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joseph quinn photographed by john russo 🫠

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someone tag me in a wip weekend so i can get shit done lmao

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caracalla’s love is obsessive and geta’s is possessive

(gif by @pedgito )

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im gonna keep it false with you chief. im gonna lie to you.

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|| emperor vampire AU masterlist ||

Here you'll find all of my (very self-indulgent) Emperor Vampire AU stories! Each one vaguely connects with the others, but they can also be read as standalones without too much explanation needed. All fics are Geta/Reader/Caracalla, and those that focus on one particular Emperor are marked as much. There is NO Emperor shipping, they are solely interested in reader. Smut is marked with a ❣️. You can join the taglist here.

litatio❣️ You have heard tale of the monsters that lie within the Palace walls. Little do you realise, they have their sights set on you. Geta/Reader/Caracalla | Smut, horror elements | 6k words

praeda Geta and Caracalla have never been fond of sharing anything. Somehow you end up in the midst of their games. Geta/Reader/Caracalla | Horror elements | 2k words

auxilium❣️ How can Geta possibly resist reading your mind when your thoughts are so enticing? Geta/Reader, background Geta/Reader/Caracalla | Slight smut, horror elements | 2.5k words

sanguis❣️ (coming soon!) Caracalla's bloodlust is difficult to control at the best of times. This may prove too much, even for him. Caracalla/Reader, background Caracalla/Reader/Geta | Smut, horror elements | 1.4k words so far

3 posts | 10.5k words

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Oh!!!!!

White Cheddar 🍿

This was so much fun... for me. The kids, not so much. 😂

Truth or Dare Pairing: Mac (Warfare) x Not-So-Single-Mom!Reader Summary: Mom and Mac play Truth or Dare with the kids! Ingredients: white cheddar (fluff), popcorn (🍿) Words: 800ish

Sleepover Night is way more fun when you get to have a friend sleep over too.

The kids didn't seem to mind having an extra person hanging around. Especially since Mac picked up the pizza on his way over, and came armed with extra toppings for the sundae bar. (Hey, the kids both got good grades on their recent report cards, they deserve treats. Also, you forgot the Oreos.)

The boys rushed through their homework and spent the rest of the evening playing video games, occasionally pausing long enough to take a food break. You and Mac entertained yourselves by playing cards at the kitchen table until the kids retreated to the bedroom. Then you made popcorn and took over the couch to watch a movie.

About halfway through the movie, Travis saunters in, feet dragging the floor and eyes rolled to the ceiling.

"Do you guys wanna play Truth or Dare with us?" he asks in a monotone.

You glance to Mac, who looks mildly amused at how annoyed Travis seems to be. You wink at him.

"Were you dared to ask us that?" you ask.

"Yes."

"Then of course we'd like to play!"

Travis sighs and calls for Waylon, who steps out of the bedroom with a smirk. You reach for the remote and stop your movie, and the boys get comfortable on the floor in front of you. This won't last long.

"Whose turn is it?" you ask.

"Mine," Travis answers. "Mom. Truth or Dare."

"Truth."

Travis narrows his eyes at you, thinking of a good one.

"Have you been feeding me fake mac and cheese?"

"What?" you feign outrage. "No!"

"You picked truth!" he shouts, pointing at you. "You can't lie!"

"It was one time," you laugh. "I bought the kind with veggie noodles one time. You said it tasted weird, and I tried it and agreed, so I decided not to buy it again."

"Disappointing, but not surprising," he shakes his head, fighting a grin. "Your turn."

"Travis," you smirk. "Truth or dare."

"Dare."

"I dare you to clean your room."

"You can't do that!" he explodes. "That's so not fair!"

"Tomorrow!" you laugh. "After Waylon leaves!"

"Trickses," he grumbles under his breath like Gollum. You see a lightbulb go on over his head. "Waylon, Truth or Dare."

"Dare," Waylon says without hesitation.

