#scruffy bugger

[f10werfae]

Daddy’s a builder

Pairing:Husband!Construction!Chris x Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: When the kids want a treehouse? Chris comes to the rescue. When the kids want lunch? Oh that’s momma’s specialty ‼️Southern Dilf Chris Fluff‼️

- Requests are open!

Likes, Comments and Re-blogs are appreciated♥️

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(Chris' P.O.V)

“Ya alright sugar?” I asked creeping up behind my gorgeous wife, her lovely self making our family a small lunch as a break from the work outside. Her pink apron gave her a domestic look along with her strawberry patterned dress, her lavender scent filling my nostrils as I approached her from behind.

My hands couldn’t help but land on her ass, it was practically asking me to touch it.

“What d'ya need honey?” She asked sweetly, her head turning to look at me, her fingers stopping midway cutting up a sandwich into triangles.

“Jus you” I whined playfully, wrapping my arms around her waist to bring her against my chest, hearing her giggle fill my ears, my lips attaching themselves to the back of her ear where she had a tiny tattoo. A small “C.E” just for me to see and know about it.

“Baby what if the kids come in?” In truth, I didn’t care if they did, so what if they see me being affectionate with the love of my life?

“Sweetheart, is it a crime to see their ma and pa so in love with each other?” I questioned, watching her face turn red as she shook it shyly.

“Ya almost done out there?” Y/n turned around in my arms, her hands going to my face as she scratched my beard with her newly painted nails, her eyes dazing into mine. “Nearly precious, the kids are already tryna climb the frickin thing” I laughed, looking out the glass door to see my now 6 year old Noah and 4 year old Leonora attempting to climb the trunk but clearly failing.

“Awk hun look at them, they’re so cute” I watched my wife pout, her rosy lips jutting out adorably, her pregnancy glow making her that even more beautiful. We both said we wanted a huge family and hell were we gonna get one. I even made the house we lived in big enough for that, enough bedrooms and lots of yard space for the little buggers to mess about in.

“You’re so cute” Grabbing onto her face I pressed a needy kiss onto her lips, the overwhelming amount of love I felt for this woman taking over. “Go get the kids hun, their food’s ready” She laughed shoving me off playfully, causing me to shake my head and go off back into the back yard.

(Y/n's P.O.V)

“NOAH, LEONORA, MOMMA HAS YOUR FOOD” I heard Chris shout by the porch, he knelt down with his tatted arms out, in nothing but work trousers, waiting for each kid to launch themselves into his arms like always. He hoisted them up with one on each hip, Leonora's growing curls bouncing crazily, whilst Noah's pin straight hair looked hectic with the amount of rolling around they did.

“Look at my tiny goblins, lookin' all cute n' scruffy like their daddy” I joked kissing each of them on the cheek and lifting then each into their own chairs in the dining room.

To say I got lucky with Chris was such an understatement, there’s no one else I would rather grow a family with. Hell now that I was 6 months pregnant, I couldn’t keep him off me. He had taken on the role of a father so darn well from when we first had Noah, his construction mind coming into play when making the crib and rocking chair. Heck as soon as the kids even mentioned a treehouse, Chris had started a rant of ‘ daddy’s a builder, he can build you your own spaceship, ain’t no need for some fancy contractor to pay for'

“What ya thinkin in that pretty lil' head of yours momma” He whispered into my ear as we watched the kids scoff down their sandwiches and fries, Noah just letting Leonora take his extra chips knowing she wanted them more than he did.

“Jus how lucky I got with ya hun” I replied smiling up at him, the pencil behind his ear wiggling when a ginormous smile came up onto his face. “If you weren’t knocked up already, I woulda knocked you up tonight” He growled playfully, his hands squeezing my hips affectionately.

“Ya wanna see the playhouse so far?” He asked, with both kids preoccupied with trading bits of food, I couldn’t help but agree and follow him out hand-in-hand. He helped me out slowly over the step and down the porch,

“What d'ya think precious? It’s a bit rough on the edges but with a bit of work-“

“I love it Chris” Interrupting him, I subconsciously put my hand onto my stomach,

“Our kids are so lucky to have you, you’re such a good daddy” I replied looking up at him through the hot August sun, his now sun-kissed tanned skin glimmering in the sunlight.

“You do so much for our babies, I really couldn’t ask for anythin more hun”

“Yeah but i’ll never forget the first person I called 'baby'” He joked winking at me, pulling me closer to him, one of his hands going to rest on my stomach as usual. “Then over there baby by the pool, i’m gonna put up a tyre swing so the little muckers have somethin else to do, n' over by the shrubs i’m thinkin of a teahouse for Leonora and possibly other girls to come?” He peered with questioning eyes, one eyebrow raised as he asked the question.

“Ya frickin crazy Chris, how many kids ya want?” I laughed out as he brought us over to sit on the swinging chair nearer to the porch under the shade of our apple tree. “Enough to keep our house as crazy as it already is gorgeous, plus ya know you’re irresistible right? Can’t get enough of ya”

He teased pressing kisses from my neck up to my cheek, his arm around my waist caressing my side slowly as we just looked at each other lovingly.

“God I love ya more than I can imagine Chris”

“Gosh save it for the bedroom sweetheart” Hitting his chest gently I scooted away from him on the swinging bench,

“Awk precious don’ be like that, don’t leave ya baby daddy all alone over 'ere. Your poor poor husband jus wants some lovin'. Ya know I love you more than life itself bug”

With one arm he reached around my waist and pulled me into his side, with both of my feet now onto the bench also I leaned into his chest, basically laying on him.

