#this was sufficient for me

[autumnrory]

making the bed, The Grammy Museum The Lucky One, Eras Tour

[bruciemilf]

Need a teen! Bruce au where he’s exactly like Justice League! Batman and Battinson in one. That mf put the fear of every god in Ra’s Al Ghul.

Everytime he’s in a room with someone over 30 “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance plays in the background.

Despite that, in his own way, he’s as gentle as can be with his league. Give me a young Diana who’s getting spat on and ripped apart by the media in a way not one of her male teammates get.

And she’s Wonder Woman. She shouldn’t be affected by it. And she is, anyway. Bruce relates to that in an uncomfortable degree.

“When I first became Batman, weak men tried standing in my way, too. “

“And what did you do?”

“I stepped over them.”

He has a tiny Robin he occasionally has to keep on a leash.

Give me somewhat teen mom Bruce who struggles to wrangle his unruly six year old who likes flipping from rooftop to rooftop and thinks fighting Bane is a piece of cake.

“If Tati can do it, so can I!”

“Dick,” he paused, before handing him a handfull of candy. “Wonderful emotional manipulation. Good job.”

“:D”

[totalswagisland]

this stupid ass meme redraw. maybe someday ill draw normal ship art but not today

[slavhew]

Something's missing

[mmmairon]

All patched up

[cobaltfluff]

wait, who's getting married??

[1-800-luvmail]

[ read part two w/ könig here ! ]

reader who would rather eat cardboard than have their self sufficiency questioned vs cod men [ 1 / ? ]

price— who is fighting the urge to just take the jar and help you the minute he sees you struggle with the tight lid— tries to reason with you as you insist you've almost got it.

"sweetheart," he sighs, watching with his arms crossed as you continue your stubborn attempt, "why don't you let me have a go, hm?"

"it's basically open— this stupid lid just won't—" you grumble, more to yourself than to him. he's unsure which is more stubborn: the lid of the jar or you.

eventually, you do get it open.

"see! hah! i told you—" you grin, triumphantly holding the jar up for him to see.

"that you did," price can't help but be slightly amused, "many times."

"and i was right."

strangely, you never struggle with a jar like that again. not like you think much about it, just happy about your little victories. and now, you offer to open everything for him. price lets you.

he's never telling you that he's made a habit of loosening the lids before you can get to them, because, god that smile of yours as you succeed in "helping" him is just too adorable.

[eugenoid-draws]

Thinking about how little bodily autonomy Daan possessed his whole life

[endcraft]

i like etho as a mcyt figure because he is like if a computer engineer could be a caveman. like imagine if the guy who invented the watch and the guy who invented the wheel were the same guy. imagine if you were talking to him and he was like oh yeah i also invented the hand axe. and google

[th3e-m4ng0]

re: that post about the lack of enrichment in trucks

i bring yet another megop au where op is another depressed fellow whose EM field is always emitting gloomy and tired vibes. vs megatron who is at his happiest when hauling materials and messing with his coworkers/friends

they haven't seen each other in years since the war ended and they signed all these treaties and paperwork !

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

Guilliman's Soup

"Look, I'm not going to harm any of you, not unless it involves stuffing Guilliman in a room without his....." Fulgrim trails off, the demon prince's lower half coiling in discomfort as he stares at the abomination that bubbled within the pot. It smelled distinctly of both Mjød and cigarettes, appearing as something that Fulgrim was uncertain if even a Nurgling would eat. He certainly wouldn't. Actually he doesn't think any Slaaneshi demon is depraved enough to even attempt to make such a thing. He shakes his head. "Will I be allowed to help?" Calgar, who was certainly not at all expecting to see the demon prince of excess himself at the entrance to the Imperial palace, couldn't decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it meant that his primarch wasn't affected by any chaos god, if even Slaanesh was getting involved; on the other, did he really want to accept the help of a demon prince? Especially one that is well.... Calgar sighs deeply, "Fine, you might actually be a good deterrent to Dante anyway. He's been a pain in the ass" "Who is-" Fulgrim doesn't get to finish his sentence as a very old marine of what appears to be of the blood angel's chapter is shooed away by a serf with a broom, wacking the marine's shins with it as he hisses like an angry goose. Fulgrim has his answer on who Dante is but is now even further confused, "I thought Blood Angels were supposed to be noble?" "I'm hoping the soup will kill me" Dante helpfully responds which has the demon prince blinking in utter shock, because what the fuck happened to Sanguinius' sons!? Another Ultramarine, this one apparently named Cato is crawling on his hands and knees out of the room where Dante came from, coughing and generally being a rather sad sight with the stench of both vomit and the abominable liquid upon his breath. Slaanesh, who just briefly decided to turn her head towards whatever the fuck her demon prince was doing, vomits and mutters 'I can't believe none of this was Nurgle's idea; he actually wants the fucking recipe!'. Needless to say, Fulgrim doesn't really want to know what's exactly in that pot. Instead he dryly says "I'm amazed this hasn't summoned anything other then myself..." Calgor sighs "No, it has, there's the Sanguinor, and it's currently being kept back by some Sister of Silence out of fear that it's going to beat Dante to death with a sandle. Personally I'm not fond of trying to explain to the blood angels that we didn't kill their chapter master; it was the soul of Sanguinius, himself, that ended his life. I can't see that going too well...And Cato, please stop eating father's soup." "But-" "No buts or I'm throwing you into the same room as the Sanguinor" That stopped any more protests out of Cato who shuddered at the very idea of confronting the very angry warp spirit that was half of mind to possess someone.