"I dare you to sleep over again tomorrow." Travis turns to you and grins triumphantly.

"Something tells me this is not his first rodeo," Mac observes.

"It is not," you confirm, laughing. "Your turn, Waylon."

"Uhhh…" he thinks, looking at Mac. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," Mac says bravely.

He's met these little monsters before, right? Waylon strokes an imaginary beard while he contemplates what wickedness to bestow upon the new addition to Sleepover Night.

"I dare you to eat popcorn without using your hands," the kid laughs.

Mac looks to the half-eaten bowl of popcorn on his lap, then at you. You reach for it, planning to hold it up so he can lean forward and eat out of the bowl, but a loud buzzer sound from Travis stops you.

"Flag on the play! Mom can't use her hands to help you either!"

"Show me where it says that in the rulebook!" you demand.

Travis crosses his arms defiantly. Waylon mirrors him. Mac look confused. And then, a lightbulb of your own comes on, presenting you with a solution that will solve many of tonight's problems.

You shift on the couch, angling yourself towards Mac. You lean over and lower your face into the bowl of fluffy popcorn on his lap, pleased that a piece sticks to your tongue on the first try, and rise. You hold your tongue out, hoping Mac will know what to do… and of course he does. Mac grins and leans forward, carefully removing the buttery morsel off your tongue with his teeth and eating it. Dare complete. You turn to the kids with matching grins, finding looks of horror on both of their faces.

"OH MY GOD!" Travis shouts, scrambling off the floor.

"SICKENING!" Waylon chimes in. "Almost as bad as it is at my house!"

"Nowhere is safe!" Travis shrieks, on the way to his room. "Innocence is lost!"

"My eyes! I need to wash my eyes!" Waylon wails.

They shut up after the bedroom door is closed.

"Well," you laugh, "that's one way to get the room to ourselves."

"Yeah," Mac chuckles. "Uh… got a problem, though."

"Oh?" you ask, expecting news of an erection that wasn't supposed to make an appearance on Sleepover Night.

"Yeah… I'm never gonna be able to eat popcorn the normal way again."

"Have you seen yourself eat popcorn?" you tease. "Not exactly normal to begin with."

Mac growls, leaning over to put the popcorn bowl on a side table before he retaliates.

The kids won't be brave enough to venture out of Travis's room again until they're ready for more snacks. You've got time. It's fine.

Hungry for more? Check out The Mac and Cheese Shop!

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Best Uncles Ever

-> requested by anon

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I love them. All of them.

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We need more Tommy and Erik fics 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

i’ve got more tommy in the drafts 🥹🫶🏻

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Hii! Just wondering if the sandwich shop is still open

(Adorable idea btw, im obsessed, gimme 20 of them right now)

it is!! feel free to send in whatever you want!

(although i’m a bit lovey on mac and he’ll get written faster lmao)

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Let Me Handle the Carpentry

derwin “d.f.” grunauer x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k+

summary: Corroded Coffin or Die Server Photo Prompt Challenge | Derwin spends the day working on the nursery while you watch from the hall.

warnings: reader is heavily pregnant, derwin’s a former paratrooper and u.s. combat medic

notes: Posting early, but here’s this week’s server writing challenge contribution from me! Big thanks to @prettycalla @keeryhours and @robinbuckleywife for reading this over for me! I read this over a few times, but feel free to let me know if i missed anything editing wise! Hope you enjoy!

Derwin had been hammering something in the room he’d been turning into the nursery for nearly twenty minutes now, and from the sound of it, he was either building the crib or declaring all out war on your brand new drywall.

You had curled up on the old wicker chair he’d pulled from the veranda into place just outside the door. You kick two socked feet up onto the wicker footstool— trying to relax— very pregnant in your favorite yellow house dress. The one Derwin could never get enough of. You were seven months along now, belly round and sitting high. Your ankles were stubbornly swollen and you felt like your lungs were squashed beyond belief. You sip from a sweating glass of lemonade and listen as he rattles off a string of swears he definitely did not intend for you to hear.

