruitiesss]

bob reynolds NSFW alphabet !

as requested lol, i listened to the people and the people want bob smut.

MINORS + AGELESS DNI. SMUT.

send requests in! characters are on my pinned posts, just give me a hot minute to write them ^^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Bob's very into cuddling and being close in general, he's also a human heater so if you're not cold you're gonna have to push him off until you are (his pouty face ensues). If it was really messy, he'll run a bath and get in with you situated on his lap. He keeps water bottles by the bed and isn't above running quickly to the store to grab some food if you need it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Bob likes his hands. They're almost constantly in use because he likes to fidget and read, so he's more than capable with them, and he loves the way you come apart under them.

He'd like your thighs and hips, it's something to hold onto while he fucks into you or when you ride him. He also loves the squishiness of them, much better than any stress relief toys you buy him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Bob's never been in the place mentally (or physically) to risk having a kid at his age. He's always used condoms or pulled out when he's been in quick hook-ups before (though not many, he's quite inexperienced). You would have to sit him down and discuss kids with him first, but even then he's still hesitant and nervous.

He prefers to cum on your stomach or back if you'd let him. He cleans it up fast though, knowing the stickiness when it dries is less than desirable.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He rarely watches porn - why would he need to, he has you! - but does when you're away on a long mission or a trip. He takes inspiration from it and tries to incorporate a position or kink he'd watched that he thought you might like.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) This boy is inexperienced. As I said before, he's had a few hook-ups here and there but he's never been interested enough to learn. You're gonna have to teach him a few things and he is so eager to please you in any way you want. He's incredibly good at following orders.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) COWGIRL. FUCKING RIDE HIM HE WILL CUM INSTANTLY. Just the way he can see you - all of you - makes him harder than a fucking rock. Ugh, this man will have his hands anywhere, eyes half lidded in pure bliss as he watches you bounce.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Bob's a mix of both. He's serious when he's concentrating, trying to reach the spot that makes your toes curl, but he laughs and jokes with you when he's not. He can't take himself seriously and neither can you, it feels so good but it's also really funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He's never taken care of himself properly before. Now that he's clean, he probably trims a little down there so it's not completely unbearable but he won't be smooth or clean shaven. He dyed his hair blonde ONCE and nobody will let him forget it, so YES the carpet matches the drapes thank you. He also doesn't mind if you shave or not. Hair is natural and he understands that, he actually prefers if you don't shave, as long as you're clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Sex for him is all about connection. He's done the unfeeling, unromantic stuff before and he hates it. You are his everything and he needs you to know that. He's complimenting you with every other word, letting you know how much he loves you or how good you make him feel. He is all about you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He rarely jacks off because you're right there all the time. Though when you're out of town or on a long mission he will do it a couple of times just to keep himself sated until you can come back. He's needy for you always.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) BOB LIKES HIS HAIR BEING PULLED. Grab it by the roots and pull and he will give you the sweetest sound you've ever heard. He loves praise too, call him a good boy and he's already on his knees for you so he can do anything you want. He's a switch 100%, will do anything you want but likes to be dominated sometimes.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He likes being in bed with you, he's very hesitant to do anything in public because you're his to see and he's yours to see. He will if you really want to, but he won't like it. When he's really needy, he'll corner you wherever you are in the tower until you take him up to one of your rooms, with him following like a dog on a leash.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You. If you're in the mood, he's in the mood. If he sees you, he's in the mood. Wearing something revealing? He's on you. You opened the floodgates when you first laid with him now lie in the bed you made.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He's not into any kind of bodily fluid (other than cum, obviously) or anything where he hurts you or you hurt him. He refuses to lay a hand on you. Unless it's a soft slap. Impact play is a big no no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He likes to get his dick sucked. He loves it, actually. You look so pretty on your knees with his cock in your mouth. He prefers giving, though! He wasn't so good at it when he started out but he has definitely gotten much better since he started out and he is a MUNCH. This man will spend hours between your legs if he can, his intense eyes staring into yours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Bob as a person is very soft and sweet despite everything he's been through. He would take it slow and sweet with you, afraid to break you as if you were made of glass. He could take you fast and rough but he wouldn't be able to keep it up.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He doesn't like them. Too fast, it blurs in his head. He needs to know you're satisfied before he can leave you. He will take you for a quickie if you really, really beg him and only if you're in a place where you can't get to your beds.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He likes to experiment with anything you bring to him. He'll do anything (other than his nos) at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Thanks to his powers, he has very good stamina. He'll last about 6 rounds with water breaks in between but if you wanted more, he will give you more. Anything for you. He'd last the whole day for you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He's never seen the need for them. His hand did the job just fine when he was low on money (or needed the money for drugs) and even now he doesn't see the need for toys. He doesn't get jealous if you have any toys either, he'll use them on you if you're into that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He thinks he's a tease but really he gives in whenever you so much as pout at him or whine. He's so smitten for you and wants to provide everything you need.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Bob will be quiet at first, biting into his hand to stifle any of his moans or grunts so he can fully hear the beautiful noises he elicits from you. But that's when he's on top. Get him submissive and that boy is LOUD for you. Pull his hair and he WILL moan. Overstimulate him and he WILL whine.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He likes to bite and suck marks into your skin. Especially in those spots that are hard to cover up. It gives him a sense of pride, knowing that he did that to you. He's also very bitey in general. Very cute.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He's not small at all but he'd not HUGE. I'd say he's 6 inches, nice and thick. Knows how to use it once he gets the hang of sex in general. It curves slightly to the left and has a nice pink tip, cut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) This guy is super needy. He's ready for you at any time, you just need to ask and he's already pouncing on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He only lets himself fall asleep once he's sure you're comfortable enough to. He is very sleepy after, though. He's falling asleep as he's scrubbing you in the bath, head slumping forward onto your shoulder until you nudge him. Once you're taken care of though, he's out like a light on the bed.