“Momma?” I heard a small voice say from inside, “Out here angel”

Seconds later I saw Noah and Leonora walk out hand in hand, Leonora slightly stumbling with her steps, Noah had been so patient wit her. I couldn’t have asked for Leonora to have a better older brother.

“Can we play with 'odger” Leonora stuttered out,

“Course buddy, he’s over by the tree jus waitin' on yall to play” Chris replied, one hand in my hair as he pointed them in the direction of rhe sun bathing Dodger. Both kids instantly running in his direction chasing him, throwing the ball for him and giving him a multitude of cuddles.

“I’ll jus give the treehouse a run over with the vacuum and broom, n' it’ll be all good for them tomorrow”

“Ya realise they’ll live in that for as long as they can right babe?“

“Well at gives us more alone time doesn' it?”

————

Anyone know why Tumblr won’t let me post links without the whole pop up thing coming up? Is it bc of the new update?

‼️Got more ideas for Construction Chris? send them in‼️

Taglist tags (form is up there^^): @seren-a-ity @patzammit @thereisa8ella @pandaxnienke @mrspeacem1nusone

#romance #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans oneshot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sweet Escape 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: A strange man crashes into your life.

Characters: Jim Hopper

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your soles crush the wet twigs as you keep your hand out for balance, slick leaves threatening to slip beneath you. You touch the rough bark of each tree as you make your way toward the loud ripple of the river. The smell of rain lingers and draws you in.

You crest the subtle rise in the forest floor and make your way down to the smooth rock that sits only a few feet away from the river's edge. You set down your basket and take out the beat-up casio and check the tape inside. You keep it at low volume as you hit play, Carole King's tone adds to the ambiance of the space, not overpowering or misplaced, but illuminating what is already there.

You near the water and peer down into the silty floor. Frogs hop in the shallows and minnows wiggle through the depths. You spread out your raincoat in the mud and sit atop it as you open your journal.

You put your head down and set to writing about a land of lost princesses and ravenous trolls. You're hoping for a half-chapter at least and expect to be up half the night typing it. One day, you'll have a full transcript... who knows if it will ever go anywhere after that.

You hum along to the speakers' buzz, the sonorous peace of the space breaking suddenly and violently. You hear the rustle from across the river, somewhere in the trees. You hover your pen above the page as you look up into the gloomy space between the leaning trunks. You never heard of any bears around here.

You cry out as the burly figure runs out and splashes into the water. You snap your book shut and drop your pen as you struggle to stand, stopping yourself only as you realise it isn't some deadly grizzly. It's a man, furiously unbuttoning his shirt and scrubbing at his chest and belly. He throws water over his face and snarls out "blech, damn bastard!"

The putrid skunky smell wafts over to you as you stare. The man grumbles, tilting his head as he searches the river's edge, "what is that noise?" He first squints at you and then the Casio. You blink at him dumbly, he must've got himself sprayed, the skunks always come out after the rains.

"Who are you?" He asks, almost as if he is the lone denizen of the woods. He sure looks like he could reside there with his scruffy facial hair unkempt tufts on his head.

"Um..." you gulp and give your name cluelessly.

"Uh," he seems to remember himself and pulls his flannel shirt shut, hiding the pudge beneath, "I, er, ran into a white-tailed bastard..." he growls and shakes his head at himself, "what am I saying, you don't give a shit. Do you give a shit?"

You look around, put off by his demeanour. You push your shoulders up and give a sheepish smile. You tuck your book under your arm and bend to grab your goat, shaking off the mud.

"I'm sorry," you go to the casio and stop the music, "try tomato juice. For the smell."

"Huh, thanks," he huffs, "didn't mean to scare ya off."

"It's... fine," you utter. You're not used to being disturbed out here, it's the very reason you make the trek.

"Just try to avoid the ravine. That little bugger was hanging out there," he calls to you as you put your things in your basket.

"Thanks, I'll keep an eye out," you mutter.

He doesn't respond, not with more than an agitated grunt and the slosh of him wading back to shore. He grumbles to himself as you set off back down the path. Maybe you could hit the library instead.

#jim hopper #dark jim hopper #dark!jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #stranger things #drabble #series #sweet escape #au

[crashtestjeffy]

My daughter has been at her grandma's for a few days. She comes back tomorrow. And then is off to spend time with her best friend. Like sleeping there. I'm painfully lonely right now and am actually wondering how I lived alone for 5 years before she moved from her mom's to my place. It feels almost weak to admit I am not always happy about my loneliness. But then I think of letting someone new into my world and I freeze and panic. What a ridiculous creature I am. At least I got Joe D. Cat. Whom is going to go have a check up at the vet next week. He came to me somewhere between 5 and 8 years old and I have had him 5 years now and I figure aside from a bit of neurotic fur chewing and kitty acne, he is pretty healthy. But I just want him to be good, you know? I doubt there is anything at all out of order with the scruffy little bugger, but he deserves the care. He sits with me in bed when I am very sad and blocks the TV and reminds me that there is no reason to be sad when i can be petting him. And if I don't he pokes me...over and over. Oh also, don't laugh...I am starting chair yoga. I am going to use DDP yoga. DDP is Diamond Dallas Page a former wrestler who has saved a bunch of people from rotting to death with his yoga system. He even has a bed yoga program if you are that far gone. Then as you progress you can do steps up to mat yoga. I am a little embarrassed, the doctor said he would write out the forms to get me a mobility scooter covered at least partially by disability. But I thought about it and I want to see if I can get well enough to not need one. I live 4 blocks from the lake and the docks and beach and I cannot even walk that far. No I am a lot embarrassed. Especially since I had to find a heavy duty chair that can support my extra weight. I will never be 100% again. But I can lose a bit of weight and walk to the docks with my cane and enjoy some time out of the apartment. My biggest issue is of course my diet, I am feast and famish. I go days without eating and then when I got money or something I eat like a pig. Which I was told by a nurse that that is worse than consistently overeating because my body isn't prepared to process the food I eat when I eat it. I might try to figure a way to make portioned meals. Ruby has been on me to get more vegetables and grains in our diet and eat more well rounded. Anyway, my brain is going too fast to focus on much today. So I have stayed off social media mostly. It is what it is.

