#and what am i supposed to say???

[koobiie]

shoutout to everyone who wants to infodump but cant string together coherent thoughts to form sentences and instead just look at you like this

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[foolnamedjoey]

[newttxt]

the best way to luffy’s stomach is through his heart (or something like that)

a four page one piece fancomic in which luffy and law talk about luffy’s stomach

page 1

panel 1: a top view of luffy and law sitting in grass. luffy is leaning back on his hands with his legs outstretched. law sits crosslegged between them. they are both looking down at the hole in luffy’s abdomen, where law has used his devil fruit power to remove his stomach. “whoa! cool!” says luffy, while law hums, “hmm… interesting.”

panel 2: a close-up of law’s hand holding luffy’s stomach in its cube-like container. “it looks surprisingly average,” law says, “for a bottomless pit.”

panel 3: “isn’t it weird?” luffy asks. he is sitting with his back to the viewer, but his smile is still visible as he leans into law’s space. law is still crosslegged, holding the stomach, and he looks vaguely uncomfortable as luffy keeps talking. luffy says, “that thing can make food stop looking like food and start looking like poop! huh. wonder how it does that…”

page 2

panel 1: law looks off to the side, sweating and kinda grouchy. knowing he’ll regret this, he mutters, “i… know how… at least for NORMAL humans.”

panel 2: the back of luffy’s head takes up most of the panel as he demands, “what?! i wanna know too!” law grits his teeth and shouts back, “you’re just gonna fall asleep!” and luffy yells, “nuh-uh!”

panel 3: luffy grins widely, throws his arms out to the side, and flops onto his back in the grass. he’s loudly yelling, “tell me! tell me, traffy!”

page 3

panel 1: law is visible from a low-angle, as if from luffy’s pov on the ground. he sighs, “fine. here’s how it works.”

panel 2: this panel looks similar to the previous, but its slightly darker, with gray bars at the top and bottom, narrowing visibility to show luffy’s eyes are closing. law continues, “the stomach has two main functions.”

panel 3: law is now barely visible through the gap. luffy is almost asleep. law says, “the first, as YOU know, is the storage of food.”

panel 4: the background is completely dark, and law’s words trail off, “the second is—“

page 4

panel 1: a large, top view of luffy lying on his back in the grass. his arms are thrown wide still and his eyes are open. he has just jolted awake, saying, “hmm?” off-screen, law complains, “i don’t know WHY i bothered.”

panel 2: law accuses, “you didn’t listen to a word i said.” luffy sits up, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed because he’s a terrible liar. he says, “sure i did,” dragging out the “sure.”

panel 3: luffy breaks into a grin and proudly declares, “it’s a mystery!” law cuts him off with a “NO,” his speech bubble literally dripping with disdain.

panel 4: the silhouette of luffy and law sitting side by side. law is whapping luffy on the head with a light fist. law says, “idiot…” before bonking him. luffy yells, “hey!” but he is laughing, and a small “heh” shows law is too.

[mint-fixates]

There's this weird take I've seen floating around on TikTok that Bill doesn't actually care about his family/dimension or Stanford at all; that we're supposed to take everything in TBOB as non-canon basically because he's lying to garner sympathy from reader to make a deal with them. I'm all for having your own interpretations of media, but I just don't think this idea that Bill is a completely heartless unfeeling creature is supported by canon at all. In fact, it kind of feels like the opposite of the point of the book.

Like, yeah, most things Bill says should be taken with a grain of salt because he lies a lot, but he's not actually a very good liar? It's usually pretty easy to clock when he's full of it. But okay, even if we assume every word Bill says while trying to recruit the reader is a lie, there are three major things that this doesn't account for.

Bill is not the only source in the book. The lost Journal 3 pages were written by Stanford, we only know about the interdimensional Taco Bell incident because of an included police transcript, etc.

Even once he's lost any chance of making a deal with the reader to escape, Bill is having a complete breakdown and mentions all the people he so totally doesn't miss for real you guys. Why bother with reverse psychology double-lying for sympathy once his shot at getting the reader on his side is already gone?

Trying to garner the reader's sympathy makes sense to a certain extent, but why go out of his way to make himself look pathetic? Does revealing that he got drunk and cried over his ex in a fast-food drive-through really help his cause if that cause is to convince the reader he's still a powerful being capable of starting the apocalypse again so they can rule with him?

And that's all without even mentioning that, as previously stated, I think the entire point of the book is missed if we're interpreting Bill as having no genuine feelings or attachments. The book ends with Stanford healing from his past by being open about what he went through with his family and accepting their help, while Bill insists he doesn't need anyone and refuses to heal, actively making himself worse in the process. The clear theme imo is that accepting your past and accepting help from people who love you is essential to healing, while denying those things just makes everything worse. If Bill doesn't actually care about his family, his dimension, Stanford, or anything/anyone else, he has no trauma to heal from or regrets to learn from that he's refusing to accept and deal with, and the entire meaning of the book is made moot.

