#so that probably contributed

[thatoneweirdo14]

what if i say "fuck it we ball" after the having a difficult day but you start cuddling me and holding me close to your chest and tucking my hair behind my ear and patting my head whilst i start letting the walls i put up because of a childhood where sharing my emotions wasn't safe down and curl up into a ball beside you and you coax me into letting it off my chest while i stutter and kick and gulp and gasp but you still hold me close and say "it's okay now, I'm here." What then bro.

[epicfirestormer]

Hi I'm new here, has anyone made this joke yet

[transgendz]

In the past threeish days my phone has been stolen, my roommate got a flat in our only form of transportation, and my other roommate got an infection in a minor skin-deep leg injury that is currently serious enough to have him struggling to walk. We may need to take him to the ER soon. Additionally, due to bad timing in needing to submit documents with work, I need to complete a two factor authentication to continue working.

I need to replace my phone before I lose my job. My phone hadn't been paid off, and I am totally at a loss at the ungodly cost of it. I am the main supporter for both of my disabled roommates. I cannot lose this job.

Please buy my art? @theartistrans Dm me for proof or details, and I'll put details in the tags

$174/$960

PP--V--$C--kofi

[nevarroes]

cas is making a whale joke rn

[yukipri]

I miss him...

(Mayday)

~~

This art is a reupload of an art I drew last year! BUT this version has been Gl*zed and N*ghtshaded! Reblog to spread the anti-A*I poison

PLEASE DO NOT REUPLOAD, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

[srnileforme]

#GarnierWaterGelxYinWar ★☆

[leafatlaw]

Im in love with how the hearts are represented by nether stars,, its just one really cool to think of, instead of it being some modded in thing.

Like do you think the lifesteal members ever look at the night sky and think its alive? The night sky so full of lives, shining and shimmering just out of reach. Do they stare at the nightsky with greed, those with less hearts, do they stare with envy?

Do they ever kill the wither and think how remarkably similar they are to hearts? Holding the nether star close, like it might give them a life back. Do they identify witht he wither, they also drop those same stars when they die after all?

And then, how does it feel to hold a star/life. Does it burn like a real star? Is it freezing cold? Does it thump in rhythms or pulse with light? We are all made of star dust after all, the lifesteal members are just more star than most.

[krussyarts]

Miku? Heul leise.

[transformersbrainrot]

...Well damn

If you've seen most of my recent posts to this blog, I've been yelling at James Roberts for making me cry a lot, but it's mostly been an exaggeration. This is an exception.

[turtleblogatlast]

Mentioned this before but as much as I adore the medic Leo headcanon, my favorite type of it is when it’s basically just Leo knowing the most surface level of stuff and carrying around a super basic first-aid kit in his pack. So he knows how to use gauze, and he’s got a ton of Jupiter Jim branded bandaids, and if you really needed it then he can hit you up with some ibuprofen but other than that? Nothing.

But. I love the idea that that changes post-invasion.

They’re pretty sturdy, all of them, so they can take more than one beating and really only need a bandaid for the fun of it. But the invasion hit harder than ice packs and “lots of rest” would help with, and I can bet that a post being beaten to a pulp Leo would have a lot of time on his hands to reflect and, maybe, learn a thing or two as he waits to get better.

It’s nothing excessive, not at first, but he watches veterinary videos, and live surgeries, and other videos in that same realm (because the books are, uh, a bit too jargon-y for him) multiple times over. Just so he knows. Just in case he needs to know.

In his pack, there’s a first-aid kit. With the use of a mini portal for extra space, the kit has grown to include everything from scalpels to butterfly stitches to sutures to even fiberglass patches.

And obviously the Jupiter Jim brand bandaids stay too.

[edwinspaynes]

I DESPISE the fanon that "I was nervous around you" meant that Edwin had a crush on Simon. Like, no, he was nervous because Simon called him slurs and snatched his clothes off. Bffr. That would kill any attraction immediately, IF it was there at all.

[ivymarquis]

I work in health care which means I get paid to weigh people for a living and if there is one thing people can’t do correctly, it’s guess weight.

Idk why.

Idk who this will help, but Ghost is probably clocking a good 118kg/260lbs, do with that what you will and God Bless.

[leenfiend]

HE SAID NO PICKLES.

[ww2yaoi]

Unfortunately, I don’t have anything official to post for @webgottweek because I’ve been sick (and unprepared), but here’s a scene from my still yet untitled webgott wip for the day 6 prompt: haircut. Enjoy!

