#and then the bit is kind of forced

[sentimental-boy]

i feel like we're going to see the death of "silly comedian asks serious expert silly questions" type shows within the next 10 years because you can only repeat that formula so many times before it gets old and also all of the experts will be familiar with the format

[ruporas]

only human

[ID: Two page comic in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The first page has a black background and the upper half, behind the panels, is splattered with stylized red blood, scattered bullets, and lifeless hands. In the first panel, it focuses on Vash's boots, showing him stepping through the panel and into the bloody scene. The second panel shows his bloody footprints and the third panel shows his face, his down-turned eyes looking downwards. It's a neutral, vague expression with confliction. At the bottom of the page, the back of Wolfwood's head and shoulder is seen, blood dirtying the white color of his shirt and side of his face. Vash's hand reaches out to him from the right side of the page.

The second page shows the entire scene in full, half the page in light and the other in solid black. At the center, Vash leans down onto his knees as he wraps his arms around Wolfwood's shoulders into a hug. Wolfwood's back is turned away from the viewer, his left arm holds onto his bloodied punisher and his right hand sits on his lap. Light casts from the left side of the page, showing the bloodied surrounding, but the held up punisher casts a shadow on the both of them, shielding them from the light. END ID]

[izzystizzys]

the thing about being the highest-ranked and most-decorated officer in any GAR/Guard capacity, fox thinks, is that unsurprisingly nobody could give less of a shit or listen to anything he says. it’s not like he earned those medals and recognitions and perfect test scores or anything, now is it, kote?

or, after the zillo beast disaster, the coruscant guard medbay just so happens to be much closer than the GAR one, and surprise surprise, senators don’t want meatdroids to be treated in their facilities after they’ve just protected them with their lives. fox tries to reason against this. fox is unsuccessful, because no one listens to fox.

which is how he finds himself crammed into a corner along with cody, ponds, bly, rex and their jedi, looking out across a medbay which is quite frankly a goddamn disaster rivalling the fight with the zillo beast in proportions. skywalker tries to step out towards one of the medics, and has to be pulled back by the collar of his shirt by amidala, squawking loudly when he’s nearly rammed over by mauler, crucifix and a shrilly screaming crash cart.

it’s not like fox said this would be a bad idea or anything.

“um, vod”, cody begins, unsure, “what’s - is that guy sewing wooley up with thread?!”

meathook, who is in fact sewing wooley up with thread, and looks about as happy about it as his patient, and who fox honestly thought was going to cry when he announced the influx of patients about to descend on them, snaps something about triage over his shoulder at hound, whose arm is decidedly bent in a way it shouldn’t be, jerking his head to gesture at the rickety cot next to cody’s ARC. fox is pretty sure they salvaged the thing from a dumpster. he slaps a bandage on the stitches that fox fears might be from the same dumpster.

“putting those advanced reconnaissance training skills to use, kote”, says fox, who invariably turns into the worst possible version of himself whenever cody opens his mouth within a klick of his vicinity.

skywalker harrumphs, evidently at the end of his impressive patience. “well, why?! hey, trooper! these men need bacta!”

“do they, now? i’m sorry, i hadn’t noticed”, a low voice hisses angrily behind them, and fox is the only one who doesn’t jump on account of he’s too dead inside to be scared of his CMO anymore. a grave error, he’s sure. “i guess i’ll just go pull some out of my ass along with a tank and painkillers, then! hadn’t thought of that yet!”

warcrime, whose eye is twitching and who is holding a bloody saw in visible consideration of using it, pins skywalker with a look that has had shinies all over the guard peeing themselves. “we don’t have any fucking bacta, you absolute numbskull.”

“but that can’t be right”, cody pipes up again, next to a very troubled looking generals kenobi and windu. fox sympathises very much with the patented migraine-glare on windu’s face. “why do you not have any bacta?”

“because i like to smear meiloorun juice all over my patient’s stab wounds, commander”, warcrime says. “it’s a homeopathic medicine thing. because the chancellor refuses to give us any, genius.”

“what?!” skywalker says, bristling. “that can’t be true! he wouldn’t -“ he’s cut off by his comm pinging loudly over the moaning and crying in the medbay, and warcrime leaning close enough to be heard with a whisper.