[odd-chips]

(Tents fingers) So I've had a very indulgent Lethal Company OC concept on the mind for a while, and now that I've drawn it, of course it's spiraled into a 80+ panel comic HILJKFD

Employee names are tentative right now, but they go by Cap'n, Kid (shortie, actual name is Scoot), Skeets (tall one, short for Skeeter) and Mav (wide one, goes by that or Maverick). Genders are also tentative, but I'm warming up to the idea of them all being women with Kid being the only boy!

Value keys for the comic are under the cut, along with some story beats/thumbnails and the uncensored version of Cap'n's injuries from the attack! (It's sketchy, but it is drawn gore so be warned!)

[irodimww]

silly late night redraw of that scene where cole gets jumpscared by zane’s falcon

(deeply apologize for any puerto-rican spanish speakers looking at this and going “this sounds wrong” FEEL FREE TO TELL ME WHAT TO FIX !!)

[blueskittlesart]

hey has anyone tried to buy a covid test lately. because i just had to buy one for a friend at my local walgreens and the cashier very seriously asked me if i was sure i wanted it because. a 2-pack of tests currently costs $23.99. do we not think that it's a little insane that the only reliable diagnostic tool for a very much ongoing pandemic costs over $20 for a single package. what if I didn't have that kind of money to burn??? Especially if you're already facing potentially losing at least a weeks worth of pay if you DO test positive and can't work. How many people are going to see that price point and decide they can't justify the expense??? literally insane. remember that brief moment of sanity this country had when we all got these for free

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

Machine.

Does my ass look fat in this armor?

Audio source

[cowardlykrow]

"That is where you are wrong, my boy!"

@ratb4stard3 and I deliver another Cowardlyghostbro's(™) collab ✨💛

[thisismisogynoir]

I love it when women hate men. I love it when women are allowed to vent to each other about how horrible and creepy men are. I love it when women form friendships with and prioritize each other over relationships with men(whether they're attracted to them or not). I love it when women put men dni in their bios and on their nude photos and on posts on their blogs. I love it when women refuse to mollycoddle and accommodate entitled male feelings with "but this doesn't mean I hate all men, I know a few men who are great, I love my father/sons/brothers/uncles/male cousins/guy friends" I love it when women complain about men WITHOUT "not all men" being a disclaimer. I love it when women avoid socializing with/refuse to be around/befriend/get close to men because they know men can't be trusted. I love it when women make "kill all men" jokes. I love it when women offer absolutely no concern or care for men's feelings and if their misandry offends men whatsoever because why should we, men are the oppressor class who have raped and killed and abused us and kept us as subjugated as second-class citizens for millennia, they regularly mistreat us and the women in their own marginalized communities still every single day and make this world so much harder and more awful for us to be in, and if we choose to hate them and not spare them any sympathy then so be it, and I don't just mean "men as a class" either, you can be a woman who doesn't want to have anything to do with any man on an individual basis and completely cuts off men from her personal life too and ykw I will love and fucking support you in that because men deserve absolutely NOTHING from us. If they're so tough and strong then they can handle it just like they can handle being lonely. If you are a woman who hates men, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A LESBIAN AND/OR A TRANS WOMAN, then just know that I love you. I love you, I support you, and you are safe here.

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[buddie-buddie]

Bucktommy + “Go back to sleep.”

“Go back to sleep,” Tommy mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Buck finishes tugging Tommy’s duvet up, tucking it beneath his chin and curling in on himself in an attempt to warm up. He doesn’t care if it makes him a blanket thief; he’s cold. Plus, Tommy is practically a human space heater. He’s laying beside Buck in nothing but his boxer briefs and looks perfectly content. Meanwhile, Buck’s in sweatpants and a hoodie and can’t seem to shake the chill that’s climbing up his spine and taking up residence deep in his bones.

He mumbles a sleepy apology, but if the way Tommy’s breathing has already evened out again is any indication, he doesn’t hear it.

Waking up next to Tommy is all of Buck’s wildest dreams come true. He loves waking up with the familiar, grounding weight of Tommy’s arm draped over him, loves the way Tommy tightens his grip as he feels Buck stir beneath him, how he mumbles a sleepy “Morning, baby,” into his hair as Buck slowly blinks his eyes awake.

Every day he wakes up next to Tommy is a dream, but days off are the best.

Days off are when Buck wakes up warm and cozy in a sun-drenched room, tucked against Tommy, their bodies curled around each other like a pair of parentheses. The warm, familiar rumble of Tommy’s early morning voice low in his ear, the brush of his lips against the shell of his ear, chased away by the slight burn from Tommy’s day-old stubble against his skin as he trails kisses down his cheek, across his jaw. For a few quiet moments, it’s just them. There are no alarms ringing, no fires to put out, no helicopters to fly, no nothing. There’s nothing but them. Nothing to do except just be.

The thought of this particular day off– this particular morning– was the thing Buck was most looking forward to all week. And it had been an epically awful week. It had been six days since the last time their days off had last lined up, and he’d been all but crawling out of his skin with his need to see his boyfriend outside of a quick FaceTime call between claxons ringing.