[firefly--bright]

re : the world.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au.

summary ; sasha introduced the two of you as complete opposites, two different worlds. but you'd disagree, especially since it feels like jean creates a new world just for you. warnings ; a little too self indulgent? aka reader likes peach flavoured stuff. also mentions of drinking, nothing graphic. a/n ; erm! haha. sorry for my absence again. i promise im still writing d2d and blooming hearts. pls be patient with me you guys r saints. thank you. enjoy this as i run away. hc reqs are still open hmu babes i lowkey want d2d to blow up a little. like okbambi. throwaway thought. continue reading. thx taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ headcanon requests are open! ✿

Jean has this habit.

Its not well concealed - hell, you're sure he doesnt even realise it himself, a muscle memory that seems to replay against his tendons, condensing him down to his action. You dont realise it at first either, but patterns have a tendency of making themselves apparent, especially since its about him.

The scene plays out something like this - kitchen lights are warm and shining, clinging onto the apples of your downtrodden cheeks, unheard and tired problems that weigh down your organs now find themselves boring down on your skin, a more physical proof of your labour. The week - scratch that, the month - had been rough. There's a cup of coffee against the palms of your hands, the tips of your nails a little blue from the cold you had just endured outside. Inside, its warm, your friends sit huddled around the coffee table that holds an unnecessarily important game of monopoly. The community chest cards were more than half gone, and Sasha sat with her back resting against the foot of the couch, tongue poking out of her lips thoughtfully, subconsciously. Your eyes blink blearily, steam from your coffee doing the exact opposite of it’s entirety, and Jean mixes just a splash of creamer into his own cup - just how he liked it. 

His eyes have been passing glances across your body, slumped with your back against the marble of the kitchen counter, picking up on something you refuse to be seen putting down. He clears his throat - an opening for a potential conversation, a test to see if you’ll take the bait and turn to him - and when you do, because of course you will, there's a victory that lifts his shoulders and puffs up his chest, muscle memory, tendons tightening. 

