#take care with peanuts

[peanutsgifs]

Take Care with Peanuts: Jump Into Fall

[southhbound]

Take Care with Peanuts: Get Up and Get Outside

[mischievous-thunder]

Oh, babygirl, your hunger (inclusive of everything) is clouding your judgement!

[morganbritton132]

Oh geez this might be a double ask because my phone glitched out when I tried to send previously BUT just wanted to say that I love ur Steve has older siblings au

I also need to say that I shamelessly combined that au with ur post about Tommy knowing Steve the best. Just picturing Steve’s sibs zoning out when his mom lists what he can’t eat because they assume she’s just being difficult. Flash forward a few years and they accidentally poison Steve with like peanut butter cookies and are realllly lucky that Tommy was staying over that weekend and knows he’s allergic.

anyways thx for all ur writing!

I only got this ask once so we’re good! The Steve Has Older Siblings AU has kinda been on hold for a bit because Dustin is either the easiest or the hardest character to write and right now, he’s being difficult for me.

BUT! I love this.

I’m going to change it around a bit because I’m on this kick right now where Steve is allergic to aspirin. Also, with the way that Steve’s mom is written for this AU, she is negligent but protective of her son. I don’t think she’d allow peanut butter in the house if Steve was allergic.

She wouldn’t allow aspirin either but Richard insists that it’s the only thing that cures a migraine (hangover), and Steve’s eight. He doesn’t even like taking his Flintstone vitamins so she’s not concerned about him getting in the medicine cabinet.

It’s not common that Tommy stays over at Steve’s when they’re sick.

Typically his mom watches them at their house but she had to go wake up his grandma (“That doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t she set an alarm clock?”/”I dunno, Steve. That’s what Mommy said. She had to go to Granny’s wake.”) so Mrs. Harrington was babysitting them.

Mrs. Harrington isn’t very good at taking care of them. Tommy wouldn’t tell Steve that because it’ll make him sad, but his mom kinda sucks at this. She doesn’t even give them popsicles for their sore throats or kiss their foreheads to check their temperature. She just disappears for long periods of time to yell into the phone.

Tommy’s kinda happy when she has to go into the office because he thinks Claire might look after them, but she’s apparently studying in her room so Steve’s brothers are doing it.

Tommy secretly likes this better because Jason and Richie are very nice to him, and they tell him that he’s cooler than Steve. No one has ever said that before! Not even Carol and they got married under the jungle gym.

Tommy likes hanging out with them even if he feels icky today.

He is standing in the kitchen next to Steve, watching Richie cut a little orange pill in half with a knife. Richie keeps muttering under his breath about running out of the ‘liquid S H I T.’ Tommy thinks it’s funny that he said a bad word, but can’t laugh about it because he can see the bottle that the pill came out of and –

“I don’t think we take that,” He voices but Richie brushes him off. He says it’s like candy. Tommy has brothers too, so he knows that sometimes you gotta give in or they’ll rub your face into the carpet until you get rugburn, but, “I know but… but what if only I take it?”

“You take half,” Richie tells him. “Stevie over here takes the other half and then we’re right as rain. It reduces fever.”

“Yeah,” Jason adds from behind them. “So your brain doesn’t leak out your ears.”

Tommy looks over at Steve but he isn’t fully awake so there’s not much of a reaction there. Plus, he’s not a very good reader so Tommy’s not sure if he even knows what the bottle says. He tries again, ignoring Jason, “That’s not what Mrs. Harrington gave us earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. This is better.”

“Steve can’t take that,” Tommy tries again after he crunches the medicine between his teeth. He sticks out his tongue so Richie can see that it’s gone, and then adds, “Mommy gave that to him once and it made him really sick.”

“It did?” Steve croaks, snatching his hand back when Richie tries to hand him the pill. Richie tries to force the pill into his mouth but Steve presses his lips together. It makes his brother swear and gesture to Jason, and then Steve is snatched off his feet with a hand pinching his nose shut.

He struggles and Tommy wants to help but he – he also wants Richie and Jason to like him so, he doesn’t help. Steve gasps for breath and the pill goes in…and Steve is fine. He’s angry and out of breath, and his nose is still stuffy so he still kinda sounds like a frog but he’s not.. he’s not blue like last time.

