#ruh roh raggy

[yxleii]

WOAH WHO GAVE HER THAT

[illwilledomen]

Come out, come out.

[machveil]

John Price was in a bowling team at one point in his life - tell me I’m wrong

Price bowls like he’s angry - he could be in a great mood, but Price is sending that ball hurdling down the lane. maybe he was in a bowling team in his late twenties for a couple months, making it to matches when he was on leave. course, he went bowling in his teens too, a fun night out at the alley with friends. it’s all muscle memory to him, as easy as unjamming a gun

Price taking you bowling on a date night. it’s okay if you don’t want to bowl and just want to watch him, he’ll put on a show for you. sporting a t-shirt and jeans, it’s hard not to eye him up and down. he walks up to lane with such composure, slips his fingers into the ball like it’s second nature. it always brings back a little youthful need to show off, him sending a wink at you before getting ready to roll it

Price who absolutely sends the ball. his strike would have been impressive if you were watching the ball floor the pins - no, you’re eyeing John Price. his stance is half kneeling from when he let go of the ball, thick thigh stretching out the material of his jeans. and his arms? combined with the quick snap of his wrist when released the ball, your jaw goes a little slack

Price who loves a little competition if you do want to bowl with him. he can break 200 easily, make a perfect game if he really wants to show off. but for a date night? unless you want to have a real go at it, Price is more than fine to bowl casually. he still tries, but he shrugs it off when two pins are still standing. he kisses your cheek when you get a strike, a firm pat to your shoulder if you beat him

[uolivegb]

out on the town :)

[terristre]

[asheepinfrance]

Can't Be That Bad

aka patrick gets a taste of his own medicine

an: based on a convo with @artstennisracket we had a while back. this is kinda short and silly but i felt like getting something small out while i try and source my energy into another bigger thing ill write tomorrow or sunday.

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You lay on your side, curling in on yourself tighter, tighter, tighter still till there was no closer you could get to your own insides without popping. Knees to chest, chin to knees, arms wrapped around your bare legs like the ribbon atop a gift, holding things in place until the long-awaited relief of getting the product you want. The ache was dull, deep beneath your skin, festering like a wound, and it was sharp at the same time. Sharp, thudding, pulsating, echoing. Reverberating off the walls of your abdomen until it hits each piece of flesh within you, a muscular soreness that spreads where it shouldn’t. Even the expansion of your lungs with much needed oxygen seemed to hurt, the sharp feeling widening, pulling, growing taller with your chest, then shorter with exhale. It made your voice come out funny, shaky, like a sickly child. Patrick looked down at you from his place standing, which he so aggravatingly gets the continuous capacity to do, at the dresser, naked from the waist down. Why he would ever dress himself shirt first is beyond you, but if he ever changed his routine, you’d think the world was freezing over. The words come out muffled behind the cotton of the white tee he’s pulling over his head, but they’re there all the same.

“Seriously, babe. It can’t be that bad.”

And your body which once felt like it was heated by an internal coal furnace has suddenly frozen over. You must be glaring, not even with intention, because he briefly raises his hands to his shoulders as if to call for mercy. That smug little boy of an adult man can’t even bother to verbally apologize, but then again, you can’t verbally respond. You’re still heaving for air like you’d run a marathon. 

“Like, I’m sure it sucks, yeah, but… can’t you just, like, tough it out? Trust me, I’ve been hit in the stomach with a tennis ball, like, more times than I can count, so I think we’re both even, anyway.”

He’s putting on his pants now, boxers having been slipped on somewhere distant, hazy and blurred through your simmering anger. If looks could kill, the sheepish smile he sends you while buttoning his jeans up tells you that he’d have died a painful death about a minute ago. He makes up for it, momentarily, by striding to your side of the bed, leaning over to press a kiss to your damp hairline, your eyes sliding shut like he’d connected his lips to yours. It’s salty and gross. You know it’s gross, you know he thinks it’s gross, but he doesn’t mention it. 

“Left you some meds on the nightstand, kay? I’ll be back later.”

It’s a little ‘I love you’ without the heavy weight of actually saying it. He’s got a little stubble on his cheeks, he last shaved three days ago. You know this because he does. It’s one of very few things that Patrick is consistent about. Call it vain, but he likes to keep his appearances up as best he can. If the world is going to see him panting and sweaty most of the time, he better have a clean face doing it, even if flushed red from exhaustion. He left the room before you had the chance to meet his gaze without any annoyance, and you sigh, slowly straighten out each bend and curve of your bed until you’re on your back. He’s an idiot. It is that bad, and no tennis ball to the gut, eye, or crotch is ever going to change the fact that your entire body is beating like each cell was a little heart all its own. You’d seen so much red that the room now looks like it’s made up of mottled shades of gray. He’s an idiot. But, then again, he doesn’t have to be.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

He hisses through his teeth, eyes screwed shut like he’s bracing himself for impact, more accurately, like he’d already been hit. Badly. He’s certainly behaving as if that were the case. The dial in your hand reads an embarrassingly small number: 5. A 5 out of the possible 10 levels, and he’s practically writhing around against the plush cushions of your couch. You almost feel bad about it, almost, considering you’re only standing over him, watching with sinister glee, because of those painkillers he so kindly supplied. However, your friend had lent you the actual cramp simulator, and only one of those things is actively teaching Patrick he’s a dumbass. You’ll have to Venmo your friend something letter, just for an accurate measurement of gratitude.

