#there is a gun in my mouth

[freak-with-antlers]

[chimchiri]

gideon & harrow OR rd and sf as cowboys please please please

It's the cowgirl necro and her gunslinger cav! Who is so damn extra she's got three guns: one left, one right, and one in pole position! (She swears the ladies love it!)

[saint-hymn]

mercy, mèrci

[numbuh424]

it's going to go exactly as written.

[hipsternumbertwo]

Favorite Angela Moments 50/∞: Expectation vs Reality

[roosterbruiser]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

A piercing cry slices through the dark--your eyelids are too heavy to wrench open, especially when you’re cocooned under the heavy duvet like you are right now. 

From behind you, molded against your body like he always is when you sleep, Jake’s muscles tense. Rigidly, he sighs into the warm curve of your throat and blinks through the dark. And, yes, there on the baby monitor is your six-month-old baby boy in his silly-looking sleep sack. He’s about to wail, Jake can tell. His little bottom lip’s wobbling and his eyes are shut tight and even though Jake can’t see his hands, he knows his fists are clenched.

“Your son is so dramatic,” you whisper, muffled from the pillow. 

“I thought we decided on theatrical,” Jake whispers back, his voice thin and worn. He peppers a few sloppy kisses to your throat and starts to sit up. “I’ve got ‘im.” 

“You’re my hero,” you mutter, yawning. 

He stretches and then swings his legs over the bed. 

“Kinda my thing,” he says as he stands.

“I love you so much,” you reply. Any other time, with more sleep, you would’ve scoffed at him and given him your best eye roll. But you’re too tired to feel anything but grateful for your husband right now. “Like, so much.” 

Jake laughs lightly, tiredly. 

“I know,” he says cockily, teasingly. 

You don’t respond, already drifting off to sleep again. You’re so tired that you can feel it in your bones--a deep, deep ache that is only exacerbated by frequent diaper changes and excessive feedings and tumultuous tummy times and gas and formula and binkies and board books and burp cloths and baths. 

And even though the baby is definitely about to start screaming, Jake can’t help but pause for a moment in repose as he stands in the doorway in his slouchy sweatpants. You’re sprawled across the bed already--you always say it’s to keep his spot warm but he knows that it’s because you’d sleep in star-formation if you had the choice--and breathing deeply. Your hair is a mess on the pillow and your cheek is smushed. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re exhausted from parenting a very particular, theatrical Seresin baby boy.  

He wants to cross the room again and tuck your hair back from your forehead. He wants to kiss your aching temples and your heavy eyelids. He wants to pull you in his arms, gather all those limbs, and hold you close. 

But he doesn’t want to wake you up.

So, he just smiles gently. 

“I love you so much,” he responds finally. “So, so, so stupid much.” 

And then he’s padding down the hallway, yawning again, but with a smile tugging on his lips. He can hear his son’s whimpers from outside the door and honestly, he’s shocked the screaming hasn’t started yet. 

The sound of artificial rain floods Jake’s ears when he comes into the room, the little sound machine in the corner lulling your son to sleep each day and night. He doesn’t bother turning it off or turning the light on--Jake’s fairly certain he’s adapted to the dark by now anyway. 

There in his crib, the one Jake had to finally ask Javy to help build, is a wriggling and fussy baby boy. His gummy mouth on display as he thrashes his head back and forth and his cheeks ruddy from upset. 

Jake’s heart swells as he strokes his cheek. Sometimes he still can't believe that this sweet little creature--the one with your eyes and his nose and your cheeks and his chin--is all his and all yours. You made him, every bit of him, and he is the most precious thing to ever grace this earth. Jake's sure of it.

“Hey there, cowboy,” he says softly. His son doesn’t let up yet, kicking his legs as Jake unzips the sleep sack. “S’alright, darlin’, daddy’s here.” 

All the tired floods his body and slips out under the door when Jake’s not looking. He holds his son against his bare chest, his body still so small and so soft. But then Jake is kissing the feathery hair on his head and bouncing lightly in his spot, heels digging into the rug. 

“What’s got you so upset?” Jake whispers, lips pressed against his son’s forehead. “Bad dream, baby?” 

Your son doesn’t respond. He just burrows into his fathers neck, his breaths stuttering and his mouth open and drooling. Jake pats his back a few times, kissing his cheek. He inhales his sweet, sweet scent and sighs.  

He loves the way your son smells--he just smells warm. He isn’t sure if it’s the body wash or the lotion or the sheets that does it. But he somehow just always smells good, like home, like you. 

“Let’s take a seat, huh? A little rock and roll never hurt nobody, huh?” He asks quietly as he sits in the rocking chair. 

If you were awake to hear his pun, you would’ve never let him hear the end of it. Jake makes a mental note to tell it to you over breakfast. 

Your son’s whimpers are fading fast, especially when Jake starts to softly rock him, tucking his chin on his head and patting his back softly. 

“Mama thinks you’re theatrical,” he tells your son, eyes fluttering shut. “And you definitely are. Mama also thinks you get it from me--and you absolutely do. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, cowboy. You gonna be a little actor? Or a little lawyer?” 