Joe makes good on his offer to cut David’s hair a few days later. They take their leave after dinner while most of the guys are downstairs playing cards. Joe drags David’s desk chair from their room into the bathroom and sets it up in front of the sink. He lays out his comb and scissors as David watches from the doorway with his arms crossed, not entirely thrilled to be parting with his mop. He only agreed because Joe seemed so adamant about doing something nice for him, and the last thing David wants is to deny him the chance to feel useful, especially now that the war is over and most of the company is stuck in limbo.

“Not too short, okay?” David says as Joe pushes him down into the chair.

“Jesus Christ, Web,” Joe says, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “All the officers trust me with their hair, why can’t you?”

“Yeah, right, like you’d give Captain Speirs a bad haircut,” David says as Joe wraps a towel around his neck. “You know I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Would you shut up? I’m not going to give you a bad haircut. I wouldn’t risk my reputation like that.” Joe takes a drag of his cigarette then ashes it in a tray on the back of the toilet. “Now lean back.”

David huffs, but does as he’s told, tipping his head back into the sink. Joe runs the lukewarm water, drenches David’s head, then lathers his hair with soap. Admittedly, it feels good. The last time David washed his hair was over a week ago, seeing as their billet has limited showers and insufficient hot water to facilitate so many men bathing daily. Usually, David just jumps in the lake and lets it wash away the sweat and grime from drills and training exercises. He’ll probably never be as dirty as he was in Normandy or Holland ever again, and he thanks God for that.

Joe massages his fingers into David’s scalp and David nearly groans. Joe must see the contentment on David’s face because he smirks.

“Feels good, right?”

“Yes,” David says flatly.

Joe runs his fingers through David’s hair from root to tip, then rinses out the soap. The act is oddly intimate, Joe hovering over him, touching his head and maneuvering it from side to side, using his hands so deftly. David is completely at his mercy. He wonders if Joe washes the hair of every man that asks him for a trim, if the officers get to see Joe like this, get to feel his fingers on their scalps. David suddenly feels jealous, possessive, but he knows the feeling makes no sense, that Joe is just doing a job for extra pocket money.

Joe uses a spare towel to ring most of the water out of David’s hair, then beckons him to stand up. He moves the chair away from the sink so he has enough room to walk around it, then gets David to sit back down again. He proceeds to comb David’s hair, gently working out the knots and parting it where the strands naturally fall.

“Not too short,” David reminds Joe as he grabs his scissors.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joe says. “I’m only taking an inch off.”

David listens to the snip, snip, snip of the scissors as Joe begins cutting his hair, starting at the back, and the sound is unexpectedly relaxing, almost enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. He watches as the trimmings fall to the floor like dark feathers, interrupting the white tiles below. Joe alternates between combing his hair, measuring the sections with his fingers, and trimming them down. He works quickly and quietly, gently ushering David’s head back and forth and to the side wherever he needs it to go.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” David asks.

“My dad was a barber,” Joe explains as he moves around the chair to face David and work on the front ends of his hair. “I used to help him at the shop on weekends, sweeping up clippings, answering the phone, cleaning windows, that sort of thing. I would watch him and learned that way until eventually he let me practice on him, with mixed results.”

Joe smiles, seemingly at the memory. David likes listening to Joe talk about his family. His voice has a softer quality to it when he does it. David probably sounds the opposite when discussing his parents or his siblings. Usually when he speaks of them, he’s pissed off about something they said or did.

“Then when I dropped out of school as a teenager I would do odd jobs, including cutting hair,” Joe continues. “I got pretty good at it.”

“Wait, you dropped out of school?” David asks.

He tries not to sound too dismayed, but his face must betray him. Joe gives him a skeptical look.

“Does that offend your very being, Harvard?”

“No,” David insists. “I’m just shocked, is all. You’re so—”

The word ‘smart’ dries up in David’s mouth. Joe is looking right at him as he measures the front pieces of his hair to ensure the length is even. His eyebrows are raised.

“I just didn’t expect it,” David says.

“Yeah, well, there were a lot of mouths to feed in my house growing up,” Joe says. “I would’ve rathered my sisters stay in school than me.” Joe makes a few more cuts around David’s head. “What does your dad do?”

“Uh, he’s a businessman,” David says.

“Yeah? That’s vague. What kind of businessman?”