[blubushie]

How did you get into Tf2

and when did you start writing in general (like I don’t mean literally) ?

Morning Vykko!

How did you get into TF2?

I've always been aware of it and have seen memes and shit (come on I'm a gamer of course I knew TF2 was a thing) but I never actually got into it until I went bush. My first month I lose a tyre so I cross the Paroo-Darling on a fucking spare and end up going to Sydney because there's a branch of the company I bought Matilda from there and they'll cover any replacements within 3 months of purchase. While I'm there and they're replacing my tyre and doing a free rotate (because Matilda is old) I decide to get rinsed so I ask around the locals (I am NOT from Sydney) and they tell me to go to Scruffy Murphy's of all places (having a lend of the tourist) so I go there without knowing that it was a total dive. I'm not here for a Scruffy Murphy's review but it was one of those pubs that's so bad you'd go back because it really lends to that 60s-70s roughhouse dive aesthetic.

I saw a pubfight break out, it was great. Outside of one pub in California (to which I arrived only at the very end) this was my first witness to a pubfight. I'm sitting there drinking an old fashioned and watching the chaos. At one point a bloke called me a seppo which is the first time I've ever been called that to my face. I threw a peanut at him.

Anyway I get there and I'm eating my too-cooked steak (I like mine rare, no drama, rather them serve overcooked food than undercooked food and I was starving so I'm not complaining) and this licked twink waltzes up to me, introduces himself as Lozza "and don't call me Laurence," and starts trying to chat me up. He's yabbering away and I'm just kinda nodding along because I don't know how to tell someone to piss off apparently. He ends up buying me another old fashioned, I feel bad so then it's my shout and I get him a screwdriver, we go back and forth and four cocktails later I'm feeling enough to actually start talking so when he asks me for my life story I indulge him.

And this nerdy little cunt goes, "So your parents don't like what you do for work, huh?"

To which I say "No," because it's true, and after this I'd learnt that if you clink your glass on the counter or table usually it's a cue to fuck off. I didn't know this at the time obviously or I definitely would've used it.

"And you got some issues with feeling true blue, huh?"

He's starting to do that thing where people pick apart your brain. I can tell by the way he's looking at me because he's giving me that therapist look that only therapists give you. "I'm an Aussie," I told him, with no hint of an Australian accent, "It's just that other people don't always think I'm an Aussie."

"And you live in a van, huh?" I probably shouldn't have told him about the van part because now I'm getting nervous. It's setting off alarm bells. I'm much more careful these days.

"I--yeah, now I do."

"You play video games, mate?" Oh God. Oh shit. Do I tell him I used to be addicted and that for a good two or three years as a teen I was basically living just to play video games because I had nothing else to stick around for? Bugger me.

"I, uh--I used to play a lot of Halo--"

"YOU EVER HEAR OF TF2?"

And this cunt goes on an hour-long spiel about the lore and who everyone is and we ended the night with him showing me the Meet the Team videos, and he's telling me, "Mate, mate, listen mate," he says mate a lot more when he's drunk, "You're like Sniper mate, you're just like Sniper."

And at first I was like "Get fucked, that's dumb."

Anyway a year later I'm on YouTube watching some video about different skinning methods for pigs (I usually use a rack but sometimes I'm out in the bush without a rack, I'm getting off track) and in my recommendations I see Meet the Scout and think "Fuck it" and watch that. I watch all of them (immediately like Sniper because we're very much the same. I also maintain a mantra of polite, professional, James Mattis) and then I find out there's comics so I go down a rabbit hole of reading all of those in one night and the autism hyperfixation has done the rest.

Unfortunately Lozza will probably never read the fic because he ships SniperSpy and not SniperScout but this one's for you mate, you carpal tunnel-inducing bastard.

When did you start writing in general?

I've always loved telling stories but I first started writing as a hobby when I was around 12 and I was terrible. It was personal short stories and no one knew I did it except for my English teacher through writing assignments. At 16 I hit a major roadblock called life and I stopped writing for a few years. In that time the most I did was journaling for my own sanity. TF2 is what brought me back and made me remember my love of writing (coincidentally this is also why the first 4 chapters of the fic are terrible, because I wrote them two years ago then stopped writing for a year and then returned with a vengeance in chapter 5 with a mantra of "No wukkas to word count, write for yourself and not for your reader.")

#blu whos #tf2

[piers-official]

How did you guys meet your starters?

M: Well, I found Knives out by Hammerlocke Hills with my sister! Lil bastard ran out at me from the tall grass, and had the balls to attack me, so I KNEW I had to make him my partner!

R: Well, I decided I wanted t'be a gym trainer, but my family only had toxels about, and the league told me I had to have a dark-type on my team. So, I told myself "First dark-type we run inta, tha's gonna be your partner." Then Lo an' behold, a scruffy lil Nickit jumped outta the tall grass, and Diamond's been with me ever since!

T: I just thought skorupis were the cutest lil buggers, so I decided to make one my first partner. Sir Snips has been my best mate since as long as I can remember. I still remmeber- *sniff*- when he was jus' a tiny thing... an' he's still adorable even today- *sniffle*

M: Aright big guy, le's not turn on the waterworks right now (Yeesh).

