#oh motherfucker

[s-e-v-e-n-24]

Specifically requested to post these sketches to help further some propaganda

Gotham Eddie but if he was like most other versions and had ginger curly hair

Do I watch this show? No. Am I obsessed with him? Yes. By the amount @knight-says-ni has told me I basically have watched it anyways

[frnkiebby]

oh fuck~🎃

[deadpoolian]

Cute Marvel Snap animation

[qvert]

Refuge at the Firelight Hideout

[yaraaflor]

i think the moment i knew i was going to love jeremy for realsies was when he cold calls jean at like 6 am and jean hangs up on him within 2 seconds so he just immediately calls again and is like my bad i think i accidentally hung up on you! anyway ☺️

[cyarskaren52]

Marylin sweetie I’m so sorry that a raggedy nasty media would compare you to that hew who was bound for the hellavator

[lionfloss]

white-tailed fawn

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins - Supernatural Behind The Scenes

[reindeerswillsavethisworld]

Honestly, I find the idea of Tucker being cursed with bad luck so fucking funny. Like, imagine that the majority of mishaps and unfortunate accidents were due to the Tucker’s bad luck, but the idea of him being a trouble magnet just. Didn’t cross their minds. If anything, everyone from Danny’s circle of friends, acquaintances and (fre)enemies believes that it is Danny who’s cursed with shitty luck because of all the bullshit he and his (relatively) happy band of clowns get involved with.

And then Tucker leaves for vacation with his parents for a week, and it’s the quietest Amity Park has ever been. No ghosts, no natural disasters, no creepy circuses with their sicko ringmasters; the sun is shining and birds are chirping, the school is less horrible than usual, Vlad is on some sort of business trip and left the town, Sam’s mother decided to leave her alone for a change and Danny even gets enough sleep at night! They’re thriving, man!

Tucker, meanwhile, is locked in a twisted survival horror with only his beret for a company and is having a horrible week. Afterwards it was assumed that it’s because some kind of creature akin to Youngblood followed him to make his life a living hell, therefore Sam, Danny and Tucker decided to stick together as much as possible to prevent it from happening again. And the cycle continues.

[sircantus]

I WANT. secret royalty.

King!Philza pretending that he’s just a random civilian so he can wander in his own streets without fuss. Prince!Techno trying very hard to keep his cover as a random guard in training bc he wants to be able to have a fair fight without any worry of “hitting the heir too hard”. Prince!Wilbur hiding his identity so he can partake in festivities and celebrate with others instead of being the one who is celebrated.

And tommy- I want him to be the one to be constantly blowing their cover with him shrieking “YOURE THE KING?” down the entirety of the street bc he would listen he just would

[alltimefail]

As someone who lived in a home where it was not safe to be queer but their first love was their same-sex best friend, I really cannot emphasize the importance of characters like Charles Rowland enough. As someone who deals with shame from years of self-hate, repression, happy-masking, and being called a "Token ally" by even my queer friends while feeling wrong wrong wrong about it, and being the kind of person who just didn't "Look queer enough" or whatever the fuck arbitrary, exclusionist rhetoric people would casually hurl about, I just really can't believe we have a character like him.

He's complex and deeply scarred and I've never cared about a character like this before. I've never felt so "Seen." I can't wait to save this show because seeing him heal will be like a balm on my heart. His character arc is completely unique and handled with such care that it brings tears to my eyes.

That's all. I am just so deeply thankful for & emotional about Charles Rowland tonight.

[alicentwhore]

Okay we’re all making jokes about Daemon’s little Oedipal episode but I do think it is a really good way to show just how the Targ incest-superiority-exceptionalism fucks everyone in this family up. You get taught literally from birth to find romantic and sexual intimacy in your familial relationships.

You’re Daemon. You’re a son so you ought to marry your sister. But you have no sister, only an older brother who REALLY ought to have a sister to marry. And this is how things must be. Your parents are brother and sister, THEIR parents are brother and sister. It must be brother and sister but you have no sister. Do you become the sister then? But you can’t, because that’s wrong too. You are a son, you must be a son and act as a son. And you should love your brother as only a brother. And this is how things must be. But how can you when you’ve been taught not to? How can you when you know if you had been a girl, you wouldn’t be allowed to just see him as a brother. He is your brother. You should have been his wife. But you never can be. And this is how things must be. You never knew your mother. But she is a woman and she is related to you. And haven’t you always been taught exactly what that means in this family? You’ve crossed so many boundaries but now suddenly there is a line. You don’t think you really want her in this way. But you never knew her and you don’t know how else to show love in this family. You don’t know how to love her as family in a life where family means lover. Except when it doesn’t. And gods forbid you cross that line and desire your family in a way that is suddenly wrong. This is how things must be.

[obibail]

"He said that's your style. Never quite lies, clever half-truths that let you convince yourself you're doing the right thing."