But youre so tired. He can see it in your eyes and under them, so when he asks his question, he doest so in the least gentle way possible. So he’ll get you to talk, because he knows that cornering you might be the only way he can get a real answer that lays unfiltered, beating still as it slips out of your mouth. 

“What is it this time?” he asks. His voice covers any unhindered iciness that his statement might hold, making it warm and curious instead of cold and blunt. Or maybe that's just how you see it. Maybe he’s a well meaning asshole who you’re accustomed to, whose language you’ve come to know well. Alphabets memorized.

You sigh. You wonder if your sigh itself could be an alphabet, if he understands all the frustrations underneath it. Your tongue can't conjure up anything else for a brief while, and for the same brief while, jean looks at you. Wholly, fully, more than you’ll ever be, though his eyes scatter themselves across your body. Your nose, your lips, your hair, your clothes, a slight sense of disarray but comfort nonetheless because the disarray meant that you had lived in it long enough and that you trusted your clothes and your hair and your nose and your lips more than enough to be here right now.

“Yknow.” you say, unsure of whether or not its a start of a statement or the end of an unsaid one. You decide to let it linger, staring into your cup until you find the words to say something important, clambering to find meaning that your voice somehow always inherently lacks. Theres a lump in your throat that’s small enough for you to ignore it, and then you begin speaking again, “i don't feel like im… enough for this.” you say. You're aware that it's unimportant, words lacking meaning. They always have, especially now.

“For what?” his voice asks, and you wish his reflection could share the same space as yours in the cup, make his space yours, but he doesn't. Instead, his shoulder presses against yours, which you suppose is better. An anchor, you think to yourself, even though he doesn't realize it. 

“All of it. Like, somehow… i keep trying, right? To be a good student, to be friendly and kind and just… try - like being good at work and at talking and all of it. But i’m not, even though sometimes i think im finally, finally making some progress, it all just comes crashing down on me and i feel so…dumb about it. Like im incompetent. Like all roles are too important for me to get them.”

It doesn't feel like the world is off your shoulders. You wonder why everyone always told you to talk about your feelings; claiming it’ll make the burden lighter. But the process of doing that would include giving it to someone else who’s less likely to have had a bad day and making their day worse by association. It felt like a math formula, another thing you were inherently struggling with.

No, the world feels all too real, all too on-your-shoulders, all too present and pressing against your shoulders, the hurt seeping to the ends of your collarbones.   

“Incompetent.” he says. Its not a reply, neither is it a question. Like he knows exactly what you mean and is contemplating on it. Consider it. Then he shrugs. Sighs through his next statement to make it sound less like a confession of admiration, “you're not incompetent.” 

A pause. You don't believe him, and he knows it. And before he begins his strategy of building you up; he does it. 

Turns his back to everything else. Stands in front of you so he can be the only thing in your eyesight, his back to your friends, to the rest of the world as he makes his attempts to lessen the weight of yours. And surely - and you know he knows it, realises it just as you do - you lift your head up, eyes directed to his, your face pointing to your world, directly to him. In that action, you match each other perfectly well, even if Sasha introduced the two of you to each other as complete opposites. You wouldn't necessarily agree with her, especially not now, when both of you create your own world so easily, with the least amount of the hesitation that easily comes to the two of you.

He speaks quietly. Almost under his breath, as if they are truths that are heavier than his words, “you're not. When you talk, its clear that you're passionate, knowledgeable. Even if you don't realise it. Somehow you convince people to believe in you everytime you speak. It's one of the things i like about you. You-” he weaves his hand into his hair halfway through; an action he only commits to when he’s passionate about the topic he's speaking about, “you could make an atheist believe in god. Maybe because you have bits of truth hidden in there, whatever it is, but you're fully lying if you think you're incompetent. Or dumb. You’re not. You're good. Fucking brilliant.” he says, scoffing as if its a universal fact that youre unknowing of. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the earth is round, and jean believes youre ‘fucking brilliant’. 

You blink. Before the gears in your heavy machinery of a brain can move, he says, “i know you wont believe it, so let me do the believing for you. Depend on me a little, yeah?” he asks, like it's a plea. And honestly, you give in, without hesitation. 