#answered asks #team yell answers #ty missy #ty rosie #ty tank #pkmn rp #pkmn irl

[eggman-enterprises]

CONFESS 🤡 THE HOOLIGANS

Untitled Confessions 🤡 Confession about an embarrassing moment that happened to receiver's muse.

"I'm...not confessing to any--"

"Didja know that Fang sleeps with his gun like a plushie?"

"Cuddles it reeeal close like a stuffed toy!"

"H-hey! I'm... just bein' cautious! With as many enemies as I got, y'never know who'll bust down the door!"

"He calls it Summer Darla and can't get to sleep without it-- sorry her!"

"It's not embarrassin'! Back me up here, scruffy, it's totally normal!"

Bark waggles his hand noncommitally.

"Ahh, bugger to both of ya."

#ic #fang the hunter #bean the dynamite #bark the polar bear #meme response #championofdarkland

[ollierachnid]

A quick Blake, as ever I love his season four look. Scruffy bugger

#pretzel's art #blake's 7 #roj blake #b7 #i wanted a new twitter icon so it ended up being him

[bxynjolf]

ALSO ❝ i’m not scared . i’m scared for you . ❞

(this turned into a drabble, rip) // @ulfhrafnx

He’d done his best to survive—for her, for Delvin, Shor’s Beard—for the whole lot of the scruffy bastards that made up their motley crew. He’d bled for them before. He’d gladly do it again too. Time and time, Brynjolf had spurned safety for the chase of good coin, good coin that’d keep their bellies full and their pockets lined enough for a taste of mead here and there. He’d taken the bile of Mercer’s betrayal with bitter grace plus its consequences. He’d turned his blade on one of his own, the most loyal Karliah, under perversive magic and deceit. In those tunnels, he’d bled, wept, and sweated out some of the very worst moments of his life for those were his consequences, his rewards, his LIFE he would chase. 

Yet, those dreadful hours were not his worst nor the worst he’d suffered. 

There’d been bouts of starvation so cutting he’d thought his own stomach had ripped itself apart. There’d been cuts down to the bone, lockpicks so haphazardly pushed they’d splintered and pierced now well-calloused fingers, and guardsmen whose blows had left behind battered flesh that’d taken weeks to fade. The worst, though, he’d recall was his very first shanking. It’d been by a nasty little slash. Not too deep. Not too shallow. Done by the hand of a razzled beggar he may or may not have had a falling out over some potentially misplaced Septims. Truth be told, he thought little of it then. Those following days, however, he soon realized his error. 

A fever broke over him soon after. Thoughts turned hazy, cloying, suffocating from delirium. His throat, parched from wheezing coughs and gasping breaths, made eating all but impossible. He’d withered. Unable to move from the measly cot he’d collapsed upon, time trickled on. Eventually, hands would come to relieve the pain. Whose, he’d never know, but they swept over him, tipped a sour serum to cracked lips, and let the remedy purge that ailment. Those same hands had rinsed his hair, taken away soiled linen, and even spoon fed him tasteless mash. He’d once thought Gallus, but truly, it very well could have been that old bugger Delvin. Lad always had a knack for popping in when needed most. 

But not now. This one moment that drudged into hours now dredged well into the second day of whatever this affliction was. There was no such care here. No kind, calloused touch to relieve this. It’d been no scrap of metal to cause this either. In its place, there had been nails—garish yet simple in their talon-like origin–that had raked across his chest upon his struggle. Blood, his and that vile creature’s, soaked through padded leathers. She’d been a pretty hen, the slag who’d done it. All sunny hair and snowy features. There’d been something in those sharp eyes that’d unnerved him ever since he’d caught her prying glance. He knew the look. It’d been no daring hunger for a romp in the hay…..it was primal, savage. Brynjolf rarely felt a twinge of apprehension, but that second she’d flashed him a coy smile, his own roguish grin had disappeared. She’d lifted a hand. She’d called him over, he thought, or at the very least beckoned him close—but he’d held fast against the churning urge to follow. He’d never lain with the lass before, let alone ever even recall such a fine face, and his intuition pricked him the wrong way about it. Besides, he’d long since halted other affairs since he’d met his lovely. Aye, she was the sapphire that outshined the rest. Why settle for shells when one possessed a diamond far fairer, no? 

He’d left the Bannered Mare swiftly, donning his hood and slipping into the night without so much as a smirk towards the odd woman. The stars were hidden. A vast, dark sky had been shrouded by a thick layer of clouds, leaving not even a trail of moonlight to illuminate his path. Not that he’d need it, of course. A Nord trained in the shadows needed no light. He’d resigned himself to simply breaking into Lira’s rather than cause mischief elsewhere. Oh, how he adored her company when she was a wee bit riled. Besides, what did a better job of that than a huffy guardsman puffing about the dignity of Whiterun? Suppose he could drop a stick in her covers again—

When he’d been struck, the swiftness was disorientating. There’d been no telltale rush of breath like when a human lunged for an attack. No footsteps had padded along after him. No cry or insult or demand of his satchel had pre-empted the assault either. In only a blink of an eye, he found himself spinning on his heel, one hand reflexively clutching at the torn plate of his armor as the other grasped the hilt of his sword. 

It was blank after that….or was it? There’d been motion, movement.

His legs had moved. There’d been three steps, no…more? There was a disorientating haze of memories after she’d crooned something, a saccharine smile dripping with poisonous intent. There’d been that feeling again. It was that perverse, nauseating pull of magic he loathed so much all over again. Like with Mercer. Like with that damn key. Yet, it was warm, welcoming, an embrace by the fire at the end of a wintry stroll, unlike that betrayal so long ago.