Your son babbles quietly, fingers tangled in Jake’s hair as a form of self-soothing. Jake kisses his face a few more times. 

“Or you could just stay here with me and mama forever,” he whispers. 

And he knows that having a son has made him soft--like crying at that one Honda commercial kind of soft--because his eyes grow wet when he thinks of your son getting any bigger than he is now. He never wants a day to come where he can’t pull his son to his chest, sit down in the rocking chair, and make the tears stop. 

"I love you," he whispers. "Me and mama love you so, so much. More love than can fit in this whole world."

When you pad down the hallway, eyes full of sand and sleep from your very few hours slumbering, you don’t even have to touch the walls anymore to orient yourself. You know where you’re going even in the pitch-black hallway. 

Jake’s sleeping when you come into the nursery, the sound machine quiet in the corner of the room. Your son is still in his arms, sleeping against his chest. And God do they look alike right now in the light of the moon--both of them sleeping with their heads resting on each other’s, their mouths open, their fists clenched. 

You came in here to bring Jake back to the bedroom. But watching him hold your son, your sweet boy, in that rocking chair that he built in this room he put together--you decide that a few more hours of comfortable sleep isn’t worth it. Tempurpedic mattress be damned. 

So, you just carefully cross the floor. The rug is soft beneath your bare feet when you lean forward and stroke your son’s head, careful to have a soft touch that will not wake him. And then you’re kissing Jake’s warm cheeks, stroking his blonde locks, too. 

Jake stirs slightly, eyes twitching. Your heart swells. 

You sink onto the floor before the rocking chair, leaning against Jake’s legs. The rain is lulling you already and you yawn as you rest your cheek on his thighs. The rug is comfortable--you’re glad you went for this one. Your son is happy and sleeping and your husband is holding him and everything is right in the world. 

And just as you’re about to fall asleep again, Jake’s thighs cushioning you, Jake’s hand falls into your hair. He strokes a few times in welcome--hi, baby. 

 “Missed you,” you mutter. 

“Missed you,” he returns. His hand glides through your hair. “All’s right in the world now, huh?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It is.”

happy Father's Day to those who celebrate <3

[namtanlovesfilm]

burnout syndrome (mock trailer) | not me (2021)

dir. anucha boonyawatana

[johnslittlespoon]

oh my god good morning hello hi

[zaunbinary]

“why can’t two men be friends?” i don’t think you guys can let anyone just be friends i think you just hate gay. people speaking up about how annoyed you are about people shipping jayce and viktor or silco and vander but saying nothing about how people also ship sky and viktor or silco and/or vander with felicia when the most the latter three did was sit in a room together and one has a whole mostly offscreen husband

[halflifebutawesome]

a citadel is one of the classic things you can launch a desperate final all-out attack against.

[fraternum-momentum]

fucking kill me

[anisaanisa]

Hellsite citizens! Tumblr is in the lurch, so to celebrate that, we're going to do what we do best – make a holiday out of it! Blast off in ten days! 🦀🦀🦀

When: July 29th. Or after – Crab Day is a state of mind. How: Buy your buddies or drive-by besties a crab invasion from the Tumblr shop! Why: to let @staff know we're still kicking it! Follow @crab-day-counter to mark your days!

ⓘ Tumblr Blue Hex: #35465C | Pose very much inspired Crab Champions, the game ever!

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

Axl Rose - Live at House of Blues, Las Vegas - January 1st, 2001

[mapetitefeedeslilas]

Phoenix and Hangman as Friends-In-Law

AU where Phoenix is with Javy and Jake with Bradley. Phoenix still pretends she doesn't like Jake that much and only deals with him on accounts of being her best friend's husband and her husband's best friend. They are not friends, only friends-in-law.

Both Coyote and Rooster have retired from active duty and have civilian jobs for the Navy, more family friendly 9 to 5s so they can take care of their respective kids.

Phoenix is climbing the ladder Ice-fast, racking up promotions and being highly regarded by everyone.

Hangman is on a very Maverick-like path: he is an unbelievable pilot, but an absolute nuisance that talks back to just about every admiral and pulls insane stunts in the air.

Since they are friends-in-law, Phoenix becomes, in spite of herself, his guardian angel, trying her best to keep him in the cockpit and not have him stripped of his wings. She knows he is a talented pilot, but will never admit it to his face.

Every once in a while Bradley would get a phone call at a weird time of the day and he knows he is in for a forty minute screaming rant from his best friend about YOU KNOW WHAT THAT DAMN HUSBAND OF YOURS DID THIS TIME?!, to which he would patiently listen to whilst starting to bake Phoenix's favourite cake. A couple of hours later he will arrive at the Trace-Machado household where an amused and resigned Coyote is waiting for him and whatever delicious dish he has brought to make sure Phoenix doesn't make a widower out of him.

[coolattas]

quick gukgak 4 the road, based on a fucked up little murph face i can't actually find anymore. id in alt

[swimmingchicanes]

por valentino siempre me ha quer– siempre he sentido querido

trans: for valentino, he's always cared about m- i've always felt cared for [by him]