[aventuras-de-andre]

when i say bbc’s merlin changed me as a person i don’t mean it introduced to me to arthurian mythology or anything, i mean that the line ‘I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met… guess I was wrong’ made me feel levels of fury my 12-year-old self did not know she was capable of

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

No good deed goes unpunished

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie apocalypse (I like how I lied to both myself and y’all that there was ever gonna be a chance of it being another type of apocalypse), both John and Love are a little crazy which is to be expected re: zombie!au, more nausea, more pregnancy related discourse, zombie world building and the ramifications/implications of being pregnant in the apocalypse, the author is currently having A Thing about pepperoncinis, strong hints to the events that lead to Love being abandoned, etc etc etc

First/Previous Chapter Here | Next Chapter

Captain John Price of the SAS, it seems, has decided to keep you.

As a child your neighbors had an Australian Cattle Dog.

He reminds you of that dog. Keyed in on your every move, herding you about as he sees fit throughout the day.

Gets irritated just like that dog used to, if he finds you somewhere he thinks you shouldn’t be.

Being alone with a man you do not know goes against everything you were taught growing up. You, however, are not exactly spoiled for choice where company is concerned and are in no position to bite the hand willing to feed you. Especially when the hand in question hasn’t done anything untoward.

John provides security and stability, even if he fusses at you incessantly.

“Need to be eating more than that.”

Objectively you know he’s correct, but there’s fuck all to be done about it.

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

You learn the nausea card will stay his hand, not that you’re even overplaying it. The child you’re carrying likes to alternate between sitting on your bladder and your stomach between bouts of playing soccer with your ribcage. Not exactly making it easy on you to get (or keep down) the food you need to grow a liver or a pair of lungs, or whatever it is that you’re cooking in the final stretch of your pregnancy.

For the most part he leaves you be about the food if he sees you picking at something over the duration of the day.

You circle each other cautiously; circumstance and loneliness making you unwilling to avoid him, but also still having the good sense to be aware you’re dealing with a stranger for less than a full day.

He’s brash, obviously used to getting his way. You don’t know a ton about the military and can only assume that it comes with the territory. He’s used to barking orders and commanding a space. You’re not exactly in a position to buck against his hand- and it’s not like you really want to, anyway.

He gives you first pick of the food, your cravings deciding your meal for you.

Cravings in an apocalypse blow, by the way. It’s not like you can get the tandoori chicken from your favorite Indian place at 2 am just because the mood strikes.

“I would kill for a jar of pepperoncinis,” you mumble, mostly to yourself one night as you pick at your dinner. God you could fuck a jar of them up with how your mouth is watering just at the thought of them.

In fact, had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket you’d probably be doing something cruel and inhumane to a pile of them. Like dipping them into nutella. Wasn’t one of the joys of pregnancy appeasing your cravings with absolutely abominable food combinations?

You’re not exactly in fight or flight at this exact moment, but you are in survival mode. No luxury of door dashing random items.

“How much longer do you think you’ve got?” The captain asks one night over dinner.

“I’m not sure. I think any day now at this point.”

You feel like you’re all belly, something that’s compounded by his follow up question of “Only got the one in there?” which is honestly fair.

“Yes. The midwife said he just has an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in.”

“Midwife would be handy to have given your state.”

The question is buried between the lines. Why are you here and not with her?

“She’s dead.”

That’s what started this whole mess, isn’t it? It’s not your fault she’s dead but her absence was the catalyst of your group abandoning you.

He pauses his own meal, looking at you momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

You don’t know what to say in reply.

It feels disingenuous to pretend her death impacted you more than it actually did. While you two had spent more time together as your pregnancy progressed, the conversations had stayed staunchly about the baby and changes to your body.

You weren’t friends. But she was kind and compassionate and seemed knowledgeable about what was happening to you.

It does make you nervous, though. Women have had babies unassisted for millenium, but women have also died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Certain cultures regarded a successful birth in the same vein as warriors returning home from battle.

Since he asked- in a roundabout way- about your group, you feel bold enough to ask about his.

“How’d you get separated from your group?”

“Got caught with our trousers down by a herd wandering through this area. We were overwhelmed and I ended up going through a window. Did a number on my leg, that seems to finally be healing.”

Herds is such a funny way to describe a roaming group of the undead.

Herds usually contain deer, or horses, or sheep. Something soft and doe eyed that you can pet. Something that has teeth, yes, but typically not interested in hurting you.

Packs would be the better descriptor in your opinion- but then no one had asked you, had they?

“Do you think they’re still in the area?”

“Not if they’ve got any fucking sense,” he grouses. “There’s a group of survivors up north we’ve been taking care of. Safe zone so to speak- about as safe as anything can be, at least. Came down for supplies as the area looked clear, but the truck broke down. Herd came through and mucked everything up.”

The prospect of another community- a safe zone- enraptures you.

You’re not stupid, even if a lapse of judgment and a too long dry spell breaking has landed you in your current predicament. You understand that you’re a bit of a ticking time bomb.