Tommy thinks, oh. He thinks, cool.

Everything is fine for fifteen minutes and then Tommy is yelling out the door of Steve’s bedroom that they need help. Steve is breathing weird and – “and, I – I think he’s going to die!”

A lot of stuff happens at once. Claire leaves her room, Jason and Richie come up the stairs, and they all start yelling and blaming each other. No one really jumps into action until Tommy bursts into tears. Then it’s movement and car rides, and Tommy is sitting in the waiting room at the hospital without shoes on.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington rush into the room. The only thing he does know is that he’s never seen anybody look as angry as Mrs. Harrington did when she sees them.

She looks like she’s going to yell at them but Mr. Harrington grabs her by the arm and drags her to the reception desk. They disappear behind the white double doors that Steve went through.

It only makes Tommy cry harder.

[robiinurheart33]

What if ghost had a stuffed toy he had since he was a kid

What if in the fire the only thing he managed to save was a little bunny with floppy ears and fur matted from the long years of Simon drooling, hugging and loving him?

What if the only thing he has left was the stuffed bunny and for a very, very long while he kept it stuffed in a box along with things from the fire they barely managed to save and the ear was slightly singed and covered with a thick layer of soot

What if one day Ghost had a panic attack and the only thing that could comfort him was the box in the closet and when he found the bunny he got so emotional he held it against his face and tried to gather the last comforting smells his house had, even if it smelled mostly of mothballs, burning fire and alcohol

What if ghost washed the bunny after a long 10 years, worried that his tears would soak through the soot on the bunny and remain permeant on the fur

What if Ghost scrubbed and scrubbed the toy the whole night, fear griping his heart at ruining the last thing that came from his childhood

What if he kept the bunny under tight security like it was his life savings or passport

What if everytime he sunk too deep into his head ghost would bring out the bunny, cry and then wash it again like a cycle

What if years later soap becomes his new bunny and ghost allows him to be his new safe space and comfort

What if years later after wars and missiles, ghost and soap settle down together and above their fireplace, next to their married photo is bunny leaning against the frame and looking matted and worn out, but loved all the same.

[gods-perfect-idiots]

something something blood-soaked hands cradling your face something something

anyway here's the post btw

[ackalice]

*Gently steals Adamo with cookies as bait for lil comic idea* (Unless you don't want to and das okay ^^)

[impossible-rat-babies]

okay okay I did this on the bird app, but tumblr can have it too

[thatsrightice]

Crosby totally packs all of the lunches for his crew (and Bubbles, always Bubbles) when he flies missions. He gets their preferred choice of ration, all of their favorite flight-approved snacks, and he even manages to acquire some extra chocolate bars, all of which were carefully packaged inside a brown paper bag with their name on it in that delicate handwriting of his.

When Crosby gets transferred to Blakely’s crew, Douglass doesn’t stop bragging about it and shoving it in Ham’s face for weeks. Of course then Crosby felt bad when he saw how Ham was actually disappointed whenever the special lunches were brought up, so he started to secretly leave one by Ham’s flight gear before every flight.

[arvadthecursed]

I cleaned Peanut's cage today. Here she is enjoying it :)

I'm hoping to get her a new cage on Saturday. I measured her cage and so I have a rough idea of what I need to get for it to be roomy enough for her!

[peanutsgifs]

Take Care with Peanuts: Growing Older, Getting Wiser

August 10th - Happy Birthday Snoopy!

[elendsessor]

I really love reading people's hcs, especially if it's abtmy special interests. so i was wondering if you have any from the real world (y'know; sheffield, o'brien, real argilla and others ((I'M VERY NORMAL ABT O'BRIEN ">:D

it mostly comes down to sheff and o’brien since everyone else has like next to no complete info or are uber similar to their ai counterparts but i have a few!! sorry if this isn’t the longest list.

spoilers gang

-i mentioned in a previous post greg being a dog trainer but i also see him as doing a thing i see a lot of people at my local dog park do, being using the river as a way to train dogs to swim and retrieve things underwater. there’s also dog walkers who specialize in handling big off leash groups!!! just saying there has to be a reason his name is lupa and i will make up every reason possible as to why sob sob