Brynjolf blinked, his vision swimming with some muddled clarity. He was here. He’d gotten here….a cavern? Something, no, the stonework was too well-cut. A chamber of sorts, somewhere under somewhere. Others had apparently fallen before him. Evidence of such was littered all about the dingy space. Crusted with red viscera, empty cages were propped open along the East wall. Close was a coffin where a few more bodies rested. Those fallen lay rotting, faceless and forgotten, drained and battered, only a handful of feet away. Perhaps he was next. No, she’d whispered, not you, not if you’re strong.….time…sometime back. 

Back. 

She was here. 

Her words were beyond him, for he’d been somewhere between consciousness, but they’d imprinted a feeling of longing, of fear, of confusion. A craving was writhing within him, a thirst that water seemed unable to quench and a fever that only seemed to worsen in her capricious absence. Soft fingertips had grazed along his jaw, a palm cupped his cheek, and more words were seeping into his skull. There was a desire, a need. Repulsion, HIS repulsion met the creature’s—Kolfinna’s—heady promises, her demands. 

  There’d been noise above him suddenly. Those charming crimson eyes narrowed at the interruption, and quickly, she was gone again. Alone. There was thudding of boots and scraping of furniture that echoed deep, but he dare not scream. He couldn’t….or shouldn’t? The razor’s edge that had lodged itself in his throat spurned a series of hacking coughs whenever he attempted even a word. She’d also hate it, wouldn’t she? Naw, it matter not what a saber of a wench had to pipe on about his self. The fog was lifting, and fastly, the ferocity that had dimmed under the churning pull of sickness and pain was returning. More footsteps, a few pairs, in fact. His vision was swimming, fading fast, but he steeled himself. 

Another scream sounded somewhere above. As the door to the upstairs slammed open with a wail, he heard that thing’s—Kolfinna’s— cry that no she needed him—

He shrugged off the nagging itch to come. Wasn’t even certain he could move had he even the desire to trudge up to the wicked slag. The footsteps following were fast, desperate, and heavy….too heavy. 

His head slumped back, eyes closing as he gritted out another breath. He’d not been able to see much anyway. Truly. All he had was his ears, ears which would never betray his senses. Another shaky breath tore through him. Every agonizing second was searing to him, every moment so acutely overwhelming in its sensitivity. He thought himself feverish, for sure, as it was so akin to that time he’d been a novice footpad, bedridden by that wee shiv. But, still, he was cold, a bone-chilling shiver having settled upon him. 

  In the chaos unfolding above, more pitter-patter. Swords clanged, voices unknown were…howling? The room remained drenched in fluttering darkness. The single source of illumination, a feeble flickering of a dying candle, only allowed him to see several other limp forms, a smattering of sparse torture instruments and coffins, and a curving hall that led  away. 

A blink. Those heavy steps were nearer, another cry. A man, ragged and fierce, barked out, signaling to others—friends, not foe, he hoped—that bodies were here. Bodies, Brynjolf noted mutely, not survivors. It was a familiar voice that sounded, a gravelling one he’d taken so much bitter grievance before yet now? 

❝Wait….there’s one! I’m here to help—By the Gods, Brynjolf…?❞ 

A wary smile graced the thief’s features at the recognition. Shaky hands raised just shy off the blood-soaked leathers, a gesture of mock-surrender he’d done before the pup time and time again. Tired eyes fluttered open to meet Farkas’ own worry stricken features. Now, there was a sight. Often the two exchanged little more than guised threats, mocking jests, and the occasional 'playful' jab that left his ribs aching for days after.

❝Aye….,❞ Brynjolf croaked, a cough interrupting him, ❝....dog?❞ 

Not even a flicker of annoyance. Only fear, fear for him, Brynjolf realized. It was worthy to note that the bulking sack of bricks’ hands never left his bastard sword. Not even for a moment. Farkas jerked back, perhaps to call for his love, but he need not worry. There she stood already by yon the other mortar-skulled twin. Malachite eyes were glittering so bright, lips parted in horror. There it was again…..fear. All wide eyes and whatnot. Fear of what, he dare not think—he couldn’t. No, not him. Not now. He’d muttered, near incomprehensible, for her to not fear. The muddling waters of his mind made little sense, and amidst that disorientating confusion, was an unfamiliar, edged hunger. With it, came rage. A terrifying, bubbling rage. Why? For what animosity coiled in his belly…..for what anger could drive him to consider, upon glancing at the fresh body not too far, to….? 

❝ I’m not scared. I’m scared for you . ❞

Her voice rang out sharp, grounding him. It was falling into place now. The dawning horror of what was coming onto him, the nature of this accursed infection. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, Brynjolf felt a terror beyond him. 

❝Ach, my love….❞ Once again, his eyes closed. A coward, he was. He could not dare meet her gaze as he admitted, a choking, bitter laugh wheezing through, ❝....me too.❞

#(. #okay i love to imagine that #farkas and bryn likely started off on less than amicable terms #partially because bryn who spends little to no time around the companions because they might arrest him #he genuinely confuses vilkas and farkas #and the real twin he gets annoyed by is vilkas and the only grief he has with farkas is that the dude is built like a brickhouse #and bryn could NEVER #but anyways they warm up eventually #sort of #either way i hope this NOVEL is okay <3 #.) #ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. | (ɪᴄ) #ulfhrafnx

[bobbinacrosstheequator]

March 22, 2023 (morning) Isabela

Rise and shine at 5:30 AM once again for 6:00 coffee. Well, takes a few minutes to shine, even after a solid night’s sleep. When dawn broke, we found ourselves in a lovely cove, steep hills on all three sides, with graffiti on some of the rocks carved by early visitors, and more recent painted graffiti. Needless to say, any new markings are prohibited by the park! Our pre-breakfast outing was a (dry landing) hike, first up stairs and then onward to successively gorgeous viewing points of Darwin Lake and the sea beyond. The park decided that Darwin’s visit to the Galápagos Islands in his ship, the Beagle, and his significant contributions to science from his study of island biology warranted naming quite a few places in his honor. The path was dirt, rock formed from ash, and at top (400 ft up) we had a 360 degree view of a couple of volcanos, the sea, a lava field and other areas with scruffy trees. The exercise felt good but with only a few hints of a breeze and loads of humidity from the rain last night, we were drenched at the end! Ahhhh, the views were well worth it!