“well, he would, and if you don’t believe me, there’s a holorecording of him telling marshal commander fox why biological weapons on the homefront have lower priority and therefore half rations of everything. now get out of my medbay or find out why they named me warcrime, sir.”

amidala, the collective braincell holder for both her husband and the senate combined (on occasion), tugs him out of the way of warcrime’s bonesaw and ire. fox, who very much enjoys not being the primary target of a medic for once, unfortunately also has to be the adult in the room. “sirs, a transfer to the GAR barracks medbay might be a preferable- AH, MOTHERFU-“

“get him, stabby!”, rabid whoops from where he’s resetting thire’s nose, who echoes a much more nasal and muffled, “go, ftabby!”

“get kriffing FUCKED, stabby, you absolute-“, fox seethes, trying to swipe for the medic’s head and nearly planting one on cody instead by accident, who unfortunately manages to evade the swing fox is admittedly projecting very obviously on account of the sedation hypo jammed into his flank.

“medbay rules, sir”, stabby calls, dancing away towards mauler and his crash cart, while someone bumps something solid and flat against the backs of fox’s thighs that he can’t help but tumble back on, already seeing two codys and blys dancing around his vision. “commander fox protocol dictates he is to be helped to sleep as often as possible, sir.”

“a desperate but well-founded measure, i’m sure”, kenobi of all people agrees, and fox waves an unsteady hand in what might be the general’s direction to the sound of cody’s scandalized gasp. “as you were, officer… stabby.”

“traitors”, fox slurs, just as his com-unit begins to ping with an urgent notification. before he can try and answer it, warcrime has ripped it off his arm and flung it somewhere out of his sight. eh, it probably wasn’t anything THAT important, fox thinks. and if he wakes up two days later to a near-hysteric meathook kissing the glass casing of the guard’s brand new bacta tank over and over again, he decides to just roll over and go back to sleep.

[bluuscreen-png]

working on my own little “the master doesn’t die and joins the doctor after lotl” au so here’s voyage of the damned outfits if i got to do the costume design [plus a couple silly bonus sketches under the cut]

[twiyke]

every time someone mischaracterises jay ferin as the therapist friend a fairy loses its wings btw. put some respect on her emotionally-constipated ass.

[birdricks]

i love you (but i never had a choice)

[the-woman-upstairs]

You know, I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from The Acolyte but “lesbian space witches perform immaculate conception through the Force to create our twin main characters” definitely wasn’t one of them.

[sidetongue]

this beautiful idiot went to live with someone else and honestly, both of our QOL are much better HAHA

[raiiny-bay]

everyone say hi to cricket

Interviewer: Can you state your name and age please? Cricket: Cricket... 19. Interviewer: [whispering] Look into the camera. Interviewer: And what's been happening to you, Cricket? Cricket: ...I'm... mutating. Interviewer: Can you show us what you mean? Cricket: ... Cricket: ... Okay. [Cricket holds his hand towards the camera]

[mattodore]

[luckycloverforducks]

[Swap AU]

Alastor : I'm going to kill everyone in this room and then myself.

Husker : Al, buddy, I'm trying to be nice here but for the last fuckin' time, that is NOT an appropriate response to dropping your microphone cane.

Alastor :

Husker : You do this everytime. Sometimes you even actually try. I genuinely don't get it.

[hopeswriting]

was on the verge of waking up and randomly dreaming of a fight scene where the ones who fought kind of just clung to each other once the fight was over and it was safe again, hugging each other and stroking each other's back and hair, and i immediately thought of the vongola tenth gen.

i thought of tsuna who, once the dust settles and the danger passes, before they've even really caught their breaths or they can move/go back to a safer place, or maybe on their way there, as long as none of them are hurt too badly for that to take precedence over everything else, walks from guardian to guardian and just, like. reaches out.

he clasps gokudera's hands in his each in turn, gently, softly, with room for him to pull them out if he wants to, but holding onto them as long as he doesn't, waiting for gokudera to let go of the tension in them, for that slight restlessness that makes the tip of his fingers twitch to go away, waiting for gokudera to realize he won't need to reach for anymore dynamites to keep them safe for the time being. he massages his hands gently from his wrists to the tip of his fingers, rubbing at the back of his hands and at his joints along his fingers each in turn, blowing over the reddened and burnt spots on his skin, new and old ones alike, brushing his lips against them in a feather-light touch.