“I don’t know.” David tries to stifle the resentment in his voice. “He’s the vice president of a trade company. It’s one of those jobs where half of his time is spent going out to lunch.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal,” Joe says, setting down his scissors.

“It’s a nothing kind of job,” David admits. “At least cutting hair you’re doing something. Dealing with a bunch of sales projections and ass-kissers all day doesn’t do anyone any good, unless you’re some self-satisfied prick in a suit.”

Joe snickers. “Jesus, Web. What are you, a Stalinist?”

“No, I just think there are better things to do with your life.”

Joe grabs a towel and runs it over David’s hair to finish drying it. “So what do you want to do with your life? If we ever get out of here?”

“I don’t know,” David says. “Write.”

“Yeah? Sounds nice.”

Joe tosses the towel aside and grabs a bottle of something off the back of the toilet.

“What is that?” David asks.

“Hair oil,” Joe says.

“You’ve been carting hair oil around war-torn Europe?”

Joe smirks. “Only the best for my customers.”

He unscrews the cap, dabs some into the center of his palm, sets the bottle aside, then warms the oil up in his hands. It smells strong and musky, and David is reminded of the other night, of the oil that coated his cock and Joe’s fingers and his thighs. They have yet to fuck like that again. Their days have been so filled with training and drills that they’re both too exhausted by night’s end to do anything but fall asleep in the same bed.

At the same time, David thinks there must be some other reason. It must be because when they fucked on David’s birthday, it was his first time with a man. Admitting that must have put Joe off, made him believe he’ll turn out to be some lovelorn kid who will just grow attached. Or maybe, Joe is waiting for him to make the next move. Maybe Joe thinks he’s too chickenshit to do it.

Joe stoops down to eye level and passes his hands through David’s new haircut, adjusting a strand here and a strand there. David just stares at Joe as he focuses intently on his styling, combing David’s curls back with his fingers, following the waves as they naturally form. He brushes a stray hair behind David’s ear then smiles.

“Can I see it?” David asks.

“Not yet.” Joe reaches out and runs his thumb along David’s jaw. “Do you want me to shave you? You’re looking pretty stubbly.”

“I shaved this morning,” David says.

“Come on, Web. You’re the kind of guy that gets five o’clock shadow at noon,” Joe says. “Your haircut won’t look as good if I don’t shave you.”

“I can handle you with scissors around my head but I don’t know how I feel about you wielding a razor near my throat,” David deadpans.

“Oh, please. I’m a professional.” Joe straightens. “Let me get my shaving kit.”

He opens the bathroom door and slips out into the hallway. David is tempted to look at himself in the mirror while Joe is gone but unfortunately agrees that the end product will look better if he shaves. Joe returns a minute later anyway. He unrolls his kit on the toilet lid, takes the shaving brush, soaps it up and lathers the lower half of David’s face. Joe is even closer now than he was when he was cutting David’s hair, and he’s looking at him, really looking at him.

“You’re getting tan,” Joe says as he reaches for his razor.

“I like the sun,” David replies.

“Why the hell do you live on the upper East Coast then?”

David shrugs. “Victim of circumstance.”

Joe chuckles. He wipes down the blade of the straight razor with a towel.

“I’ve always wanted to move somewhere warm,” David confesses. “Like Florida or California.”

Joe’s eyes flicker at that. The change in his expression is nearly imperceptible, but something like curiosity, or maybe even recognition, passes over his face. It fades in an instant, then Joe is hovering the razor above David’s cheekbone.

“Okay, don’t move, unless you want me to cut you.”

David sits as still as possible as Joe glides the razor over his cheeks and down the immediate curve of his neck, pulling his skin taut with his thumb, then wiping the soap and stubble off the blade with the towel. If David was at Joe’s mercy before, he’s completely vulnerable now. Their conversation gets put on hold as Joe works the razor over David’s skin. His hands are very steady, which is at least reassuring. As far as David can tell, Joe has always had steady hands, along with an obedient trigger finger. At least, obedient to himself. He’s a much better shot than David ever was, and David can understand why. He’s precise.

Joe finishes shaving David with one last swipe over the ball of his jaw, and David feels like he can breathe full and deep again. Joe goes to the sink to wet the towel, then returns to wipe the remaining soap from David’s cheeks.

“Wait,” Joe says. He removes the other towel from David’s shoulders and fixes his hair one more time. “Okay, you can look now.”