Breakfast was ready for us on the back deck. Corn empanadas plus all the usual fruit, cheese, eggs, bread, bacon…We got an hour to relax or nap before taking off for kayacking. Jill is seasoned from the Potomac, Seb a novice. Off we all went in a single panga with the kayaks strung together dragging behind. Two-by-two, we loaded into the kayaks and went around Tagus Cove. It was a novel perspective, watching the crabs at their level, a few penguins and cormorants, pelicans, blue footed boobies, and we even spotted a chocolate chip starfish out of the water and a big orange starfish underwater. At one point, a mama cormorant feeding an eel to her baby (regurgitating into the baby’s mouth) looked like they were having a fight. The baby rejected the eel and it dropped back into the water. So much for breakfast. Above on the rocks, two courting cormorants squalking at each other and dancing around. All in all, a very nice ride.

After a quick attire change back on the Passion, again we headed off on the pangas for snorkeling. The water seemed colder than it had been. One turtle out a bit from the shore was fun to follow for a bit as he swam away. We saw a couple different kinds of jelly fish which were fascinating to look at, and a real treat was seeing a cormorant and later a penguin swim underneath us – man, they’re fast little buggers!

Back on board with mint tea as our greeting, we got out of our wet attire (so we had some hope of it drying for the afternoon activities ) and had lunch on the top deck. Spinach soup (with popcorn) to start and then a wonderfully presented full grouper (seriously delicious) were accompanied by some sort of squash-like thing, lentils and rice. Major kudos to Christina for jumping in to serve everyone the fish. We were stunned when Julian asked for the grouper’s eye. Good grief – hard to imagine being that adventurous an eater at 12(ish). An hour and a half to blog and nap….

[voidflower]

that one post got me thinking about pillow princess ed, a topic near and dear to my heart, and i typed the following directly into the chat box with my bestie. i now present it to you completely unedited becase i have to get ready for work but i need to share. SO. have a very scruffy fic idea.

im just thinkin. okay so blackbonnet havr been fuckin for a Bit but they still havent got all the kinks (heheh) worked out

and ed has settled ecstatically into fuckin with the first partner he's ever had who doesnt expect and demand him to do all the fuckin work and be scary about it while he's at it. he is Thriving. stede is insane and bossy and feral and ed sometimes thinks about it and only barely restrains himself from giggling in front of the crew.

wait. why is he holding back? can a man not giggle while thinking of his boyfriend railing him? he's fuckin blackbeard, fuck that! it's not like anyone on this crew would give him shit, anyway.

MEANWHILE. stede is Perishing. because he is convinced he is very very bad at sex because why else would ed be just... *laying* there!!

ed is clearly enjoying Just Laying There but stede cant see that cause he got Trauma

and all he can think of his mary at the conception of their children, tight lipped and absent in spirit if not body. it's not like stede had been really in the room either. and he'd tried to be gentle, to keep from hurting her, to not be... cruel about his husbandly obligations. and mary hadn't complained, just grimly acquiesced to the demand for bonnet heirs from their parents.

she'd just. lain there. every time she tried to participate (already not very often; he got the sense she had been rather ashamed of wanting to. er. participate at all) it had just made it exponentially harder for stede to. do his job, as it were. rather the opposite of harder, in fact.

so his traumabrain is Convinced (tm) that he's making no better of a showing at sodomy than he had at husbandry and ed is just being kind about his utter inadequacy in every regard and--

being stede, he is not one to let crippling self-doubt stop him from charging full-bore into the damn thing. no, he's one to let crippling self-doubt sabotage things he's already started in a fit of divine audacity.

he is NOT going to do that this time! he is learning! he is adapting! he actually verbally expresses his feelings on occasion! olu had asked if he was doing alright the other day while glancing at ed and stede hadn't even said no! he had, in fact, said, "oh, you know. the usual stressors in a new relationship. nothing that can't be mended!"

and olu had looked dubious but had said, "well. alright, then. if you've got it handled." and was that... respect? something close, at least? wow!

and then olu had hesitated and added, "i wouldn't pry, you know, but your relationship with the captain is kind of a security risk factor around here, so. we thought maybe we should check up on things."

that had prickled at stede a little. "edward and i just fine, thank you! a little trust would be appreciated, you know." ed wasn't some kind of steel trap ready to spring closed at the slightest wrong touch. he was a kind, lovely, understanding man who layed there all limp like a doll while stede buggered him and it was still the best sex stede had had by orders of magnitude.

"...sure, captain, but.... you get marooned once, yanno. it can be kind of hard to trust again."

stede had deflated at that, thinking of ed all alone all night on a dock, alone, alone, gradually realized he'd been... stede had abandoned him. how stede knows ed loves him but isn't really sure just yet if ed *trusts* him anymore. maybe he's so wounded by stede's abandonment that he doesn't feel like he can speak up when he hates everything stede is doing to and in his beautiful, beloved body!

oluwande had sighed. "talk to him, captain."