His back faces the world and there’s a resolution in your eyes as you face your own world, smiling gently.

The next time is one you can particularly take note of. 

You're at some party that eren was throwing - pre halloween, everyone in costume, the song from the speaker so loud that the ground beneath your shoes was shaking, etching a reminder of tonight on it - a typical college-like event. Everyone was having a bubbling and tipsy conversation amongst themselves, connie and eren arguing over the music that they put on, sasha fawning over mikasa who could be seen blushing lightly even under the flashing lights, reiner with his arm around someone you knew from class - and admittedly set him up with - as you try not to let a proud smile set over your lips at the fact. You had a bet with Marco, another inside conversation that had been had all the way to the party; you bet on reiner finally “getting some” tonight, and marco betted on him not. Which he clarified, was not because he didn't believe in the guy, but because reiner had a way of… being awkward when he was tipsy. Fifty solid dollars over this. You weren't going to lose.

Your head bopped to the argued-over music, scanning the crowd for jean, who claimed he was going to find you a drink you’d actually enjoy sipping on through the night. He knew you well enough, so you’d allowed him to, posing it to him as a challenge that he took with a cocky smile and a self-assured confidence that you were tempted to break.

You weren't going to break it. Of course not. Not unless he won. 

Bert asks you about your plans after the party. You tell him that you’d probably go home with the girls - unless they find their own plans for the night, which, you hope they do - and ask him the same, and he tells you he’ll go home with reiner, unless the obvious were to happen. You shout at him about your bet with Marco because you know your voice wouldn't be carried to his ears otherwise, and he smiles and says, rather wisely despite his slightly slurred speech, that you’d probably win. You tell him that if Marco were listening you’d flex about it. He laughs a little before someone from his class waves him over and you're left to your own devices again, scanning the crowd for a familiar head of soft hair that you imagine far too much running your fingers through.

And you find it. Shoulder the crowd, holding two glasses of his concoction, heading straight towards you, making sure not to spill even a single drop. You applaud his persistence, and he reaches you with the same smile he left you with, eyes sparkling and soft around the edges, looking at you like the world’s been tuned out, handing you your cup.

“Peach sparkling…spirit.” he says, not having had a single thought about naming the drink, but nodding once in satisfaction after it slips out of his mouth. You nod back, impressed, and look down at the ice floating in it. “Ice so your iron deficiency has something to chew on.” he completes with a laugh, one that you playfully punch him for as if your insides dont melt at the fact that the drink is more of a symbol, really, of how much he really knows you. peach , your favourite flavour, to dilute the wretched taste of alcohol. The coolness to keep you awake, and the ice floating at the top just as he said, because you liked chewing on it.

And as if just that much wasnt enough, he does it again.

Back to the world, he faces you completely, now closer than ever. Chest to chest, not because there were people unknowingly pressing your back from both sides, but because you'd be that close by choice either way. He traps you, but youre a willing accomplice, guilty of the same crime, and you create your own worlds with none of the hesitance that you both so frequently carry with everyone else as if this is the easiest thing youd ever do. As if its always been easy.

You tip your glass to his, and he clinks the rim of his cup to yours, lifting it to his lips with the same smile, now softer, gentler, because he knows only you're looking, because he knows he’d let you. 

The drink tastes divine. The completeness of knowing you, fully, wholly, without hesitation, the peach mixing with whatever cheap vodka he could find, knowing just how strong to make it so you wouldn't scrunch your nose at it’s burn but rather enjoy it, knowing you'd nurse the same drink for the rest of the night, close to your chest as it would vibrate not to the sound of the music but to the sound of your quietly beating heart because out of everyone, jean made it. 

Despite the drink's coolness, enough to freeze your fingertips, your insides felt. They felt, every organ - your lungs, your heart, your liver, your kidneys - felt, conscious and whole, flipped inside out and alive. 

Your back to the world, you and jean creating your own. 