“Sweetheart,” you call out to him, loud enough to rise above a thunk and another curse, “are you okay in there?”

Derwin appears in the doorway after that. His curls are a little longer than what he’s used to, they sit a little tousled and damp from the sweat that’s gathering against his skin. His white undershirt clings to his chest, stretched thin over new muscle, and there was a grin tucked under his 2-day mustache of stubble as soon as he saw you. He points at you with the hammer. “You just sit there bein’ cute and glowy, and let me handle the carpentry, Mrs. Grunauer.”

“Glowy or hot and sweaty?”

“Sexy,” he says immediately, with a wink, before he’s ducking back into the room.

You could hear him mumbling to himself just beyond the doorway— something about the wood grain on the crib and baby-proofing the house and “this little guy’s gonna be a kicker”— and you smile despite yourself. He really did think it would be a boy. You weren’t so sure. There was a gentleness to the way the baby moved sometimes, something fluttery and sweet, and maybe you were projecting just a little, but it felt like a girl to you. You wouldn’t tell him that, though. Derwin insisted that those sweet and soft movements was just him limbering up for his first football tryout.

“Don’t forget to measure those shelves twice this time,” you call to him while you take a sip of your lemonade, rubbing a hand over your belly.

“Measured three times,” he replies proudly, his head reappearing in the doorway. “And then I forgot where I wrote it down at and had to start over. Which I think is why this is called ‘the full dad experience.’”

You laugh. God, you love him like this. He’s so hands-on and wide-eyed, like the whole world had opened up the very day your period was late.

He crouches next to your chair a minute later, pulling the hem of his shirt up and wiping the sweat from his brow. You smile at the little reveal of his tummy and catch a glimpse of where his dog tags are still hanging around his neck under the shirt— he never really took them off. You run your fingers across the faded ink of his arm tattoo. It’s a shaky, little cross just above his elbow one of his buddies convinced him to get once they were back in Miami. He leans in and kisses the top of your belly. “You in there, champ?” he mumbles, one of his hands coming up to rest against the curve of you. “Your dad’s makin’ you a throne outta pine and nails in there. It’s structurally unsound but I built it with love.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You married me.”

“I was tricked by a uniform and your Harvard vocabulary.”

He looks up at you with a grin, his curls plastered to his forehead. “Well now you’re stuck with me, beautiful and glowy right outside our nursery with half a crib built and a dozen babies coming after this one.”

“One,” you say firmly, raising your brow. “One.”

Derwin doesn’t even flinch. “Triplets.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll meet you halfway then, sweetheart. Give me twins. A boy and a girl. He can protect her on the playground.”

“She’s not gonna need protecting.”

“Oh?” He arches a brow and lets his thumb rub a gentle circle against the fabric of your house dress. “So you think it’s a girl?”

You blink. You walked right into that one.

He kisses your stomach again, feeling triumphant. “Aha.”

The baby then kicks hard enough that you both jump a little. Derwin’s eyes go wide. “She’s gonna be a linebacker,” he whispered, half in awe that his baby was in there. That you two had created something he felt so strongly for, he couldn’t even wrap his head around those feelings. “You felt that? That was a statement.”

You reach down and brush the sweat-slick hair away from his temple. “She gets that from me.”

He beams, then softens when he watches you flinch as you move in the chair slightly. “You feeling okay, honey?”

“Tired. Hot. Like someone’s hiding a medicine ball inside me.”

He kisses your knee, then your thigh, then he rests his cheek against your belly and lets out a slow, contented sigh— his eyes on you. “I’ll open the windows wider, let in some cooler air. I’ll make you a cold cloth. And I’ll fan you as soon as I’m done.”

“Very romantic.”

