Hello! I'm Sirbonesly, but you can call me Victor, Bonesly, Bones, pup, whatever you want!
I'm 20 years old, in college with a full time job, and I like to write. I also watch Formula 1 (let's go Carlos and Hülkenburg) and I'm in a whole bunch of fandoms
My writing blog is @boner-thoughts so make sure to check that out for my writing. This blog is my og, and it's basically a dump blog for everything I like. My writing blog will be a secluded area for only writing.
i have noticed you don't write much about nurse reader or well medical stuff in your fics .. is there a reason behind this ? [ like are you too tired from your job and don't want to bring it here-] or i didn't scroll enough 🤔
I just genuinely can not think of anything less sexy than being a nurse 😭
Back’s aching, heads pounding, ankles swollen, bottom of my feet are throbbing. I’ve got no less than three mysterious body fluids on my scrubs, stomach growling, hair greasy and a mess, makeup already sweated off my face halfway through my shift, I have to pee and can’t because someone else needs something, I’ve got eight things going on that need my attention at the same time that’s all time sensitive and sometimes critical to keeping someone alive, a patient yelled at me, a family member yelled at me, someone cried on me, and I can’t find the fucking doctor-
Anyway, the point is I can’t find something so mentally and physically draining sexy anymore :(
Okay I JUST realized I never posted these on here—- BUT BASICALLY, about a year and a half ago I started doing these experimental black hairstyle posts that were threads long on Twitter, to give artists a source of inspo for their black ocs whose hair they wanted to try something new with! There’s more to black hair than just the selected styles portrayed in media, and I thought it would be fun to show people how much texture, shape, fades, length, and style can be combined when drawing black hair—-cause it’s a kind of manipulation our hair can do irl! The OG thread from when I made these a year ago were lost with the hacking of my original Twitter account (@/bagels_donuts) but I’ve since reuploaded the whole thread to my new Twitter (@/ItsDonutsFR)! I hope artists on tumblr find these useful, sorry it took me so long to post them here😭🙏🏾 I’ll upload them all in parts!
Part 1: Long masc hairstyles + playing with fades
💬 2 🔁 715 ❤️ 1008 · Part 2: shape, style, and length with femme styles!
Idk like I think there's a really misogynist way that women are expected to consider being murdered and assaulted as like 1000x worse than anything else that could happen and do everything possible to avoid it and like it's unarguably bad! But constantly whenever I mention going hiking or whatever people are like 'omg you're going camping alone as a woman??? what if you get murdered?????' Actually by far the way I am most likely to die doing that is... some sleep deprived or drunk driver crashing into me on the way there! But no one tells you to avoid driving, meanwhile there's so much pressure on women to like, always stay in other crowded super safe areas or at home to Protect Their Virtue and it's like lol I would actually rather live an interesting life doing things that I enjoy
It does actually make women more vulnerable to the type of crime they are the main victims of.
Remember the whole "my husband is a cop so he can't relax when we eat out, but at least we're surviving dinner" trend? It obviously speaks to. A very insulated and individualistic view of society that is deeply USAian, but it also plays into this.
Being scared of every man, trans woman, person of color, migrants and homeless people is the first step of needing a "strong powerful protective man" to defend you from this dangerous world. And guess what kind of man looks for women like that? Cops, misogynists, traditionalists: all characteristics that make it easy to become domestic abusers.
Be scared of the black man across the street, and the lady in your public toilet, and that man trying to survive in the heat by being shirtless near his tent. Be scared and run into the arms of someone that will beat you to death when his football team loses.
okay then get the fuck out of MY tiktok comments?? under an edit of robby fucking suffering?? you stupid bitch??? what a genuine fucking dickhead quickest block of my life I'm gonna blow tiktok up like you no empathy nasty bitch if ur gonna be an idiot asshat at least do it in the privacy of your own mind like fuck off
Loved the last episode of the second season with Carter missing his own graduation to keep his little liver transplant patient company.
She is so animated because i choose to believe this is after the transplant shenanigans😌 (Also added med school Jack because i could) #JohnCarter #ER #JackkAbbot
this takes place early in zuko’s reign while he’s still trying to figure out what’s the person he needs to be for his people and sokka really goes there and says “they don’t need you do be anything but yourself”
oh god imagine Zuko's official painting being in front of the turtle duck pond, a place that is so serene and calm, that holds so many memories for him.
But he's not alone in the painting. Zuko is handing him bread, Suki is holding a turtle-duckling for Toph to pet, Aang and Katara are setting up a picnic near the other edge of the pond.