Habits have a funny way of catching on, jean noticed, as you made a knowing decision to turn your own back to the world that you knew to be so large and unknown, opting for the warm one that jean hoped to preserve for you.

He notices, too. The first time you do it, its september. Your boots scruff up against the harsh of the pavemented sidewalk, orange and red leaves under your feet, with a cup of coffee in your hand, the one that he happily paid for like it was muscle memory. There could be silence between you, sure, because he knows that even that would be pleasant. But there isnt, and hes glad nonetheless, bringing his cup close to his lips, knowing that yours have touched the same rim to get a taste, hoping it would cover up the small smile that creeped onto his face, threatening to stay against his cheeks for you to notice, because of course you would. 

You finish the end of your sentence. Something about autumn, he knows, and your shoulders are brushing his as they perpetually are, coat against his, and he swears a world is created because of it, the lint of your fabric almost like magic when it presses against his, even if brief, because it cant be anything short of it with the way he’s feeling. Comfortable, whole, significant. He licks his lips, cleaning off the residue of the coffee and tasting the lingering of your lips indirectly on his like a revered devotee, a saint waiting for sacrifice, and says something probably insignificant. About the rain? He’s not sure. And then it turns into, “one time, connie - i think in middle school? Like back when i first met the guy - had his mouth wide open under the sky so he could get a full gulp of direct fucking rainwater in his mouth because we’d just learnt about… the water cycle. I think.” he says, and you laugh.

And then it happens. You do it, and he takes notice, because of course he does, of course, because its you. Turning on your heel, your back facing the world, as you fall into step, still beside him, walking backwards just so you could face him. For a moment he’s concerned - youre not the most synchronised person in the world, he once watched you stub your toe fully on purpose while trying to prove a point of how you’re not that navigationally challenged - but he shakes the thought out of his head as a slew of others fill it instead. You trust him. Enough to be a slight nuisance, enough to know if there was anything blocking your path that your back was facing so you wouldnt stumble, enough to know that he’d find this enjoyable rather than annoying. And then another larger, overwhelming thought.

You noticed. You noticed him doing that to you - turning his back to everything else, willingly, wholly, so you knew his attention was pinned on you and you only - and wanted to repay the insignificant favour.

And then he continues. As if nothing had occurred, as if a world just hadnt opened up and swallowed him up, organs flipping inside out. “And then when i made fun of him, the fucker went out there again, waited for the rainwater to fill his mouth up fully, and spit all of it on me.” he said, your laughter continuing to bubble and pour out of your lips and onto his, infectious as he thought it was, your shoulders shaking, no longer pressed against his, but he felt it anyway. Straight to his heart, his hand aching to cover it because his hesitance was carved onto his bones, but his choice to let it beat for you overwhelmed his tendons. 

He wondered if you knew. If you somehow, in your own way, knew that he’d always hold out for you as a knowing choice. That he’d went out to buy that peach drink for you to mix into the cheap vodka that eren had on his kitchen counter. If you knew that he’d never known what the right words to say were until you taught him a whole new dictionary, a vocabulary he’d somehow been blind to. Hes fluent now, he thinks, because he knows you fully, wholly. A world created and burnt into places, because both your backwere against the world you both knew.

Because jean saw you as his. And he knew - a new vocabulary - that you saw him as yours.

Back to the world, chest to a new one, your steps sync together, smiles the same on your lips as they were on his.

[faggotnojutsu]

Autistic!Tobirama yap sesh.

Small warning: I have only watched the dub and I am only about halfway through the manga so bear with me if any of this doesn't fit the tbrm you perceive ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)���┌ my bad. Also I wrote a lot of this half asleep... I'll probably get into it even more but there are so many typos in my Google doc so I'll post that after I go through and refine everything.

This is a wee bit long btw... It could be longer.

I have seen at least a handful of complaints about people headcanoning Tobirama as autistic by arguing that the hc is based on stereotypes and I simply disagree. He's blunt, to the point of being taken as detached, doesn't really show any emotion. Socially, he is kind of inept. He's also monotone as fuck (see warning).