The sound of what Fulgrim could still recognize after all these years as a very angry Leman Russ can be heard in the distance yelling "WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO WITH MY FUCKING MJOD, ROBOUTE!?" This was going to be a long and terrible process, Fulgrim just knows it. ____ This short story was inspired by a convo between myself and @moociaoafterdark on this post.

[theactualsunshinechild]

I think Aventio and Screwtio shippers shouldn't fight. After all, Ratio has two hands!

That's right. Two hands.

One for his chalk.

One for his codex.

Both of which he's holding in an embarrassed death grip as they chat away with each other about him.

[luc1ferian]

would you believe me if I said this was a roblox pressure meme?

[daily-smol-silm]

Some of the Fëanorians (as children?) in Foremenos while the snow falls outside the windows? Or Maglor and Maedhros browsing through Important Ruling Stuff in Himring, or Caranthir enjoying the peace in Thargelion, while snow and wind blow outside... Your choice :)

Day #169 - Snow Day

It's snowing outside the fortress of Formenos, and the brothers are enjoying the view.

[anlian-aishang]

Levi with an (Episodically) Depressed S/O

Tags: levi x reader, angst, hurt-comfort, gn!reader Word count: 900

Levi invites you to shower with him, making the obstacle less daunting and much more attractive. In his black robe, leaning on your bedroom door, two towels slung over his arm indicate the knowledge that you will say yes and accompany him. The way that he looks, the low plea in his voice, how could you say no? 

It would be more accurate to say that he was bathing you, but he does not phrase it that way. Instead, he is humble, letting his actions speak louder than words. He does not tell you that he will shampoo your matted hair, does not flaunt how deliberately he exfoliates your limbs, he just does them for you. Some days, even just tipping the bottle or pumping some soap into your hand can seem mountainous. On those days, he sees those activities not as tasks, but as privileges. It is his honor to be the one looking after you in your most dire time. He would always prefer someone to take care of rather than someone to miss. 

Showering together not only ensures that you stay clean, but his company prevents you from those timeless sessions sat on the tile floor. At the moment you look refreshed but before you become sleepy, he jerks the handle to the left and halts the devastatingly relaxing rain. 

Always, your clean clothes are already folded atop the bathroom counter, waiting for you. Some times, you fail to remember that you did not put them there. Other times, you notice the sign of his relentless consideration, but are artificially silenced from expressing your gratitude. No matter in his mind. You are clean, clothed, and out of bed, and that’s already better than you were before. 

Without one complaint, Levi scoops your dampened towel and old clothes from the wet bathroom floor and drops them in the hamper for you. He has seen the piles that can amass, and if it were anyone else in any other circumstance, the clean freak would be quick to chastise, but any sight or thought of you disintegrates any instinct to discipline. You are sat in the living room, admiring the ivy that swirls around the balcony’s posts, thumbing the petals of the bouquet vased on the coffee table. White-gold rays move just a tad west to cast your figure in therapeutic light. You’re too tired to move away from the sun, and for once, Levi finds your fatigue favorable. As the morning temperature rises, he can see that your resting smile does as well. 

While you are entranced with the scenes of summer, Levi swiftly searches for and alleviates the areas you have left neglected. He dumps your sock drawer upside down and mends the pairs that you have discarded as singles. In your closet, he finds the clean pile and dirty pile and either folds it or washes it accordingly. Under your bed, on your nightstand, in your bedside drawer, he discovers the dirty dishes that have been missing the sink and returns them to their proper place. 

Between those tasks, he rolls his shoulders back or rubs the side of his neck and allows himself to sigh. It is difficult - not to bandage these tiny wounds - but to see the harsh bruises left by the illness. Sure, you were forgetful, and not quite as tidy as he was, but still - the mounds of laundry, hidden dirty dishes - this wasn’t like you. Levi lives for your joy - not the superficial smile, your peace - not the misleading silence. He lives for you - in sickness and in health. The times you forget your worth, that is when he whispers it in your ear. When the world is overwhelming you, he lets his touch communicate it. 

Once your space is in order, he can start to work on getting you to leave it. Rather than annoying reminders or obligations, he mindfully manipulates the steps of treatment into desirable invitations. Rather than Do you want to… or Would you like to…, his proposals are statements, taking the responsibility out of your hands. Concerts in the park this afternoon. Let’s go to the farmers market. Apple orchard just opened.

Or even less far away. 

Plants look thirsty, water them with me? Rain just cleared, read on the porch with me? Full moon tonight, stargaze with me?

To you, with me frames the activities, frames your presence as favors for him, and even in your lowest state, you are always keen to help him with anything. To Levi, it is no framing, your relationship is the greatest gift that fate has bestowed on him, and he treats you as such. It is in his selfless actions and his careful words, but it is more than that, traits you can’t quite categorize. The near flat, subtle smile you wake up to in the morning. The tight yet painless combs through your hair that leave you feeling divine. The low, calming timbre of his voice, decorated with a tender tone that he reserves for you. 

Even before the haze you’re in now, you’ve never been able to label those qualities of his, and instead settled: it’s just who he is. 

Like the sentiment that motivates his care: it’s what you deserve. 

// masterlist //

[thisearthycat]

i just love his design so much