-that or he has experience as a farmhand. i believe he’s a country boy mostly bc of my experience when i worked at a doggy daycare (there were a ton of people who had hunting dogs or some country adjacent fit i don’t even live in the south how are so many of them like this it must be some sort of requirement)

-bro would own an anatolian shepherd or three. fred was quite literally raised by wolves,,,, and by that i mean dogs meant to fight off wolves and bears (maybe he also has a malamute i mean close enough)

-fred is a roblox and fortnite kid

-if roland counts in this regard he gives me moe szyslak vibes so i do think he shares a lot of traits with him jdgnfsgnoyfgjh

-there was this one time @goatwithaplan made a post about atma avatars as animals and because of it i can’t see roland without thinking of bovines or goats or rams. he would have a pet goat.

(if you can’t tell animals are on the brain right now i’m sorry aaa)

-low key dating adil i can’t believe i remembered his name

-real argilla’s hair isn’t actually blonde.

-she also reminds me of sharpay evans from high school musical so i pretend she’s her.

-sheff is obsessed with true crime and medical shows. probably also would get a kick out of terrifier 1 and 2

-the weird cringe relationship with o’brien is real. they both hate one another for different reasons but god be damned they also have reasons to love one another. they never go on any real dates or say they’re boyfriends they just occasionally fuck.

-sheff flirts a lot. with everyone his age. nobody is safe. not even if you’re married.

-i have like. a nsfw one i’m too afraid to share (i don’t like getting nsfw) but there’s no fucking way sheff isn’t into particular somethings and absolutely annoys o’brien with them (both are consenting i swear)

-o’brien had a growth spurt in his sophomore year of high school. every bit of casual clothing he has is from around that time. maybe he forgets to actually replace them or maybe he doesn’t care.

-sheff has no fashion sense whatsoever and is a cringefail loser

-he has two pet rats who may or may not be named after a certain famous pair of cartoon rats

-constantly goes to shady bars because he would be that guy

-he gets told to shut up constantly. he refuses to. in fact, this makes him worse.

going back to the high school musical mention every weekend someone working on the god project hosts a movie night and yet at least once a month someone asks to watch high school musical 2 or some other dcom

-nobody likes margot. somehow sheffield is better liked. at least he has ✨“personality”✨ (if being an annoying twink counts)

[anonbinaryweirdo]

y'all these Ritz kinda good

[nympippi]

Vance Hopper post revival!

This bombastic loud little man is 14 1/2 years old, he likes hockey, pinball, rock n’ roll, and peanut butter “Koogle”.

I wanted to try and set established designs for the ghost boys after being brought back because I think after having to go through what they did they’d obviously not come back the same in my opinion.

I think post revival Vance would probably take his trauma and turn to smoking, and getting into more fights to try and help his pent anger.

I definitely think he would have a meltdown and cut his hair to gain a sense of control in his life because I think the Grabber grabbed his hair during his time in the basement, and him cutting his hair is a way to take back that control.

I think Vance would have control issues, both before and after dying because of home issues and other things in his life.

I also tried to lean more into the “Billy Hargrove look” because I think it’s cool and I also tried to add more playing card motifs in his design by adding a club necklace and a spade badge on his sleeve.

More ghost boys will come after Vance, I just wanted to show y’all my perspective on the au and how he would look in it ^^

[nururu]

I realized my disconnect when it comes to talking about one piece, and why I always say I like talking to dudebros more even if they're the worst... Is, I like to analyze literature. I like to analyze the source material and the canonic information. Shipping and stuff is for fun but I see it separately. The intersect bc canon inspires fanon but fanon CANNOT change canon.. I don't mix the two things especially not when I'm doing analysis... So I'll say things that are factual and ppl who are stuck in their headcanons or personal biases will think I'm saying something bad. What I'm saying isn't good or bad. It's not judgmental of the character I'm talking about. Nor is it a bias bc I like them/dislike them. I'm analyzing odas writing and his intentions as an author and what he's trying to say and portray. Most ppl online are too caught up in headcanons and personal bias while having no media comprehension and they think that I'm attacking their made up fanon stuff..... Noooo..... You're over there playing pretend and I'm over here doing analysis. We are not doing remotely near the same activity. They don't always need to intersect. Anyways it's hard to have genuine analytical conversations with ppl fully indulged in fandom and fanon. The only group of ppl who doesn't do that are dudebros but also... They get hung up on other stuff that doesn't matter too. Idkkkkkkkkk.