"...you're right, you're right. i will."

stede is going to. he is going to bring it up. he is going to start a difficult conversation with his partner, ON PURPOSE. he's abandoned the aristocracy, so there's no call continuing to dance around every issue like it will disappear if looked at in the light!

he's going to be more like ed, who just says things when he's upset, even when it's visibly difficult for him because he is courageous and strong-hearted--

(at no point does stede make the leap to 'and therefore if ed had a problem with the sex we were having he, unlike me, would actually say something.' empathy machine out of service)

anyway uh fuck theres a plot probably? some kind of plot? they work it out and then theres smut with pillow princess ed the end

#ofmd #if there are typos in this please just accept them as flavoring

[elkenbulwark]

Rhys hates the smell of blood. He even finds the aroma considerably more repulsive whenever he transforms into a wolf. His lungs boil, and he feels as though a thousand daggers are ripping through him and leaking his guts all over the place. It conjures up images of the horrific night his family perished—a mound of mutilated bodies covered in snow. He will never forget the sight, and nearly every night he is haunted by a nightmare. The wolf just knows that there are fresh corpses around. The beast is driven insane with horror and revulsion by the thought of someone hauling human parts throughout the woods.

Rhys makes the decision to pursue the smell until he locates its source. The wolf is positive that the half-orc, who looks to be sitting close to a bonfire, is the source of the foul smell—that is, his rucksack. The animal would normally be more cautious and less inclined to draw conclusions, but in this particular situation, he can't help but growl as he approaches the stranger. His intentions are obvious; he is ready to assault his opponent at the first sign of aggression because he is blinded by pure hatred.

Where the body parts had once served those who had perished along the road by ever-roving bandits- wolves even, they now served another. Better to be wrangled from the debris of collapsed and half-burnt wagons and toted along at his side where they'd see a bit more action than to just lie rotting in the dirt. Perhaps he was just denying some scavenger an easy meal by his actions, but Birvor didn't believe in easy meals. Everything had was hard earned or hardly earned, and the subtle ache in his lower back that flared up on occasion always reminded him of that whenever he began to think otherwise. Although the spare limbs had their uses in battle, he also enjoyed the fact the growing stench of his bag had all but forced the rest of the camp into their tents and allowed him first if not most of the night watch as nobody wanted to emerge later when the sour scent of rot had time to heat up by the fireside.

His eyes had been mostly trained towards the tent he and Ren stored their things, wondering briefly if the other had snuck out the back to piss him off as usual when the growl from behind bid him rise and turn halfway towards the encroaching night, a palm already pressed to the handle of the great axe on his back. When the wolf came into view, and a rather large one at that- he scoffed, figuring it was a lot more interested in the growing smell than hoping to drag one of his companions out of the camp by their ankles. Just to be sure, he let his hand drift away from the handle in favor of signaling a small spark with the snap of his fingers. "Loqui ut tibi placet-" He grumbled, not exactly in the mood to get into another argument with the damn wildlife, but it was slowly becoming a thing for him...an annoying thing that never failed to disappoint.

"What's your deal then, Scruffy? Lookin' for table scraps, are ya now?" Squeezing his hips briefly, he gives an annoyed shake of his head before reaching down into the knapsack at his side. A bloody hand emerged clasped in his as if he were going to pull Gale out of the bag like he had that rock from earlier, but instead of a wizard at the end of the grip- there was only an arm severed at the elbow with a distinctive moon pattern tattooed along the wrist. "Right, here's a prize fer your snoopin'. Now-" With a harder chuck than he meant, the arm flew towards the wolf at a speed that might bop it in the snout if it didn't recoil fast enough. "-be a good fleabag and bugger off, wouldja?"

#//8') ...whelp- #enrhysmion #//somebodys gettin mauled-

[gracehideout]

There is a duality of forces that take shape

a complex web of how I am perceived

and how I perceive myself

How I feel

and what I actually am

take this photo for example

the girl in this photo sews her own dresses

she wears wisdom like a shawl around her neck

She could wear heels if she wanted to but

what's the point of being in pain for no reason

Take the girl behind the stove, however

with rough hands, burn scars, dry skin, lost

fighting the urge to ask the scruffy dishwasher kid

for a joint

who is that girl?

Part of an old life

She is supposed to die

along with the young man she once knew

herself to be

they all must die

that's the story Jesus tells, isn't it?

They all must rebel and fight for their right

to exist

just to lose

and be lost

whoever saves his life

shall lose it

but whoever loses his life

for my sake

shall find it

I wish I didn't have to kill them

I wish I could go in their place

save the bits of darkness that make them

but I must cross my legs in surrender

say the prayer that will

Turn them into coins that will be sold

to receive the light

I suppose it was worth the cost

but I'll miss the jingle in my pocket

They don't like it when I talk like that

Some things we're just not supposed to say

You're doing it wrong

they'll tell you

No

I"m just wrong

I'd rather eat the pig shit

under my fingernails

than live without her

than have to look myself in the mirror and feel beautiful

only to be thwarted again

the jig is up

you bugger you

rebellion is your

downfall.

[crashtestjeffy]

I feel like hell today. So I am glad it's almost over. Weirdest moment. Even with Daylight Savings my cat knew when it was 7 PM and time for his supper. Who gave the scruffy little bugger a watch?