“Aw, come on, P. Man up!”

He’s gripping his stomach like he wants to pull it off and suddenly things are less fun, your thumb twitching over the dial, until he looks back up at you and tries to steel himself. Emphasis on ‘tries’, because all he really does is grimace. You turn the dial to 8. 

“Fucking- Just turn it off, please!”

“Why? Can’t be that bad.”

He raises a hand to give you quite possibly the most pathetic middle finger you’ve ever seen, all wobbly and brief, like one of an elementary schooler believing themselves to be rebellious. His entire body is twitching, like it no longer knows what to do with itself from the sheer amount of sensory input. The overflow of pain signals. A civil war in his body, and one that you’re controlling. He looks like he might cry if he’d let himself do so without believing it to be embarrassing, which he won’t. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, though. You slide the dial back to 0. 

“ ‘M sorry.”

You grin, kneeling between his bent legs to pull the adhesive pads from his stomach, feigning ignorance. 

“What was that?”

“I said I’m sorry, you evil-”

He cuts himself off, shakes his head. Meh. Not worth it. If that’s what he felt like upon waking up, he’d be evil, too. You’re well within your right. You place a kiss to his knee, which bounces in place. Still on high alert, even when there’s nothing to be scared of anymore. Besides pissing you off, maybe. You left him water and Advil on the coffee table beforehand, just in case. A small ‘I love you’ without verbally saying it. ‘I love you, even if you’re so, so painfully dumb.’ Patrick Zweig was an idiot. It can be that bad. He knows this because you do.

[cyanophen]

Lyle&Deigo: Part 5

[minsingmeat]

raggy as shaggy and moonless as scooby

[dustykart]

RingRap

Drew this for my brother’s birthday last year

[notnotnightwing]

I can't tell if I just took a nightquil or a dayquil just now because they're both the same color fuck

[pjshermann]

harold's son jacob being named jacob more after thomas more. thomas more being the patron saint of ADOPTED CHILDREN and LAWYERS.

[crispy-dib]

Damn, bro. You got the whole squad smiling

[snoopy-nerd]

TW: mentioned technically canibalism, bit a slime gore

YOOOO HERE WE GO AGAIN, PARASITE NILE WOOOO

To let ya'll know; I got me ma Oc Nile, good fella BUT his first design was an a-hole parasite, so LETS BRING HIM BACK YO

🎶HE'S MY BESTFRIEND🎶

🎶BEST OF ALL BESTFRIEND🎶

🎶DO YOU HAVE A BESTFRIEND TOO?!?? :DDD🎶

🎶IT TICKLES IN MY TUMMY!!!🎶

🎶HE'S SO YUMMY YUMMY!!🎶/J

Fresh by @loverofpiggies

Jellybean (Fresh ship kid) belongs to @that-80-s-dude

Skillet (Fresh ship kid) belongs to @scaredofstyrofoam

Nifty belongs to @magic_horse____ on TikTok

Retro and Disco belongs to @solroswaslost

Parasite!Nile belongs to ME RAHHHHHHH

[sydorenee]

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP OMGGGG THE VENGEANCE SAGA LIVESTREAM WAS TRULY EPIC RAAAHHHHHH🦅🦅🦅🦅

I NEED THE ALBUM TO DROP IMMEDIATELY SO I CAN LISTEN A BAJILLION TIMES

[tarot-muses]

Eliza Kraven @the-arkham-librarian offered...

Eliza crouches at the entrance to the black hole under her porch. "Ix!" she calls, shaking her bag of treats, "I have goodies for you!"

Remaining outside the tunnel is wise, as one cannot be sure a wild animal won't react with territorial hostility when encroaching on its den. Within, all light perishes against wet, resinous walls, all ribbed and textured in motifs similar to the creature itself. Around the entrance to the hole, chicken feathers are still stuck -- betraying its recent mischievous activities.

When it hears its name called, the alien issues a series of curious clicking noises, probing the air above its nest with echolocation.

Ah, a friend!

From the darkness, its long proboscis snakes out, the orifice on the end opening to smell the air and spy the infrared impressions around it.

Something smells delicious... For me?

Like a beluga surfacing in pitch black waters, its smooth domed face rises up out of the nest, its little mouth a perfect O.

[beebooboo6]

Am I the only one who hoped Isidora would be more of a present villain? Like I wanted her to appear post-ranrok to become another problem for Mc. Like just when MC thinks it's all over and they can mourn fig in peace and carry out their schooling at hogwarts bam Isidora shows up and starts shit. She's like "ha you thought". An interesting idea would be her Like trying to resurrect her body or smth and MC has to stop it but they can't do it alone so their friends natty,poppy, sebastian, ominis, and etc have to help. I just thought that'd be really a really cool plot line.I feel like Isidora has more potential as a villain. Like imagine her trying to suck the emotions out of Mc's friends- god forbid she touches poppy. But hey, that's just a theory- a hogwarts legacy theory.