That doesn't make the hc born of stereotypes imo, many autistic people are like that, and I think it's a bit lame and out of touch to refer to the existence of blunt, monotone, and dulled emotional output as the "wrong" type of autism rep or hc.

Moving deeper into hc territory, Tobirama lives by and finds comfort in rules. I see him as a man of strict routine, organization (even if it may be chaotic). He has become adaptable to change to some degree, you'd have to be able to deal with unknowns being a Shinobi period. But if his concrete "normal" life planned routine were interrupted or plans went awry ([insert plan] was supposed to happen this way but it's all fucked even though [insert plan] is supposed to be safe) I think he would be susceptible to losing his shit.

Unable to properly focus, unable to communicate well, wanting nothing more to lock himself away and engage in something safe, and oftentimes doing so, even for days at a time, if [insert plan] has just been FUBAR'd.

And that brings me to the next thing. Tobirama's special interests. This man created revolutionary and powerful, highly useful Jutsu. I think he'd find comfort in researching. He could yap for hours about all of the techniques he has studied, the intricacies of how he created or came up with the idea for his Jutsus, etc etc. But he seldom does actually yap because:

A. He doesn't have the time.

B. He doesn't see many people as worthy or understanding enough to deserve his knowledge.

C. He hasn't been made to feel comfortable yapping very often.

But as many autistic people know, special interests can also be a bit consuming. That man would absolutely lock himself away and forgets (or simply ignores the need) to eat/drink water/bathroom/shower.

There's something about his sensory abilities that ties into autistic!tbrm for me. I can't really find the words to describe why. I see a mix of sensory avoiding and sensory seeking for him.

Sensory avoiding: He's a picky eater, certain tastes and textures just can't be redeemed to him. There are certain touch textures that he will physically recoil and gag from because of the painful sensation, specifically if he was unprepared. Certain sounds make him want to shove his katana through his ears to stop the disgusting feeling that said sound produced. He does not enjoy touch from other people unless he is initiating or asking for it, especially light touch, it's icky.

Sensory seeking: He involuntarily stims whenever he's allowed to just turn his brain off. Alone in his own space away from everyone? Bro is chewing on his brushes and rocking back and forth. I think he would also prefer bright lights over dim, partly because I also do hc him as not having very good vision, the fuzziness of dim lights makes him feel frustrated and distracted.

For some madatobi brain rot: the first time Madara watches Tobirama start rocking from side to side with a brush wedged in his mouth and gnawing on it, he is so... so put off. Tobirama doesn't even realize that he's doing it, so when Madara is like 'hey what??' Tobirama just blankly stares at Madara like he's going crazy.

Slowly he realizes that maybe Tobirama isn't just an asshole, he's wired differently. But it takes a lot of 'wtaf is my situationship doing' to come to that conclusion.

Also: If there were a word for autism in their era, Tobirama would vehemently deny being autistic. He's normal actually, the rest of the world is just fucking weird with their societal norms and such.

Uhh that's all for now folks. Feel free to add onto this however you want to :)! I love yapping about nd!founders.

(also little thank you and shout-out to @instant-bull for being my inspiration to actually write this all down)

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

i ADORE glasses sam (per my bio)

but do you have any headcanons about sam’s glasses?

i think they are the cutest things but aren’t mentioned (or seen) aside from the hellhound thing. but i like to believe they are real !!

Ah yes. Sam with glasses.

For anyone who needs a little reminder:

Kinda crazy we only got them wearing glasses so few times in the show (and I don't even want to talk about that episode where Sam drinks the milkshake and goes crazy, cause that shit haunts me), considering they're constantly dressing up to hide their identities. Glasses seem like a helpful tool. Plus big old mustaches of course. 😄

I'm gonna be honest - I would buy him a slightly different pair. Any of these. I think he'd look absolutely delicious in any of those styles. What do you think?