You live in a world where safety is no longer a guarantee. That too much noise, and too much attention drawn can be a death sentence.

So having a baby is a far riskier move these days than it was in the past. There’s so much that can go wrong. You can’t tell a baby to be quiet because a herd is passing through and if any of them hear, then you’ve signed everyone’s death warrant.

And that’s if you and your child don’t die in labor.

So you were understandably devastated but yielded to the group consensus to leave you behind.

But a safe zone?

You’ve been floating around in limbo since parting from your group. Understanding that your death is written on the walls, but unwilling to lay down and die without trying.

You feel something akin to hope fluttering in your belly- that maybe you and your child will survive. That there’s not a blade waiting to descend on you when your water breaks.

“Can you take me there? Are you trying to go back?”

John regards you for a moment, and you try to not squirm in apprehension.

“Would be a whole lot easier if I had a working vehicle,” he states. “Between my leg and your,” he pauses, spearing a bite of his food and making a vague gesture at you as he chews, “current condition, walking that far isn’t a good idea.”

Right. Because you’re a ticking time bomb who might pop in the next hour, next week, or next day and there’s absolutely no way to know until it happens. Hence why you were trolling through a neighborhood looking for somewhere safe to bed down until you have your baby.

Talk about caught with your pants down if your water breaks trying to traverse a substantial distance. But then traveling with a newborn puts another target on your back, doesn’t it? How long until you’re comfortable with how fussy your baby is and you become confident you can read his cues? That’s a hell of a dice to roll.

“If I can find a working radio I can call my team. Or something I can drive.”

“I’m good with tech,” you volunteer. “Even if the radio doesn’t work- maybe I can make it work.”

You’ve always been someone who takes pride in your work, but working in tech in a post-collapse society has rendered your knowledge useless when traveling with a nomadic group just trying to make things work day by day.

So you’ve been feeling like a bit of a lame duck lately, even though you know logically that’s not being particularly fair to your circumstances. You’ve been forced to learn more pragmatic skills (at least, for the zombie apocalypse) but having to learn them on the fly with threats constantly looming over you doesn’t exactly provide a safe place to fail while you get over a learning curve.

Obviously close combat isn’t ideal in your situation. Guns draw too much attention with the noise. Maybe you can find a bow and practice with it.

So you jump at the opportunity to show that you might be able to pull your own weight. That you’re more than a fragile time bomb waiting for the counter to hit zero.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I find a broken one, then,” he appeases, although you can’t get enough of a read on him to know if he’s just placating you.

It’s a bit after dinner and the sun setting that John decides it’s time to herd you up to bed. “Right then, time to get you back upstairs.”

It’s only been two days now but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s got a thing about you and the stairs.

Someone like him is likely used to preparing for the worst case scenario in every situation. Lord knows what sort of horrors he’s thought up of you losing your balance going up or down, but he’d chewed on you pretty good earlier in the day when you’d tried to go up them without him to get something out of your bag.

Lesson learned- no traversing the stairs unattended.

Given that you are perpetually exhausted at this point, you can’t see the value in arguing that you don’t need your sleep schedule dictated to you. Left to your own devices you likely would have begun nodding off on the couch.

Even with your group, while there’d be assigned watch times, there wasn’t an enforced bedtime. Everyone’s adults- you were expected to handle your shit and be ready to move when it’s time to go.

So you nod along and let him guide you up.

John is magnanimous about the resources in the house, letting you be uncontested for the bathroom upstairs. You don’t understand how plumbing works but you can’t even bring yourself to complain about the cold water as you clean yourself.

There is a chair in “your” room, and the first night you placed it under the doorknob so that should John get any suspicious ideas, at least you’d be awake for your grizzy demise.

The doorknob never so much as turned, and you’ve been at his mercy long enough you decide if he was going to do anything unhinged, he’d have done it by now.

You are snuggled into your bed- which might as well be a luxurious thing with a 600 thread count for all you can care right now, even though it’s most assuredly not- and hear the sound of John’s door closing across the hall, and are out like a light before you can even process the noise and assume that he’s down for the count for tonight just like you are.

Come morning- after you’re finished in the bathroom and are greeted in the hall by John waiting for you- you realize that John was not squirreled away in his own room last night. He leads you down the stairs- insists on being between you and the bottom of the stairwell.

There’s a jar of pepperoncini peppers, a container of prenatal vitamins, and a pack of preggie pops which claims to be a pregnancy safe anti nausea candy.

The logical side of your brain should be floored that this veritable stranger has paid more attention to your needs (and yes you’re going to go ahead and count the pepperoncinis down as a need) in a day and a half than certain exes had during the entire run of your relationships with them.

A thank you would be appropriate given the situation.

Unfortunately, however, your hormone addled “I've been fending for myself after being abandoned, and I'm still emotionally fried” brain has been the one calling the shots lately, so instead what comes out is “You left me last night.”

[i-am-a-fan]

To the someone who curled a monkey paw finger to get me to draw more lmk, Here ya go :>