#They're wrong lol

[ssjumi]

me: man, i really want to do some squiggly lines and wrinkly folds with my brush pen, but what should i draw?

@pangur-and-grim's humble homunculus:

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

[insert poetic title here]

fun fact: this did not start out as isat fanart

(rambling in tags)

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[jakeperalta]

The Everdeen family + their flower namesakes

Asterid is a large clade of flowering plants, composed of 17 orders and more than 80,000 species — pictured is an echinacea plant, which has long been used in traditional medicine // Burdock, belonging to the Asterid clade, has sticky burrs and heart-shaped leaves and its roots are used for medicine and food // Katniss is an aquatic plant, also known as arrowhead, which grows tubers similar to potatoes // Primrose is a wildflower belonging to the Asterid clade that is valued for its ornamental flowers

[bastardcatthings]

Gax: Two sides of the same cunt coin

This tomfoolery is a series! [1] [2] [3] [x]

[sev-ille]

I may be pointing out something completely obvious, but Round 7 takes place immediately after Round 6?

Like immediately after.

Hyuna is still there, bleeding. Like it's so unlikely that Mizi and Hyuna have just been roaming for days. Like after round 6, it's been maybe a few hours at most?

My thoughts are a mess rn but damn that sucks for Till if that's true (not that it doesn't suck if it's not).

Ivan dies in front of him, then he has a change of outfit and immediately has to move onto the next Round. No wonder he looks so fatigued, like he's about to pass out at any moment.

Did he even get to eat or drink anything? I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't, but still.

[lilislegacy]

One thing I’ve always found interesting is that Rick never really showed us the bridge between Percabeth being just friends to being in a serious relationship. A few little moments in The Staff of Hermes were the closest we got. Like, we see them say “I love you” to each other a few times throughout Heroes of Olympus, but it’s never implied that those were the first times they said it. Which means before TLH even starts, the two of them have gotten to that point. But In Staff of Hermes (which takes place a month into their relationship), they’re still in that slightly awkward phase of their relationship—you know, where they’re super into each other and obviously enjoying the perks of being a couple (aka making out), but haven’t quite settled into that groove of mature, comfortable romance yet. But by the time Percy gets kidnapped (just three months later), they clearly have found that groove, which is evident the second they reunite in MoA, because they’re totally at ease with each other, affectionate, and intimate in a way that supports the implication that those “I love you’s” I mentioned have already been exchanged. So it just makes me wonder when that shift happened? At what point in those three short months did they go from “I’m just happy we’re still together, honestly” to “I'm in love with you, and this is forever"?

Ugh, what I would give to see how they were right before Percy got kidnapped. Still holding on to a bit of that teenage casualness that disappeared during their 6 month separation, but also hopelessly in love and finally open and comfortable with it. URRGGGHHH!!!!

I love them.

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. Ye dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[off-mozzarella]

(From the body swap AU)

Hii! I'm very happy to see that my body swap comic was so well received, so here's a little something as a thanks for all the support <3

I'm excited to keep sharing my drawings, I hope you like what I make!

[aestariiwilderness]

[fluffyartbl0g]

Everytime I go into the Zosopp tag, I just see people SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING about the lack of posts IN the Zosopp tag. THE ZOSOPP ECONOMY IS IN SHAMBLES

[queermediaismypassion]

since the ST5 hype has started now i just want to say if byler isn't endgame then mike wheeler will go from one of the best to one of the worst written characters on this show. it'd also just make him a terrible friend and boyfriend with absolutely no explanation.

him being closeted doesn't excuse the shitty ways he's treated el and will but it does explain it. it makes him very complex. if the m!levens were to have it their way he's literally just a shitty person for no reason.

i don't understand how anyone could be rooting for him and el given how he's been acting. they haven't been cute since season 2.

[pseudophan]

them acknowledging that people perceive them as a couple <3

we've come so far, i'm so emotional about it... even if it is objectively hilarious the way we're reacting to this, because like yeah obviously the builders who are working on the house of two gay men in their thirties know they're a couple. even if they actually weren't they would assume that, because i don't think the average london builder is out here writing think pieces on the internet about how actually friends can live together and share a life together and that doesn't mean they have to be fucking and you guys should stop putting labels on their relationship :/

[puppetmaster13u]

Who wants a prompt entirely in memes.

[artbysarf]

The Moth and the Lizard are married actually

[hayaku14]

yapper bf x listener bf