Zuko's painting, the thing that will define his memory to his descendants for decades to come, is one of friendship and peace. It's everything Zuko has ever wanted and has strived for, and now it's hanging in the same hall as the paintings of Ozai, Azulon, and Sozin, so different from them already.
this takes place early in zuko’s reign while he’s still trying to figure out what’s the person he needs to be for his people and sokka really goes there and says “they don’t need you do be anything but yourself”
i got carried away here you go :) sorry it took so long forgive me
I went with cg price bc thats My Thing i fear (romperinspo pics at the bottom)
(2.2k words + not proof/beta read its almost 1am)
Phillip can recall from a young age hating anything with bows or frills on him.
The itchy lace that was supposed to look nice always rubbing against his skin in the worst way possible, stupid little bows that made his hair feel weighed down and would always fall out at some point in the day, or those evil headbands that squeezed his brain to no end. All those fancy little outfits with the stockings that squeezed his legs and the cute shirts with the stupid collars on them that were always the worst material you could imagine. To this day, he cannot stand anything like that.
He stuck to loose t-shirts—that are most certainly not his—and a pair of comfy boxers. That, for a long time, has been his go-to for when he feels fuzzy. Something that wasn't constricting, kept him warm but not too hot, let him get all his little wiggles out, just something comfortable.
However, seeing softer, child-like clothing show up at their home pushed the smallest amount of hurt into his chest. Simon got swapped into a cute onesie set, Kyle got one of the softest pairs of flowy pajamas he's ever felt, Johnny got dinosaur themed overalls… But every time John asked what Phil might like, he never gave an answer, despite the bubbling feelings in his chest.
Graves never meant to leave the web page open. He was supposed to close his laptop before joining the others downstairs, and he was supposed to remember not to leave that downstairs at all. It simply slipped his mind when dinner turned into a mess of giggles, then a mess of food down his front and bath time for at least two of the regressors in their home.
The laptop only crosses his mind again after a couple of days, and the site has already been clicked out of anyway. His mind doesn't question that, or the history with an order confirmation and the several additional things put into the cart before that.
Whatever he had in the cart is forgotten as easily as the laptop had been in the first place. The soft toned one pieces, the romper that swore it was one-hundred percent cotton without those textures that drive him crazy. Only two or three things, but it totaled to over ninety in the cart, without shipping costs.
He wasn't going to buy that anyway—that amount of money doesn't get spent on himself, on a want—so the thought fades as the laptop closes and it gets settled in it's place on the shelf beneath the coffee tabletop. He's said plenty of times that he's okay with his choice of tiny-wear, his big shirts that are stolen out of various people's closets. If he needs anything, he and Kyle are about the same size. If not, him and Soap can share, it'll just be one size up than his usual. Not a big deal.
John, however, knows his little ones. The screen being left open gave him that one opportunity to see what Phil has been quietly looking at for god knows how long now. A small shop based somewhere in the country, with tons upon tons of clothes that fit Phillip's interests a little bit better, while still being for regressors like him. It's not Price's fault for adding a couple more things into that cart that were similar to what was already in there and buying what he slapped in there without a second thought—It's Phil's turn to get a little bit spoiled, like the rest of the boys do.
The package arrives quietly a few days later, with the shop name along the side of the parcel that John delicately hides until he can do laundry and wake up his little one up with an outfit he picked out himself from that shop.
A cute selection of five outfits, with some pieces that can get swapped out with others. All in soft tones, with a few parts that are darker than the typical regressor's outfits go. One a soft, sleeveless romper. It's light colored fabric decorated in prints of dandelions, with plenty of space for the difficult days Phil may need a pull-up. The sides where his hips rest have flap patterns, frills that don't touch and rub his skin in uncomfortable ways, the straps on the shoulders have something a little similar, but it's something the boy put in the cart himself and nothing that some fabric scissors and sewing can't fix.
The romper with matching creme colored socks, that's the outfit Price puts together for him and has all washed and ready for Phil by the time his weary eyes begin to open.
Half passed noon, Graves stirs in his crib. The familiar click of the baby monitor turning on no longer makes Phil jolt, but has him cooing sweetly at the little camera set up nearby once the green light appears. The blanket tugs up over his face as he stretches with a quiet hum.
Mostly asleep, warmth settles in his chest at John's voice coming through the baby monitor. Among the sounds of steps, he says a simple, gentle, "There's my boy."