And I haven't really thought much about Sam having glasses, which is why it took me a bit to answers this ask. But here's what I got after thinking about it for a little bit:

Weakness, or anything that could be interpreted as such, is a big no no in the Winchester household, as little as there is one. Scrape your knee? Walk it off. Watch a scary movie and can't sleep? Get it together. Feel the bottomless despair of this half life they all live, this endless state of being in-between, feel it so much it makes your bones shake? Deal with it. So when Sam's teacher sits him at the front of the class and asks him, after the bell rings and the other students are filtering out, if he's ever taken an eye test? Sam knows it's not something he will share that evening around the dinner table. Hell, they don't even have a dinner table right now. Just two beds and a couch. He walks home, stares off into the distance. At least he's not far-sighted. If he couldn't read anymore, or have trouble with it, Sam doesn't know what he would do then. But looking at stuff that's far away? He'll get his driver's licence soon, but it's not like his dad will ever let him drive the car. He's been able to work with it so far, so surely it won't be a problem, right? He sniffs, pulls his backpack higher. Not like there's much of a future to see anyway, his fifteen-year-old brain offers unhelpfully. So Sam never gets glasses. He just squints a little more. He gets some while he's at Stanford. A cheap pair that he's pretty sure doesn't have the right lens strength. It doesn't matter. He sits far back in the lecture hall, the numbers and letters seeming almost too sharp. He has to take them off when he walks back to the dorm, because they make him feel like he's walking on a rope, high above a circus crowd.

When Dean gets him and they leave Stanford, they end up somewhere among his things. When he finds them again, there's a big scratch in the right glass. He doesn't get them fixed for a long time. He's not wearing them, so why should he? He's not sure when or where he loses them. By the time he notices, they might have been gone for months, years even. He shrugs it off, even though he feels a weird nostalgia at the loss. And then when he and Dean hunt that hellhound, he puts on a pair again for the first time in he doesn't know how long. They're scorched with holy fire, so he and Dean can see the hell mutt. He can't help but chuckle when he puts them on, despite the entire situation being pretty dire. Dean puts on a pair too, and Sam immediately sees he picked the nicer ones. It's fine. Just for one night, he can pretend. It's actually pretty fun.

[ehh-is-the-name]

you know what, idc what the poll says.

In my heart of hearts, s1 Mephone4 picked up the "unknown gender freak" line from Cobs just like he did with the "get set, on your mark, go" one.

Cobs may respect your pronouns now, but in 2011..? Hell, before that??? I don't wanna say it, but I know what I know.

[gabe-dasha]

Headcanon:

Yes, I know Holmes' actual age is probably specified somewhere, however

In "Study in scarlet", when he and Watson first meet, Holmes is described as a student. Therefore I find this Skinny, Little, Photogenic, Sleep Deprived, Running On Coffe And Crime Stories, Missing Member Of One Direction Motherfucker™️ very canon

Just imagine

Doctor John Watson, years in college in order to become a doctor, probably some more years of working experience at Bart's, drafted into the army, traumatised, exhausted and worn off by life, most likely thinking he's way past his prime, coming back to London, looking for a flat and a quiet life

Meeting this hyperactive kid

This is how I am going through the og canon books. With this image in my head. And there is nothing you can do to change my mind.

[laughroditee]

Pretty positive that Kyle Garrick has the most secure attachment style out of anyone on the 141, proving that he is by far the best boyfriend material.

[moldy-flowers]

I've been hyperfixated on Sasuke for TWO years and that's too long.

Look, I love Sasuke. He's a cute lil emo guy. But he's stolen my music from me. I cant listen to songs anymore if they don't relate to him. And if they don't then I force au's on him.

Like, I'm sure you are the best American girl Sasuke, but can I listen to Mitski in peace, please??

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[caelcstis]

elliot v likely rides horses in his modern timelines, his family breeds horses even, quarter horses and thoroughbreds are the breeds he's most familiar due to the breeding his family does.

he's taken more of a pause on his riding and shows due to school, but he still likes to get on when he does visit home, visit the mares and maidens if there's any new foals he missed out on while he was in school. his two specific horses that he has a connection with is a black thoroughbred stallion and his grey quarter horse mare.

they aren't something he really talks about when he's at school bc owning horses is an expensive hobby and for the most part, that is what it is to him right now. not everyone can relate to it, so he doesn't really find a need to speak about it unless someone's actually interested.

