#I ADORE their relationship

[maishiia]

Hobart Brown and his drummer🕸️

[meriahlatyar]

Had to draw this meme

[rubysunnday]

if i die, promise me valdo marx will not play at my funeral

[karpachev]

i love them way too much i'm sorry

well not really

this is one of my older works actually, drew them back in april last year and still love them? soo what i'm saying is that i have plenty to shitpost in your newsfeed and i'm going to, you won't stop me

[echoesofcamelot]

I just rewatched Master and Commander for the 8282979th time and I have to say Aubrey and Maturin's relationship is one of the healthiest relationships ever depicted on film or tv and it brings me so much joy and comfort that it leaves me giddy for days.

[dudleyguildford]

you psycho! look what he's done!

[faofinn]

12. Old Wives Tale

Fred had to smile, taking the copy from her. It had been his copy, dog eared and worn, a gift from his brother years ago. She'd not managed to get much further than where they'd left; wanting to wait until they were back together, curled up and reading separately. She figured that her curled up on him and Fred reading to her was just as good (if not better), and she pulled out the puppydog eyes. 

He never could resist her, and opened the book to start to read aloud, his voice soft so she could fall back asleep if she needed. 

Sheila ended up dozing, content in Fred's arms. His voice was soft and home, making her feel better. The paracetamol had helped, too, bringing her fever down a little. When she woke, it was late afternoon, and Fred was nowhere to be found. She stretched out with a sigh, trying to build the energy to get up.

"Fred?" She called, padding through the house, her blanket cocooned around her. "Fred?"

"Kitchen!" He called, his voice carrying. 

"You left me." She grumbled good-naturedly; whatever he was cooking smelled too good to argue with him. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." He met her in the doorway, wrapping his arms around her. "How are you feeling at the moment?"

She leaned into him. "Mm, better. Still rubbish."

"That's a bit better, you look better than you did before." He said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm just making some tea for us."

"It smells good."

"It's an old family recipe, it'll make you feel better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it’s chicken soup. It'll fix all your illnesses."

She laughed. "That's just an old wives tale."

"So you don't want it?" He teased. 

"No, no." She said quickly, her stomach rumbling. "I didn't say that."

He laughed. "Pull up a chair? I've gotta finish stirring."

She reluctantly peeled herself away from him, perching on the counter instead of a chair. "You'll have to teach me."

"Of course, when you’re better, though. It wouldn’t stick right now." He chatted away to her as he finished up, tidying away the pots and pans, and decanting a few portions into some tupperware. 

"Want some bread with it?" Fred asked, rubbing her knee.

"Mm?" She blinked at him, rubbing her eyes. "What?"

He laughed. "I thought you'd gone quiet. You'd fallen asleep up there."

"I wasn't asleep." She protested. 

He wrapped his arms around her, picking her up. She nestled into him, holding onto him like a koala. He carried her through to the living room, setting her on the sofa.

"Put something on the TV? I'll bring your soup through."

She grinned at him, tucking her feet up. "Thank you."

Fred returned to the kitchen, pouring her a glass of apple juice before carrying both their teas through. He settled the tray on her lap and curled up next to her. "So, what have we got?"

Sheila looked up at him with a smile, sheepishly taking the tray. “Just whatever I could find on.”

"Good enough for me. Careful, it's hot."

“Thank you.”

He stretched forward to steal a kiss, quickly settling back down to eat. "There's some for the freezer too, and enough for tomorrow."

“You shouldn’t kiss me.” She mumbled. 

"I'm gonna get sick anyway." He shrugged. "Well, I'm not, because this is gonna cure us both."

She made no effort to move away, snuggling against him the best she could with her bowl of soup. The first spoon was heaven, warm and comforting, and she sighed happily. 

"Better?"

“Much. You’ve cured me.”

[tmnt2k12defender]

I dunno why I say I’m turning in early when I browse youtube/tiktok before bed to help fall asleep. & then end up getting heart strings tugged at when watching some old DBZ amv videos. 

Thanks Piccohan. Thanks for tugging at my heart strings tonight. 

[the-phantom-peach]

🗣️ huh?? what do you mean I haven’t posted any Link signing propaganda yet??

[henry-tasman]

[anthonygaycrowley]

did y'all know that donna's husband in forest of the dead was meant to be a trans man, and they just couldn't find a way to make it explicit in-text

donna noble manages to get herself a trans family in every version of reality huh

[seiwas]

cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry

bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.

there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.

but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.

your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.

the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.

he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?

heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—

he gulps.

it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—

(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)

the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).

it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.

he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.

bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.

you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.

"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.

as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.

as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.

as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.

his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.

you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.

“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.

your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.

he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.

but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.

he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.

there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.

your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.

then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.

he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.

five minutes, huh?

like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.

[pertinasities]

[ -> @freshsprout asked : "It's just -- I fell." @ tighnari (bc i can't get enough of them dkfjs) ]

That would certainly explain the mud on her knees. Tighnari gives Collei a wry smile, carefully watching for a limp, or any signs of lingering pain.

"Well, let's get you cleaned up. We don't want anything to stain." It wouldn't do too terribly with her natural inclination towards earthy tones anyway, but no reason not to try to prevent it if they can. Not to mention it being a good habit to maintain.

Another glance over her. "Any cuts or anything we should clean first? Those take priority, of course." He tries not to fawn over her too much, or baby her excessively. She's quite capable on her own, but part of that capability is her willingness to seek help when she needs it. And that's not an easy lesson to learn.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt in Memes 5

Once more, have a prompt entirely in memes because I'm too lazy to properly write one right now lol.

[fandomestuff]

[smallpwbbles]

When you were promised a wonderful dinner of chili dogs but your Dad gets you store bought lasagne instead