His body wiggles underneath the covers before his eyes peek out of the bedding again. In a yawn, Phil only gets out a portion of mama before the door to the nursery opens. No tears this morning, no nightmares, just a sleepy red face looking up at John as a lamp turns on and he comes to the side of the crib.
"G'mornin', love." The caregiver hums down at Phil, opening the bars to the crib to settle in next to him and let the baby wake up steadily.
Phil's bleary blue eyes meet his, his head yet to lift up from the mattress. Unlike the other boys when they sleep here, sometime in the night the pillow in the crib gets kicked to the end of the bed.
"Mama…" He mumbles, uncoordinated fists rubbing at his eyes until John gently removes them. One kiss gets pressed to each hand, then another to Phillip's forehead when Price leans down to him. It pulls a smile and content gurgle from the boy.
"Cmere, Mama's gotcha." The captain grins, slowly peeling back the blankets. He hums soothingly when Phil shivers at the chill, only letting him stay cool for a moment before getting safely tucked into his arms and a blanket laid over him.
The boy rests his head in the crook of his caregiver's neck, sleepily breathing in the familiarity of a slow morning. His little smile remains on his lips, wiggling himself perfectly into Price's arms, right where he belongs. A slow hand brushes through the hair at the back of his neck, quiet hums letting him wake up without force.
The pair rests together, breathing becoming synced at some point. Sleepy eyes becoming more awake as the moments pass and his head moves to face outwards to the warmly lit nursery. A blanket fort from the other night is still set up on the other side of the room, the play mats covered with soft plushies—and the occasional toy car or lego that John will have to avoid stepping on like a minefield—from playing games. Nestled right up against John's chest, it feels perfectly at home.
Only once Phil's noticeably more aware, Price softly bounces him in his lap. The little one slightly pulls back to look up at him, his head tilted like a puppy. Blond hair strands falling in his face, long overdue for a haircut Phil also happens to refuse asking for, or agreeing to. Something about the buzzing and clipping sounds so close to his ears—John doesn't quite press on that issue. It's just hair after all.
"I got you somethin'," Price's hand rubs up and down his back, "if you're awake enough to see?"
Big blue eyes scan over his face, slowly blinking away his sleepiness and replacing it with curiosity relatively fast. That head tilt remains, just in a different direction and back again.
"I wanna see." His little voice speaks up, fists balled up and rested on the caregiver's chest. The tired red flush still over his cheeks, with little imprints from the sheet that John can see in the light now.
"Are you sure you're not too sleepy?" John grins, poking Phillip's ribs gently. More filled out than a big number of months ago when he'd stumbled to their door, softer along the right places that tell John he's well fed and happy, if that little smile didn't say that itself.
Phillip squeaks, his arms coming back to himself. Eyes widening further as his nose scrunches up at Price. "'m sure!" He huffs.
"Okay, if you're sure." The caregiver responds, giving a quick countdown from three to one, then lifting Graves from his lap, and into his arms while he stands. A soft grunt bellows in the captain's chest as the weight shifts in his arms, although Phil isn't particularly heavy, just because it earns a soft giggle from the boy in his arms.
In a few steady strides to the dresser, Phillip catches a look at the clothes laid out for him. His eyes sparkle as his hands tug at John's shirt.
"Mama! Mama!" He beams, wiggling like a pup in his arms.
"Now, I heard from a little birdie that you had a few things you were looking at… I don't know if I got the right ones, but I think-"
"You did!! Mama!" The boy interrupts, smile spread into a toothy grin. Warmth spreads through his chest, exploding in him and released in the only way his little mind can think of; tugging Price's shirt again and again.
"It's already washed and everything, bud, we just gotta get you into it, 'kay? Can Mama help with that?" Price bounces him.
At the quick nod, the caregiver sets Phillip atop the dresser. In the world record for changing a little one into clean clothes, it takes not even two minutes with Phil's rushed attempts to wiggle his way into the outfit. He only fought a little bit getting his toes into the matching socks, but that was the extent of it.
"Oh, look at you, bud." Price coos, helping Phil off the dresser and onto the floor to look at himself standing up.
Graves bounces on his heels, a slight, content sway to his movements. He runs his hands over the fabric of the romper. Not too tight or too loose anywhere, covers his legs like shorts or the boxers he likes, the little ruffles on the sides aren't uncomfortable, it's not in the way, and it's soft. Heavenly so.
"Do you like it, Phil?" He leans back against the sturdy dresser, watching his little one take a spin or two and look right back up at him.