[fuckyeahcoyotes]

Roy DeLonga

#scruffy bugger #coyote #animals #canines

[duskjungaladoodles]

Baby paint for Scuffy please

Barely hatched out of his egg, and he’s already in that possessive phase toddlers have...They grow up so fast, i guess..? -w-;

@brokenzero25

Original art meme by @simonsweetsays ! This was a fun one to do!! X3

#art #drawing #iillustration #digital #medibang #dusky doodles #OC #scruffy #gremlin #neopets paintbrush ask meme #brokenzero25 #simonsweetsays #baby paint brush #and yes i interpret gremlins to lay eggs #like i interpret the babies to look like angry little sphinx kittens #a greedy little bugger when he was just hatched but hey he learns quick

[ageofevermore]

Daddy’s Girl

summary → and since the day she was born she’s been his biggest fan. or, your daughter is a daddy’s girl and tom’s sick 

word count → 1k

add yourself to my taglist

Tom’s got his arm thrown around your waist, forehead pressed into your bicep miserably. He’s burning up. The baby’s been sick for the better half of a week, and just as she’s started to feel better, Tom’s come down with her icky cold. 

You put her down for a nap nearly an hour ago, cuddled into your boyfriend's arms ever since. He's been in bed all day, his absence noticeably taking a toll on the little one sleeping down the hall. It’s a miracle you even got her down without him humming her a tune. 

“Feelin’ any better yet, love?” You asked, brushing your fingers through his sweaty locks. He shook his head miserably against your bicep, puckering his lips to leave kisses along your skin. “You don’t feel as hot.”

Tom moans against you, crossing his arms over his bare chest and tucking his fingers against his sides. You frown. The house is a disaster, and there's so much work you can be catching up on during Sophia’s nap, but you don’t want to leave Tom’s side. 

You just lay with him for a while, tracing patterns up his back and listening to his breathing. He’s congested, but he’s nowhere near as bad as your baby had been. The trashcan by his bedside is filled with tissues and water bottles, and you're thankful that you don’t have to worry about him replenishing the fluids his body is rejecting every few hours. 

“How’s she been?” Tom asks sleepily, breaking the silence he had been basking in. Your back tickles and head scratches are lulling him to sleep, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want that. 

“She’s been a little bugger. Misses you, asks for you every time I put her down. She’s feelin’ a bit clingy today, think she’s still fighting off the fever, s’got a runny nose. Feel like I’m changing her nappy every seven minutes, too.” You ramble softly, knowing if you’d left out a single thing and let the details slip later, Tom would be less than pleased. 

He liked hearing about how Sophia was, how you were handling everything, if you needed any help. You just felt bad because you knew he would want to help out, but what he should be focused on is resting up. He’s overrun with filming in the next few weeks, though you’ve had no luck at assuring him that you can handle the baby alone for a day while he recovers.

“Asking for me?” The colour of his eyes seem to melt as he tilts his chin up to meet your gaze. It’s the same shade of doe-like chocolate your daughter owns, and the similarity has your heart pounding. 

“It’s the only word she knows.” You taunt, running your finger along the length of his nose with a fond and sleepy grin yourself, “We’re working on mama though.” 

Tom smiles, craning his neck upwards to brush his lips against yours. You scold him, pushing him back down towards the mattress and insisting he doesn’t hurt himself more. He can’t afford to have pulled muscles on set. 

“She’s a fucking Daddy’s girl, that’s for damn sure though.” You inform him of a fact he already knows. The both of you know it, and have since she was barely three weeks old. 

Tom’s always been the one to get her back to sleep at ungodly hours of the morning. Tom’s the one she reaches for when she’s frustrated or just wants a cuddle. Tom was the first person she smiled at, and laughed at. And, god forbid he has to leave before she’s ready to say goodbye, it’s waterworks for hours. It makes you happy to see just how much she loves her Daddy, because you know that Tom loves her so much more than she could ever understand or express. 

You look to your left, watching Sophia rustle around her crib. She’s pulling herself up, something that always makes you nervous, and slapping against the wood. She’s an impatient thing, just like her Daddy. You brush your fingers across Tom’s cheek one more time before pulling yourself from the bed, advancing towards the door. 

“I’ll be in to check on you, okay? Give me a shout if you need something, yeah?” 

Tom’s looking at you with nothing but deeply felt admiration. “Bring her in here for a bit? I’ve got her, why don’t you take a bath, love?” 

“You need to rest.” You reminded him, laughing when your baby continuously got louder in her whining and whimpering to be collected. “I’ve got her covered today.” 

“Love.” He tries, but you’re already out the door and yelling for him to get some sleep. 

You crack a smile when you push open the nursery door, not taking to heart your daughters pouty lips and immediate question for Tom. You lifted you up from the crib and onto your hip, brushing thin strands of brown hair from her forehead. 

“Dada’s sick, love. We’ll see him tomorrow when he’s all better.” You lay her down on the change table, though before you can make any moves Tom’s arms are snaking around your waist and he’s kissing your neck so sweetly you’re sure it’s meant to be an apology. “Or right now, I guess.” 

You finish up with the sticky tabs, and zip the onesie into place before sitting Sophia up and handing her to Tom. You hadn’t seen her smile so widely all day. Your annoyance towards your boyfriend melting away at the sight and sound of sweet kisses being pressed to Sophia’s cheeks and nose, her gleeful giggling following. 

“Told you to rest.” You mused, laughing when Tom leaned closer and brushed his lips against yours affectionately. Sophia huffed, trying to replicate the act of kisses on Tom’s scruffy cheek.

“You take her all the time when you’re sick, love. Only fair.” He responded, turning his head to press kisses into Sophia’s neck, dipping his torso and cradling her head as he made her giggle madly. 

“Such a fucking Daddy’s girl.”

#tom holland #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #dad!tom #tom holland x reader #boyfriend!tom #dad!tom holland #tom holland angst #tom holland x you