[lieutenant-speirs]

Sitting across the table from you, Sergeant Martin had been watching you rapidly zone out from the conversation of theo ther soldiers around you. “Hey Peanut… You okay?” the endearing little nickname falling from Sergeant Martin’s softened voice pulled you back from your thoughts.

Your eyes shift over to his features, which were studying yours intensely. You simply nodded and gave him a small smile. One he did not return, but merely raised his brows slightly. “Really? ‘Cause it looks like you’re about to cry.”

You try to maintain your smile but you can feel your lips twitching as they fight to drop the smile, tears welling up in your eyes before you even had a chance to blink them back. “I’m fine.” you stupidly try to convince him, knowing your teared-up features were evident that you were lying. The wobble in your voice only adding to your lie.

Instead of just sitting there and arguing with you, Sergeant Martin gave a small tilt of his head, a gesture of ‘come on’ indicating for you to follow as he stood up. You slowly rose too, not wanting to bring unwanted attention to yourself for breaking down. Keeping your gaze down, you followed Sergeant Martin outside as he lead you around the side of the building that offered a little privacy. Soldiers were still walking around but none were within eavesdropping distance. Few might be able to catch glimpses over ruins of the stone fence but that was something that couldn’t be helped with the foot traffic of soldiers on guard, on patrol, carrying out whatever duties were required of them.

Sergeant Martin took his typical position when he wasn’t impressed; arms crossed at his chest, intense gaze, shoulder leaning against the brick wall of the building. However, it wasn’t because he wasn’t impressed by the situation, rather…it was fucking freezing. But this was as private as could offer right now. You’ve all gone through worst. Bastogne, notably. Blue eyes on you, he patiently waited for you to say something but you kept your eyes down on the ground, as though you suddenly found his muddy boots incredibly interesting… The texture, the colour, the small cracks of the mud still embedded on the leather boot…the contrast of the brown mud against the grey stones of debris that-

“Peanut….?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your eyes quickly flickered to his, as intense as his gaze was, there was a softness showing through his blue orbs.

You swallowed down the whimper that arose in your throat, giving a small laugh instead; a nervous tic of yours, before your eyes finally lifted to the grey skies which mirrored everything you felt. You pursed your lips together and ran your tongue along your lips before slowly letting go, only for your teeth to catch your bottom lip and pressing hard, not enough to draw blood… but enough to try to ground you in that moment.

Brows that were generally either downturned when your bad, or resting when you’re happy (your only two moods), were now upturned in a worried manner. Letting go of your bottom lip, you let out a small gasp before finally finding the words to explain…Eyes resting on a focal point on the stone wall. Anything but directly at your Sergeant. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I…um…I got a letter….” you started but then stopped. In your mind, it explained everything. But to Sergeant Martin, it explained nothing except that you must’ve received some bad news. So he gently prompted, ��A dear John letter…?”

“No.” you laughed softly, the idea so absurd that someone might actually like you in that sense… The laughter quickly died down as a painful emotion washed over your features “A…It’s um…My…Dad. He died.” “…I’m so sorry….” came the hushed apology as Sergeant Martin’s heart dropped. It was all he could say. Despite his usually tougher exterior, he was still extremely sympathetic in situations like these. It’s never easy losing your parents. You shook your head. You didn’t want sympathies. They don’t bring back the dead and you’re not the type to fall weak to it. “How’s your Mom?” “I don’t know…ask my Dad? They should be reunited now but I’m…stuck here without them. All alone.” Sergeant Martin watched as your smile at small attempt at humour quickly faded into sobs. Everything you had at home was gone. It was just you, your mum and your dad. And then just you and your Dad.

Your Dad couldn’t sign up for the war due to his declining health. But you could. And you did. To make him proud.