"Uh-huh!" He wiggles again. All he's missing is a soft golden tail and he'd be the cutest puppy John had ever seen.
"So, you'd be happy if we got you a few more things?" John raises his eyebrows.
Phillip stills, eyes wide and sparkling. Surprise turning so unbelievably soft in an instant. Like mush in John's hands, Phil presses himself right back into the caregiver's arms.
"Mama..!" The boy sweetly looks at him, a light sheen of tears in his eyes that John wipes away as soon as they fall. He wouldn't spend his own money on himself for something when he's small, and every time they asked if he needed anything he always said no. Yet, they still got him more than this?
"I know, bub. You get spoiled too, 's me and Baba's present for you." John squishes his cheeks, arms wrapped around him right after wiping his eyes one more time.
"It- I didn'- but- I didn' ask…" His lip wobbles.
"I know, love. Look how cute you are, I couldn't help it." John smooths a hand over his head, settling the slightly greasy blond hair where it had been rustled from his sleep. He leaves a kiss on his hairline.
"Bu'- but-"
But he didn't ask. He didn't want to bother them or add to how expensive everything is—That fear, Phil can't track down or pinpoint to anything. It's merely a burning guilt, a concern that it was for nothing, that he didn't deserve the things he wanted.
Price hushes him, cupping the back of his head in his hand and holding him close. Slowly and steadily beginning to rock side to side with him tucked against his chest. Sometimes, it really is as easy as that to help Phil settle down.
Phil's breath stutters, his face nestled back into John's chest. Nodding slightly, he tucks his arms against himself. Against the soft fabric on his body that doesn't leave him itchy or squeeze him all wrong.
"We wanted to, love, it's worth it for you. All of you." He mumbles into his hair.
It's all worth it for you, always.
It's worth the mess the romper becomes too when Phil slips on the mud while playing outside with the others. Of course it is.
Little!Ghost has to wear a full onesie in his crib without blankets because he stops breathing in the middle of the night off and on and it terrifies Price to no end. he's gotta keep a camera on Simon to make sure he's still breathing and he cant see that with the covers on
Price puts one of those heart monitor watches on Simon, and he obviously watches it any time he's on a mission and has to leave Simon alone.
imagine the fear, the panic, that courses through Price's body when the app says the monitor can't detect signs of life. How Price must hit the emergency alert button a thousand times, but none of the signals go through when he's this deep in the forest in the middle of nowhere. Think of his desperation, how he rushes through the mission, ignores his own wounds in hopes of getting home quicker. How he lies in a pool of blood in some enemy compound, some of it his own, most of it not, hitting his own emergency alert button on the matching monitor on his wrist.
Think of the pain that zips through him when he finally boards the helicopter for evac, seeing the familiar face of his boy, registering it as real before he collapses, the toll too much for his body finally.
Don't think of Simon, who begged and pleaded and finally just snuck onto Nik's helicopter because he needs to see Mama. He had heard the alert on Nik's phone go off days ago, and has been so worried for Price since then. Don't think about his own terror at seeing Price collapse, bloodied and bruised, but still alive.
Imagine them at the hospital, Simon curled up on the floor next to Price's bed, playing with his own broken wrist monitor, wondering if it's his fault. If he hadn't fallen, the monitor wouldn't have broken, and maybe Mama wouldn't have been so worried and gotten hurt.
How is it that you can a music library of like 1,200+ absolute bangers but as soon as you put it on shuffle in a group setting it's like. anime opening you added in 2010. homestuck parody song. musical artist who was cancelled last year for kidnapping and eating children in his basement. Hamilton
What doesn’t get talked about enough is that, all those 40-something years, Rocky had all the supplies he needed to go back home. He had the fuel, he had the food. But he didn’t. He tried and tried and tried. He kept going. He took measurements, gathered data, built new Astrophage samplers but could never get it right. He maintained the Blip-A, a ship that was built in a hurry and just kept breaking, for over FORTY YEARS. When Grace found him, Rocky wasn’t just sitting idle in orbit. He was still working, still trying, he hadn’t given up. He was tracking the stars, probably to watch for a potential second mission from Erid, when he spotted the Hail Mary in reverse-thrust. Rocky calls Grace brave. Truly, Grace is. But I’d compare Rocky more to Stratt. How much of yourself would you be willing to sacrifice to save your planet? Rocky was willing to stay at Tau Ceti for the rest of his life until he either found a solution, or died.
Age Gap F1 Yaoi @sirbonesly - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