On top of that, the station’s A/C had been on the fritz and Chimney had been out sick with a flu he still insisted he didn’t have, both of which made shifts considerably less enjoyable. They’d had a few really tough calls, including an especially hard loss in the middle of the week that was still living behind Buck’s ribs and needling at his heart each time the air fell silent and his mind began to wander.

Their shared 48 off had been the light at the end of the tunnel. A very dark tunnel that was starting to feel less like a tunnel and more like an inescapable hole towards the end, but a tunnel nonetheless.

“Hot date?” Hen had teased him as he all but ran for the locker room the moment B shift started filtering in through the bay doors.

Buck thought about what was waiting for him. His sweet, beautiful boyfriend. His favorite pad thai takeout from the mom and pop place around the corner from Harbor. Sheets that smell like Tommy and a pair of reading glasses on the nightstand and two toothbrushes next to each other in the cup beside the sink.

“Yeah,” Buck grinned, dipping his chin as his cheeks flushed. “You could say that.”

The feeling of waking up beside Tommy is everything Buck always wanted and never let himself believe he could actually have. It’s better than anything he ever could’ve dreamed up. Even now, when he wakes up and it’s still pitch black outside, the only light in the room coming from the glow of Buck’s phone on the nightstand as he taps it awake to check the time. It’s not even four o’clock.

No wonder Tommy told him to go back to sleep.

They’ve barely been asleep for five hours, and after the week he’s had, Buck would like at least twice that before even considering getting out of bed. But he’s up now and he’s freezing. He flips over beneath Tommy’s arm, turning to face him and curling himself into Tommy’s side with a small, content sigh. He tucks his head beneath Tommy’s chin in a shameless attempt to leech his body heat.

Tommy murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep, one of his big, warm hands coming up to rest between Buck’s shoulder blades. His welcome touch is warm and familiar, instantly soothing. And yet, it does nothing to stop another shiver from running through Buck.

He closes his eyes, starting to drift back to sleep just as Tommy shifts beneath him.

“Evan,” Tommy says quietly, concern clinging to the word. “Baby, wake up.”

Buck blinks slowly, confused. “Y’just told me to go back to sleep.”

“You’re burning up,” Tommy says, his other hand coming up to feel Buck’s forehead. He makes a tsk sound under his breath. He tries to sit up, but Buck protests by way of a sleepy whine, holding onto Tommy even tighter.

“M’cold,” Buck mumbles against Tommy’s chest.

“C’mon,” Tommy says gently. “Let me up. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Buck is too tired to argue. Tommy extricates himself, and Buck can tell he tries his best not to disturb him too much as he does. True to his word, Tommy returns a moment later. He runs the thermometer over Buck’s forehead, and its rapid warning beeps are followed by a small displeased sigh.

“Fever?” Buck asks. Another shiver wracks through him, and he knows the answer.

Tommy’s hand is warm and solid as it rests on his cheek, his thumb stroking over Buck’s cheekbone in a soothing back and forth. “Yeah,” Tommy says. Buck can hear his frown. “Gonna give you some Tylenol.”

Buck lets Tommy help him sit up enough to bring the pills and a glass of water to his lips. He’s a little more awake now, enough to register the way that his head feels heavy and his eyes feel hot behind their lids. His arms and legs ache as he settles against the pillows, and he has a fleeting memory of Maddie saying that Chim’s flu started out with a high fever and body aches.

“Be right back,” Tommy promises.

And he is. He returns a moment later with another blanket, a heavy one. He covers Buck with it, tucking it beneath his chin and running a hand through his hair fondly before climbing back into bed beside him.

“No,” Buck protests. “I’ll get you sick.”

Tommy’s arms encircle him, pulling him in until they’re pressed up against each other. “Don’t care,” he says simply. “We’ve already been pretty close.”

Buck sighs against Tommy’s neck, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he remembers the very enthusiastic reacquainting that happened against the back of Tommy’s front door no more than a minute after Buck had come through it. Not to mention the hours they spent on the couch watching a movie after dinner, with Tommy’s arm around him and Buck’s head on Tommy’s shoulder. All of which was before they fell asleep practically plastered to one another.

Tommy does have a point.

But Buck felt fine going to bed, which means the fever must have spiked pretty recently, which means it could be early enough that Tommy could still save himself and—

“I can hear you overthinking.”

Buck frowns. “Am not.” And then a moment later, “I’ll go to the guest room.”

“No you won’t,” Tommy says simply. “There’s no blanket on the bed.”

“But you—”

Tommy silences him with a kiss to his forehead. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

Buck’s heart squeezes. A tiny, happy sigh falls from his lips. And for the first time since waking up, he feels warm all over.

prompt game

[cozylittleartblog]

bug doodles so i can say i drew something

[darkxsoulzyx]

Normal Roblox experience or something

[kentopedia]

some of you are just so lovely and sooo easy to love and i mean it when i say with 100% certainty that ur favs would be head over heels for you