But when you signed up for the war to become a medic, you thought you’d be assisting in medical tents near the front lines… not actually be on the front lines. You took it all in stride but you never anticipated the pain of working tirelessly only for the wounded to die on you, you never anticipated watching your friends die before your eyes or underneath your working hands…

And now this.

The one thing the War couldn’t touch… and still managed to rip your only other loved one away from you.

Sergeant Martin knew how strong you were. Many of the men doubted you, shamefully including him, but they were all proven wrong by your strength and resilience. You had become their boulder; a safe and stable place to lean on. In the end, he was glad you were part of his platoon.

The division was split up into platoons. There were two medics; you and Doc Roe. You got paired with, what you thought, were the meanest assholes of the group. You were slowly proven wrong. Probably because when they bite, you bit back harder. Thus earning their respect because you could hold your own. Sergeant Martin had been the trickiest to earn his respect. But in time you did.

You certainly didn’t think a day would come where you would be the one needing a shoulder to cry on.

A hand flew to your mouth to stifle the sobs that finally rose from where they had been squashed down for days, your other hand resting on your knee to steady yourself as you hunched over.

“Oh, peanut…” you heard him softly mutter that endearing nickname before you felt yourself being pulled against him as he hands wrapped around your arms and guided you upright into his chest. His arms immediately wrapping tightly around you. His lips pressing against the side of your head as his arms were strategically placed so it wasn’t inappropriate. One arm around the upper middle of your back, the other arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you firmly to him.

Any strength you had that you were holding onto, immediately melted beneath the warmth of his embrace and your heartbroken cries soon turned to muffled cries as you turned your head into his chest and trembled violently with each sob that racked your body. As muffled as they were, they still caught the attention of nearby soldiers who would either look around for the source of the sound, or they’d see it but the death stare from Sergeant Martin over the top of your head was enough to keep them moving. He had to wonder whether anyone else in the building could hear you.

Sergeant Martin felt a tight tug at his jacket and then two little points of pressure at his sides, coming to realise that you had moved your hands to grip him for support. “Breathe, Peanut…” he reminded you when your sobs threatened to turn into hyperventilation. His hand soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to ground you and calm you down. But he never hushed you. Just simply being a friend to lean on and letting you get it out. You’re no good to them if your mind is preoccupied elsewhere while on assisting on missions as their standby medic. And they can’t rely on Doc Roe when he’s currently needed elsewhere.

Lieutenant Speirs walked past and his eyes zero’d in on the source of the sound. An unreadable expression on his face…. Disapproval? He looked questioning at Sergeant Martin but the Sergeant merely pressed his lips together and give an ever so slight shake of his head, indicating bad news from home and that you weren’t alright. “Best get yourselves inside, Sergeant. No point standing out in the cold. Thought you had enough of that in Bastogne.” “Will do, Sir.” “Get yourselves a cup of tea, too.”

No, it wasn’t disapproval. It was a situation where Speirs wanted to help but didn’t know how. Little did the Lieutenant know that by simply offering the suggestion of a tea, was plenty help in itself.

This wasn’t a situation like Blythe. He saw Sergeant Martin offering comfort to the one person everyone thought would break at the very beginning but proved them all wrong… obviously it was something more than a feeble case ‘I’m scared’.

Lieutenant Speirs knew.

Blue eyes watched as Speirs walked away without a second glance to you both.

Your sobs had quietened down and Sergeant Martin loosened his arms around your back and rubbed your arms. “Lieutenant Speirs has a point. It’s fucking freezing. You right to go inside?” “Yeah. Let me just take a moment.”

Sergeant Martin stepped back a little bit but he stayed a moment longer, not leaving that personal space where there’s barely a gap between you. Just in case you needed an extra hug. Which, deep down you did but he’s already done so much. You smiled a wobbly smile up at him as you took a step back and inhaled a shaky breath. “You go in. I need a moment.” you reassured him. He looked like he didn’t believe you, and probably didn’t, but nevertheless he gave you that warning look that you all knew not to fuck things up, and left to turn the building and walk back inside.