“You want romantic?” He grins up at you again, his eyes full of every ounce of love he’s ever felt for you. “Give me five more minutes to finish that crib and I’ll show you romantic. I’ll carry you to bed like a damn soldier on a mission.”

“You say that now, but you got winded carrying the laundry upstairs yesterday.”

He kisses your thigh again, slower this time letting his lips linger against your bare skin, and he didn’t deny it.

You settle back in the chair as he stands and returns to the half-finished crib with a bow renewed purpose. He’s humming along to the radio playing in the other room. The window catches the sun and paints the nursery walls in soft gold. And it paints him too— your husband, your once-soldier, now soon-to-be father— and by the time he finishes, the sun is slanting low. The baby was doing yet another slow roll beneath your ribs, making it hard for you to sit still. 

And inside the nursery, it had gone quiet.

You lean forward to peer around the doorframe, expecting to find him in the middle of another war with an Allen wrench— but instead, Derwin was just standing there, his hands on his hips, gazing down at the crib he’d shuffled into place like it had just been handed to him from heaven.

He didn’t even turn to you when he spoke. “Come look.”

So you haul yourself upright with the grace of a walrus in high summer and shuffle in. You’ve got one hand pressed to your back and the other resting just below your belly. You stop beside him, breathing in the scent of cut pine and sawdust, and you can feel something tighten in your chest.

The room was… beautiful. He’d put so much work in to make this perfect for your baby.

The crib— slightly lopsided but still standing proud— had a folded yellow blanket already tucked inside. The clouds you had hand-stitched onto the curtains hung above the windows, soft and uneven and sweet. On the far wall, he’d put up a little wooden shelf. It wasn’t quite level, but it was already stacked with a few picture books and one very tattered stuffed bear he said he’d won at a carnival when he was twelve.

Derwin’s hand found yours and then he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Didn’t think I’d get it done.”

“You did.” You lean your head against his arm, your body soft with ache but your chest full of love as you let yourself relax into him. “You really did.”

“It’s not perfect,” he says quietly.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

He exhales, and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of the breeze through the open window and the quiet hum of the radio changing songs. Then Derwin turns to you, all that teasing charm simmering down into something quiet and much more serious.

“I’ve been thinking about names,” he says softly, not quite looking at you as his thumb brushes across your knuckles.

You turn your head to look up at him. “That so?”

“Yeah. I, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck with his opposite hand. “I know we said we’d decide when we saw them. But I keep thinking about it. At night when I can’t sleep.” He takes a breath then, almost like he was about to jump out of another plane. “I think… if it’s a girl… I’d like to name her Mary.”

You face face turns to surprise. “Mary?”

He nods. “Not after anyone. Not a saint or anything. Just… simple. Soft. No one’s gonna mispronounce it. She won’t have to spell it out five times for every damn school form.” He glanced down at you, his brows knitting together. “I mean, look— My name’s Derwin. And my middle name’s Frances. With an ‘e.’ Like a woman. You know how many guys in my unit made jokes about that?”

You press your lips together, but you couldn’t stop the smile.

“Frances isn’t that bad, D.”

“It’s not good,” he says firmly, his eyes crinkling as he sighs. “And I just— I don’t want her to have to carry something like that around, y’know? Something that makes her feel like she’s gotta explain herself before she even gets a start in life.”

You go quiet for a long moment, letting those words settle in. He really had been thinking about this. The same way he thought about every shelf, every yellow blanket, and where he’s putting every nail in the walls. Like he was building something bigger than just a bedroom full of furniture. So you give it some consideration. 

“I was thinking Francine,” you say softly.

Now it’s his turn for surprise. “What?”

“For a girl. Because of you.” You look down at your joined hands, warm and solid, wedding bands glinting in the soft light. “It’s French and old-fashioned and pretty. And she could go by Frankie if she wants to. Or just Francine. But I thought… I don’t know. Maybe she’d like to have a piece of you.”

He stares at you, his eyes suddenly glassy. He swallows as he tries to figure out his next words and then he lets out a breath. “You’d do that?”