he reaches for hibari's hands too, palms bruised from how unyieldingly he held onto his tonfas until he came out on top no matter what came his way. tsuna holds his hands in his, his palms turned upwards, and runs his thumbs over stiff, roughened up skin, over callouses made raw again. it's not a massage, his touch light, barely there, only meaning it to soothe and not wanting to overwhelm him with it. he strokes his thumbs over his palms for as long as hibari lets him, careful not to hurt, hoping it takes some of the ache away and will make it go away faster altogether.

yamamoto gets a hug. tsuna wraps his arms around his back, bringing him close as he leans flush against him, tucking his head under his chin. yamamoto always hugs him back right away, but he always needs a moment to let himself relax into it. tsuna waits patiently, rocking them slightly from side to side, snuggling closer the more tension bleeds away from his body, holding him tighter as yamamoto's arms around him turn lighter. tsuna keeps hugging him until he melts into the hug, burying his face in his hair, exhaling a slow, deep breath that steadies them both.

lambo gets a hug too. tsuna holds him close, sitting down to curl protectively around him, hiding him from sight, keeping him hidden and safe from the world. he's mischievous with his hug, letting one hand wander to poke at his sides, strokes at his nape or just behind his ears, wanting to make him laugh. he grins in his hair when lambo lets out his first giggle, relief coursing through him, both of them laughing when he starts to wiggle, pretending he wants to get away but clutching tightly at his shirt, his hands shaking. he whines and complains and orders tsuna to stop and let go of him, and laughs all the while, because it's okay now for him to do that. tsuna-nii's safe, bakadera and everyone else is too, and he even helped make it happen! and it was terrifying, but it's over now. he's safe too, tsuna-nii will keep him safe, and the louder and livelier he gets, the more everyone smiles and laughs.

tsuna bumps his fists against ryohei first things first, both of them smiling at each other. he helps him with his bandages when need be and when they have the means for that at hands, removing them and putting on new, clean ones, or as clean as possible. he washes the sweat and blood off of his hands with water, both his opponent's but his too, his knuckles busted and his skin scraped and bruised all over his fingers; or cleans them when he can, apologizing softly whenever ryohei winces and hisses in pain. otherwise he intertwines their fingers together so slowly, so very gently, unwilling to hurt him more, squeezing his hands only as much as ryohei has already squeezed his.

chrome and him link arms together, pressed against each other shoulder against shoulder, leaning their weight against each other. chrome rests her head on his shoulder and tsuna on top of hers, nuzzling his cheek against her hair every time chrome's fingers dig into his skin. they stay like that long enough for their breathing to sync together, shoulders raising and falling at the same time, warm against each other. they're alive, they're alive.

mukuro barely allows him to come within arm's reach the first time. tsuna doesn't push, makes do with that, trailing his eyes over him from afar, trying to assess the damages and asking with his eyes without having to say it out loud if he's okay, and if he'll still be okay if left alone to take care of himself. mukuro lets him come closer a little more each time until tsuna can touch, until he can brush his fingertips against the building headache in his temple, against the throbbing veins of his right eye and the piercing ache that follows every time. until tsuna can brush his fingertips over his eyelid, closing his eye for the briefest of moment, allowing him to surrender to the pain that always comes with using his right eye, and make it more bearable even if only for a split second.

i don't know. something something, what comes after enough blood was spilt? what do you do with the sight of it laying at your feet, staining your hands, dripping from them? how do you reconcile the proof of the violence you're able of with the idea of your hands still being worth doing anything else?

and something something, tsuna, of course, making it a point for the answer to be picking up every piece of chipped kindness, gentleness and love among the blood, and guiding them to find their way home again within themselves.

[prettyhighforawhiteguyblog]

I'm the wife in my marriage.

It's funny to me anyway. Funny to me because my wife is the very picture of femininity, loving, caring, sexy, pretty, beautiful wife, loving and adored by all her children. And a satisfied and hot for her husband.

But to me she is beautiful and terrible as the Dawn! Treacherous as the Seas! Stronger than the foundations of the Earth! All shall love her and despair!

And yet she chose me.

So to all the hella ladies who rejected my advances? Y'all missed out. Because she saw in me what way too many people couldn't. And sometimes still can't.