David gets up from the chair and turns to face the mirror. His reflection greets him like a stranger he once saw on the street but swears he’s met before in a dream. He recognizes himself, obviously, but he looks more youthful, yet without being young somehow. He’s molted his old skin, the skin that became mottled and toughened by the war, and settled into a new one. He has colour in his cheeks for once, which look impossibly smooth, and his hair is maybe the most well-groomed he’s ever seen it, at least since the war started. Shorter, yes, but shiny and expertly coiffed into a wave off his forehead. David stares at himself. He feels clean, fresh, but most of all, he feels meticulously cared for.

“Well, do you like it?” Joe asks.

“Yeah, Joe, I do,” David says, turning to him and smiling. “I really like it. Thank you.”

Joe returns his grin and winks. “I knew you would, you nonbeliever,” he says. “You look like Carey fucking Grant.”

David laughs. “Do I?”

“Well, not really, but your hair does.” Joe looks down at all the clippings on the floor. “I need to find a broom.”

“I think there’s a broom closet in the hallway,” David says. “I’ll go check.”

He slips out of the bathroom and walks down to the end of the hall, opening a thin door beside the stairs. Thankfully, there’s a broom and dustpan inside, propped up against the wall. David grabs them both just as footsteps echo up the stairwell. Luz appears at the top, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Ayy, Web. Looking spiffy,” he says. “What is this, the fucking Ritz?”

“Joe cut my hair,” David explains, fighting back a smile.

“Yeah, I can see that. Lookin’ good, kid.” Luz claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll have to get him to do me next.”

Luz disappears into his room a few doors over and David returns to the bathroom. Joe is sitting on the toilet lid and smoking the cigarette he ashed earlier. They clean up, collecting the clippings from the floor and throwing them in the dustbin. Joe gathers his tools and his shaving kit and they head back to their room, David carrying the chair.

David returns it to his desk then flops down on the bed, suddenly feeling very tired. He’s afraid to ruin his hair, but his head is too heavy to keep off the pillow. He closes his eyes and a few minutes later, he feels the mattress sink as Joe lies down beside him.

David cracks open an eye and sees that Joe is facing his direction, his head resting on the adjacent pillow, just looking at him in the lamplight.

“Inspecting your handiwork?” David asks.

Joe nods. “A little bit.”

“I feel like we should be going out somewhere,” David muses. “To a jazz club or something.”

“You like jazz clubs?”

“Not particularly. I just feel like it’s a waste. If I fall asleep I’m going to mess up my hair, and I’ll have to shave again in the morning.”

“Don’t be vain, Web,” Joe says.

“It’s not vanity. I want people to see your work.”

Joe laughs through his nose. “Well, I see it.”

“You and Luz.”

“Luz?”

“He saw me in the hallway. He said I looked spiffy.”

“And that ain’t enough for you?”

“Shut up.”

A beat passes, then Joe reaches out and strokes David’s cheek, his thumb tracing the smooth, clean-shaven line of his jaw back and forth, back and forth.

“My sisters would be obsessed with you.”

David smirks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, they would want to have your babies,” Joe says. “Except that you’re a goy.”

“Ugh.” David makes a face. “I don’t want to think about your sisters that way.”

Joe laughs and the sound cuts through the quiet. David ignores him, too disturbed by the concept. He nuzzles further into Joe’s warm palm, feeling himself being pulled towards sleep. He wants to kiss Joe, but he doubts he has the energy to start anything right now. Instead, he shuts his eyes, his body growing heavier and heavier. Joe’s hand migrates to his hair, fixing it even as he verges on unconsciousness. He brushes a loose strand from David’s forehead, smoothes his sideburns down with his fingertips. David is nearly asleep when he hears it.

“Gut aussehend,” Joe mutters. “If only they knew, Web. If only they knew.”

[lyricsandpapers]

NEW WEEK MORE POSTS! Let’s talk about Home for Joke!

Joke has never had a Home; he lived in his parents house as an unwanted guest (his father quite literally says he thinks Joke isn’t his son because he isn’t smart enough). Then he lived in jail, where we know he was constantly harassed. He now has that small apartment next to Tattoo, that from what we’ve seen has like one futon and a chair in it.

However, from the jump we see how at home Joke feels at Jack’s place. He falls asleep in Jacks bed, helps tidy up. Constantly staying as long as possible. When Jack invites Joke back over after forgiving him he is ELATED to be allowed back. So when Grandma asks when Joke is going home….

Not only is it a reminder that his parents probably don’t want to see him.