You wiped at your face and leaned back against the brick wall. Sighing harshly and closing your eyes to the heavens. God, you didn’t think it’d hurt so much to lose your Dad but it did. It hurt knowing that you haven’t even turned 30 yet, and you lost both your parents already. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another 20 or so years! You took in deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down and place a reality check on yourself. You’re alive. It’s more than you can say for many that died in vain…

Sergeant Martin walked back inside the abandoned building and began barking orders. “Webster! Brew some tea. Everyone else…” his voice dropped to a more serious tone as he walked over to where the majority of his boys were. They were a little team, situated in an abandoned building while awaiting new orders. The whole squadron on standby. “A certain little peanut out there isn’t doing too good and needs our support.” “What happened?” “Bad news from home.” “We all get bad news from home, Sarge. Dear Johns…Dear Janes…” “No. Not when the only family you have left is gone.” The intense stare that Sergeant Martin has, made sure to dead-stare everyone individually until these thick imbeciles of his finally got the message. “The Old Man?” Malarkey quietly asked. Sergeant Martin simply nodded. Malarkey swore quietly under his breath. It’s no lie to say that Malarkey is well-liked by everyone, and he gets along with everyone. So it’s no surprise that he knows more than Sergeant Martin would. You having told Malarkey many stories, and him swapping his own. So, he fills the rest of the team in as to why this was more serious than some random family member dying. “(y/n) lost their Mom years ago to TB or Pneumonia or somethin’… Parents had a child before (y/n) but it died. Ended up bein’ just them and their old man. No siblings. No Aunts or Uncles.”

Again, Sergeant Martin let that small piece of news sink in before he spoke again. “Which is why I want you to all sit up at the table and give them the support they need. Do I make myself clear?”

A low, hushed chorus of ‘Yes Sarge’ was given before Sergeant Martin walked away and the boys went back to doing what they were doing. Some were playing cards, some were reading books or letters, some were writing letters, some were making conversations.

Sergeant Martin’s gotta hand it to them though…. Because as soon as you walked down the stairs, neither of the boys looked up or treated you with special treatment. They carried on as if nothing happened. Malarkey glanced up from smoking his cigarette quietly but said nothing. He watched you walk outside with Sergeant Martin so it’s no surprise he’s a little curious.

Sergeant Martin walked over with two cups of tea and passed you one. “Thank you” you politely said as you wrapped your cold fingers around the warmth of the mug. It’s not as warm as Sergeant Martin’s hugs but it’ll do. Another tilt of his head towards the table was given and you followed quietly as you both sat down with your tea. The teabags were stale but it was better than nothing and a somewhat nice break from the terrible coffee.

Malarkey had swapped smoke for tea as he poured himself a cup and walked over to join you at the table. You glanced over at your friend and smiled softly, he smiled back but said nothing. Malarkey barely smiles these days but when he does… it’s rather sweet. However, he had since watched his two bestfriends die and that did a number on him. Just like the letter you received had done to you.

Liebgott made his way over with his own cup of tea and sat down with a huff, rolling his head back and slouching in an uncomfortable position that’s probably comfortable to his long limbs.

Slowly… one by one… including Webster, who received a small nod rather than a death-stare from Sergeant Martin, made their way over and sat down at the table.

Everyone was silently sipping away at their tea until Sergeant Martin broke the silence. “Since we’re all here, I want to make a toast.” “Hear, hear!” “To peanut… we couldn’t get through most of our days without you ordering us around like a mother hen. Both your parents would be proud.” “To Peanut!” Liebgott said as he raised his cup of tea a little, followed by everyone else who chorused a ‘To peanut!’ making you laugh.

Why do you get the feeling the nickname is going to stick?

You raised your mug politely with a soft laugh.

Malarkey leaned over, his shoulder bumping against yours as he quietly reminded you, “You’re never alone, (y/n). You have us. We’re not much, but you have us.” You bumped your shoulder against his, laughing softly “Thank you, Malark.”

You sat there, quietly listening to everyone. Cold fingers wrapped around the warm mug of tea, nursing the warm liquid. You glanced up and saw Sergeant Martin watching you. You smiled softly, mouthing a ‘Thank you’ and he simply smiled back and gave a wink.