[firstroseofspring]

thinking pondering to me john torres is like. what if u met a woman. with confidence and dignity and a strong moral backbone. you meet and she makes a distinct impression with her honesty and her frankness and she seems like she's always sure of what she wants and what she needs and she's so different from anyone else you know and thats exciting and she's exciting and she likes you specifically you. and you don't think much of you but it feels good to be liked by someone like that. you love her of course. you marry her. of course!

[deceitfulmorals]

Misc. tag drop.

⋆Pixie Prince; Future Sadistic Ruler. - headcanon/aes

⋆Do you even see what you do to me? - Sanderson/Cosmo♡

⋆Allow me to be your escape; take you away from all of this - Anti-Cosmo/Wanda♡

⋆Can't believe you've got me still thinking about you- Anti-Cosmo/Cosmo♡

⋆I actually fully despise you. For everything. - Sanderson & Wanda

⋆You are my sunshine; my only sunshine - Leo/Mikey♡

⋆Together's where we both belong - Leo/Bishop♡

⋆No matter what the cost. Every time. - Leo/Raph♡

[tvrningout-a]

i need y'all to know that cyrillo knows rin bc she was hired to steal from him, and he's one of the only people who has ever caught her in the act asdfh and not bc of any skill!! cyrillo's smart and observant, but he's not a trained rogue. dude is a mage and waaaay too busy to notice every little detail. he's got people for that uvu

but that's not how he caught rin. he caught rin by talking to her. she was on her way to his office to steal some contract a businessman made with him concerning something or other when cyrillo approached her, looking much too handsome and much too curious for her liking. the little event he had welcomed all sorts of people that night, so it really did feel like fate working against her -- why would he approach her, of all his guests? some random elf?

he liked her laugh :' ) that's the reason :' ) at the beginning of the evening, cyrillo heard her laugh by pure chance as she spoke to one of her men; the way she threw her head back, laughed without holding back, and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief as she clapped a hand on her companion's shoulder grabbed cyrillo's attention completely. and as he continued to watch her, he decided he'd like to know her. she seemed like fun, and he needed a little of that. work was... taxing lately.

so fast forward to their conversation and rin, very begrudgingly, decides she doesn't particularly wanna steal from cyrillo. he's not some stuck up rich guy who deserves a little inconvenience. very unfortunately for rin, he's a nice guy. he's a nice guy acting in the best interests of his people. and he doesn't even!! try to lie to her once!! is totally honest as she pries into his business bc oh my gosh he doesn't have anything to hide.

well, she's sure he has something, but still. how's she supposed to steal from him now?? when she's starting to like the guy?? this is why she doesn't ever meet the people she steals from >:(

so what does rin do? she sighs very deeply and goes " listen, i was gonna steal from you bc i was hired to, but i'm not gonna anymore. you're too nice. you want me to steal for you instead?? " and cyrillo laughs so hard he's got tears in his eyes asdfg he's not even mad :' )) just really amused and tells her nah, no stealing, but how about a little spying? and thus begins a very lovely partnership that's more like a friendship ( rin just won't admit it bc then she couldn't accept payment from him anymore asdfg )

[itsbrucey]

Drawing Glenn is tearing me apart bc Yes. Freddie/Glenn reference Glenn having abs. but also I remember like Freddie ONCE mentioning that Glenn has a dad bod and that's my canon SORRY GUYS

[anarchistgarden]

The unknowable being in a creaky suit that looked back at Thorn

my other absolute bullshit is in no way correct theory about burrows end is that all the powder is from a gender reveal gone wrong and that the blue is from like blue smoke from a stupid fucking gender reveal. i don’t think it’s right at all. it was just a dumb thought and i need to share it with you all.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.