But it also probably feels like a rejection, that they don’t see this as Joke’s home. That he DOESN’T have a home here. He’s a guest, he doesn’t belong there. He knows both of their kindness too, so I imagine he might be wondering if he’s ACTUALLY wanted there. Luckily Grandma and Jack catch on pretty fast

It’s the first time it’s really laid out WHY a rich boy has spent all his time there. Hoy brought up suspicion to Tattoo before (which i loved) but this is it spelled out to others. Grandma offering a place there, in such a calm collected way, and Jack backing it up must have been SO overwhelming. The feeling of being given a soft place to land for an indefinite time?

Yeah it would easily bring me to tears. Joke is clearly in his 20’s and this is the first time that not only he HAS a Home, but one was offered because he was WANTED there.

And I think the realization has occurred to Jack too

[feroluce]

So I spoke somewhat about my thoughts on Emanator Sampo here, but I never really thought of it from a design point of view or what kind of powers he would have until just recently. But I actually kind of love leaning into it from a "stage hand" perspective?

Because like. Aha's body in THEIR official art is completely black, giving attention to all the fun brightly colored things around THEM. And that's so fitting for Sampo! He usually prefers to be a side character. He likes to act from the shadows. His is a much more subtle hand.

So I wonder if as an Emanator, a lot of his clothes are actually very dark? Not necessarily plain, still extravagant and needlessly detailed in things like cut and quality with lots of different fabrics and textures and ornamentation, but dark. Or maybe even his skin itself becomes blackened further down his body; his hands in particular are dark, as a sort of sleight of hand reference.

The motif of a lot of straps wrapped around him like in his canon design is still present, but they're all loose and flowing off of him like paper streamers now instead of restraining him or holding him together. He is no longer contained! Or maybe they're still a bit more rigid/heavy, but just draped more like red stage curtains!

And this is like. Fully self-indulgent, but I love inhuman designs, and there's nothing in canon to say I can't do this, so screw it! Go for broke!! Maybe it's not visible to normal people, but Sampo having a second set of arms would be really cool, as further sleight of hand reference. One set is almost normal looking, but his hands are a bright, attention-drawing white, and the other is dark, set almost in the shadows of the first arms, to act less noticeably.

He also has something of a broken heart design to him in canon (the front of his black shirt with its jagged shape down the middle; his coat looks like a full heart shape in the back), and I actually like him keeping that element as an Emanator, because I think it suits him. Sampo says his taste in aesthetics and views on Elation involve human dignity,

and the story he helps create in Belobog involves the long and winding road of resistance and survival and eventual triumph in the face of some very adverse, oppressing odds. (I'm pretty sure I heard he once called Wildfire "artless" though, plus the man acts like he thinks Shame is some kind of dessert, so like ndkdjzjskkd) But the point being!!

I think Sampo is someone who can appreciate heartbreak and angst and tragedy in a story, because it makes the victory at the end all the sweeter. And this would be another thing he shares with Aha, because I think THEY did bless the Mourning Actors partly just to be a little shit, but also because Aha does recognize tragedy as part of THEIR Path, too, and you can see it in some of the game. So a broken heart motif can still suit him, and I like him having elements of both comedy and tragedy. Like his clothing having a happy sun/sad moon (like the moon in Aha's art) or him having both of the traditional comedy/tragedy masks in his design.

And as Emanator, Sampo can maybe play with the stage settings environment, too. Like lights sometimes behave strangely around him, appearing blindingly bright to someone or dramatically dark. Sampo wills it and suddenly there seems to be a metaphorical spotlight right where he wants everyone to look. And when he doesn't want to be noticed, his face seems to be cast in shadow, he seemingly just fades into the background, no one notices or recognizes him and he sneaks away easily. He can create smoke or fog literally out of thin air without his bombs now, too, the air will just suddenly thicken until his stage is obscured, and Sampo can set the scene as he pleases or disappear without a trace.

And in line with being a stage hand, Sampo can direct attention like no other. He was already extremely good at this as a normal mortal, and becoming an Emanator only took it up to 11, past human limits. Sampo points, and all present feel compelled to follow his fingertip. He looks away, and they all follow his gaze. He can even affect the mood of an audience; he can influence everyone to be calm and placid or he can whip them into a feverish frenzy. Sometimes a crowd will start to become unsettled, agitation stirring until it boils over, until it incites a full on violent mob.

And in the middle of all that chaos will stand one perfectly calm figure, face cast in shadow, until they quietly slip away out of sight.