#work casual

[irishyuri]

unstoppable slut meets immovable object or whatever that saying is

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

best thing about batman is that he's a superficially grimdark character, gothic & brooding & angst ridden etc..........but then it turns out he has a million hobbies, regularly goes on adventures with his besties, and has a dozen adopted kids he's raising with his devoted foster dad. good for him

[leisi-lilacdreams]

[foolsocracy]

put dick on a team and trust he will make sure they can perform as an acrobat troop

[sharkpheus]

Agent 8 grad cap!!

Agent 8 grad cap!!

[aster-draws]

Identity shenanigans are a hallmark of all superhero fanfictions and i will never get tired of writing them.

This is from chapter 19 of my fic Better Halves (and other such falsehoods) which is like 100k (so far) of Tim and Danny being idiots like this please go read it it's a labor of love.

just the painted bit below the cut :) if you want it

[lordcastaway]

of course jean is doomed he is french

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[lucabyte]

So does anybody else ever think about how Loop felt the need to demonstrate that the party's deaths wouldn't have any effect on the loops. I know I do but that's besides the point. Anyway I don't think Loop actually needs to bathe, they just like to feel included.

[bluestation]

at work

[elinekeit-artstuff]

Are you also haunted by how Jon and Martin were doomed by their lack of self-preservation instinct despite their best effort to survive for the other's sake? Anyway-

[jay-wasstuff]

[kevinsdsy]

bonus (silly fan tweet idk):

next part >

the trojans social media au (pt. 35): everyone say WHATTTT,, anyways had to bring the core socmed au gc back :)))) i missed tony okay

[carbonateds-oda]

the first time dazai ruffled atsushis hair he was rlly confused abt it so he just ruffled dazai’s hair back and then they both just stood there staring at each other like 🧍‍♂️

[stefisdoingthings]

silence

also this is from Wolfwood's POV (in case it isn't clear) i have 0 normal thoughts (every song ever is VW)

[lokisfirecracker]

casual dominance w remus, my beloved <3

warnings; none, just fluff. reader has she/her pronouns and has hair (no length specified)

pt 2 pt 3

—————

“i’ll just do it later,”

the boys are lazing around in their dorm, killing time as they wait until dinner starts. she’s sprawled out across the end of her scarred boyfriend’s bed, face down and trying not to think of all the things she’s meant to be doing.

“careful, or he’ll give you a spanking,” sirius called out teasingly from where his head was buried under a pillow.

“up, come on, love,” remus ignored his friend, nudging the girl with his foot from where he’s sat against the pillows acoss from her. “unless you want to spend all evening worrying about how you haven’t done it.”

“but i’m too tired,” she whined, twisting slightly to meet his gaze. she tried giving him her best puppy dog look, desperately wanting to gain her boy’s sympathy, as an attempt to get out of doing the essay slughorn had assigned a few days prior. all three boys had completed theirs in a shared free period earlier in the day, but she had decided to use that time as a chance to nap.

he meets her stare with his brows raised, refusing to back down.

“please?” she whispered.

he only shook his head, knowing that if she left the assignment any longer, she’d only panic when she realised how little time was left for her to complete it.

she let out a groan as she faceplanted back into the duvet, wishing that a time machine had been invented so that she could skip the next hour of inevitable work. i mean honestly, why hasn’t anyone bothered to create one yet. someone made sodding chocolate frogs before time machines?

just as she starts getting distracted by chocolate frogs and other sweet treats, she’s pulled out of her thoughts by the feeling of the bed dipping beside her. remus lifts his hand and moves it comfortingly up and down her back, occasionally drifting down a little lower.

“cmon, even pads has done his. you don’t want to lose to sirius at homework of all things,” james commented from his respective bed, flipping through a book that he’d very clearly nicked off remus.

“hey! that was entirely uncalled for, you little fu-,”

“do it now, and i’ll give you a reward after dinner,” remus spoke quietly, keeping his voice down as to not alert the other boys to what he was saying. she quickly perked up, flipping over so she could see his face and confirm what he’d said. his head dipped lower slightly, he waited as she checked for any signs of dishonesty.

seemingly satisfied with what she’d found, she pushed herself up, slipping off the bed to start the wretched essay at remus’s desk, with said boy following closely behind her.

“good girl,” he murmurs into her hair, patting her bum firmly. she ducks her head down, a poor attempt to hide her burning face, shooting a glare over her shoulder, as she hears sirius let out howls of laughter at her expense.

pt2 pt3