And she wants to run my life. And the lives of our whole family. And we all kinda love it. Mostly. But it ain't worth the headache or heartache of fighting her on anything. She's Daddy's little princess and her mother is the loving matron and queen bitch of the family and we all stay in line. Mostly. I love to do my own thing too much for my own good. But it keeps our fights about stupid stuff instead of my weed use again.

(I'm dead ass functional and present from 6am on till I finally get my insomniac ass too sleep while high just to escape the constant anxiety about my sick daughter's upcoming surgery, my dying suegro, my mourning wife, disturbed autistic son, special needs princess Daddy's girl I'm spoiling her to death to make her just as powerful and ungovernable mother and it's working too well already. Have you ever negotiated with a hostile bitchy entitled as fuck child? )

Anyway, you wouldn't know it looking at me or talking normal chitchat, but I'm pretty fucking manly. In the way my culture defines manliness. I'm not very masculine. But I'm very manly.

I'm feminine as fuck in my household. I mother the kids, help their emotional development, work on my wife's emotional and mental well-being, and I'm the one never in the mood for sex. And I do every single thing she says. And then she does the discipline and management of the family's affairs. And she's the one who has to seduce me. Did I mention she was sexy as fuck? (While I'm awkward as fuck every time we even roleplay.) And a horny Latina. (That's why these horny sexy, nice, Latinos are taking over. It's natural selection. The Whites just can't compete and as usual are getting their panties in a twist over not being able to compete even with everything in their favor to out reproduce them all but it was too many kids for a nuclear family to handle Whites.) So beautiful hot queen sexy as fuck Latina seduces me every night. #blessed. So fuck yeah I don't wanna fuck up this arrangement. So I do everything she tells me to and treat her real good and let her win every argument and over apologize. Except when I make a rare exception to make a stand in something important or just to make some trouble and have some fun.

Oh yeah. She's a clean freak 😮‍💨 But she's an impatient Latina housewife perfectionist clean freak. So she gets mad at my perfectly good job when company isn't ever coming job and tells me to stop even trying to clean. Go play Minecraft with your daughter to keep her occupied.🤣

I have the best living situation ever. I'll be your bitch my bitchy highness. Just please keep playing with my hair on your lap. Oh, and that sucking my dick the way you do and being right 95% of the time on judgement calls.

So yeah I'm the wife.

And I got a pretty good life.

[wereh0gz]

The way I watched the new tailstube video and saw nothing really romantic and then I come on here and everyone's talking abt sonadow in the video. Like at this point I can't tell if ppl are looking for crumbs of their favorite ship when there is none or if I'm just oblivious

[jgracie]

omg guys can i tell u ab my dream because idk how to feel ab it

(check rbs for part 2)

[quietwingsinthesky]

Dean is such a paradox for me because on the one hand, I have been actively triggered by him in the show, there are moments where, intentionally or not, the writers managed to create a portrayal of manipulation and abuse and control issues that it sets off actual alarms for me. And on the other hand, I would not have him any other way. There is something — not comforting, that’s too soft a word — about knowing where Dean’s actions stem from, having seen and learned all that we do about his childhood neglect and parentification and the trauma he goes through repeatedly in the show, and that he doesn’t come out clean. He comes out a goddamn mess who ends up hurting the people around him in reaction to his own pain!

There’s a reality there that’s. Almost nice, actually. Distressing to watch, but it is a fucking mess, it’s a good mess! He’s got zero healthy coping skills and a healthy relationship with say, his brother, is terrifying because it leaves him open to abandonment!

I’m not sure I’m wording this correctly. There is a way to be a good abuse victim. Take the pain, martyr yourself on it, and then, even if you have no support or idea how to, then you have to become a Good Person who never hurts anyone the way you have been learning to your entire life. Simply toss everything that shaped you out the door and emerge a saint with a tragic backstory. And Dean is not that. And that’s so fucking good. Everything that he has gone through continues to effect the way he treats the people around him, and he can’t fight the behaviors he might recognize as harmful because he also sees them as protecting him (or protecting Sam by keeping Sam with him.)

And sometimes, idk. It feels good to see a guy who didn’t heal the “right way.” Who mostly didn’t heal at all, just keeps the wound open because it’s easier that way.