“I’d do anything for you,” you say honestly, shrugging one of your shoulders.

He steps in close, both of his hands gently cupping your face. His eyes lock onto yours like he was still trying to memorize you after all these months back. He searches your face for any sign he’s reading this wrong, and then he kisses you slowly. Like you were his whole world and the only thing worth returning to. “Alright. Francine if she’s a girl. Mary if you change your mind. We’ll meet her and see.”

You comb your fingers through his curls now that he’s crouched in front of you. “And if it’s a boy?”

“Oh, I’ve got a list,” he says brightly, “William. Jack. Something solid. Maybe even Daniel. But definitely not Derwin Jr.”

“Thank God. One Derwin Grunauer is enough.”

He laughs and then pulls you tightly against him, careful of your belly. He wraps his arms around your waist carefully, one hand settling on the small of your back and the other settling on your hips. “I love you so much I can barely stand it.”

“I know,” you whisper to him and take a look around the room at all of the beautiful details. “You built me a crooked little cloud kingdom.”

He rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. “I’d build you ten if you asked.”

“Ten kids or ten kingdoms?”

He’s quick to plaster a grin on his face. “Yes.”

You swat at his chest and roll your eyes. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you,” he says softly, his eyes gleaming as he takes a look at the length of your body. “You in this dress? I’ve had impure thoughts since breakfast.”

You huff, your cheeks starting to warm. “You’re covered in sawdust.”

“Exactly. I’m vulnerable. And horny.”

You laugh so hard the baby kicks again, a firm little bump against where Derwin’s hand now lays. “There she goes,” he says, awed again, like he hadn’t felt this a hundred times before. “Our little Francine.”

You shake your head fondly. “Maybe.”

He drops to his knees once more and kisses your belly again. “That’s right, sweetheart. Your daddy made your crib. And when you get here, we’re gonna read Peter Rabbit and eat pancakes and build sandcastles and do whatever the hell you want, as long as you don’t make me go through this naming process again.”

You smile down at him, full to the brim with something so big it makes your ribs ache. Love, maybe. Or just joy.

And in the golden hush of your little house, with the sea breeze curling through the open windows, letting the curtains flutter around you and your husband kneeling in front of you, the world felt like it was still spinning in the right direction after all.

tags ;; @getaapologist @mystic-alpaca @jj-155 @autumneva @ironmusictrash @keeryhours @robinbuckleywife

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STRANGER THINGS S04E03 | Chapter Three: The Monster and the Superhero

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Tumblr Fanfic Etiquette

A/N: I was not planning on posting this but I've been seeing a lot of hate in multiple fandoms, which prompted me to create this. Hopefully this educates people/newer users and prevents anymore hate from circling. Also please feel free to reblog or add on if you'd like to.

NO hateful messages. That's gotta be number 1. I don't care what you didn't like about the fic. Unfollow the writer or scroll past it. Do not spend your day/night leaving a hateful message because you didn't like X, Y, or Z. Just move on. It's not worth it and at the end of day, solves nothing.

Do not pressure writers to update a series or to write more. We all have a life outside of tumblr and you really don't know who's struggling with their mental health and who's not. -- Instead, opt for encouraging words like. "Hi. Just wanted to say I love your writing and can't wait to read more from you!" This let's them know you love their work without pressure.

If the writer specifically did not ask for it, DO NOT give them constructive criticism on a story or their writing in general. This is very, very rude. And even though your intentions might be pure, it's insulting.

If a writer has posted a standalone fic, please do not pressure them for a sequel. Especially if you didn't even reblog or give them any kind of feedback. Another option would be: "Hi. I really liked [name of fic]. Do you have any plans to turn [name of fic] into a sequel?

Do not befriend a fanfic author just because you think they can get your work more likes/reblogs/feedback, etc. No one likes to be used. This is just really shitty. Befriend people on here because you like them. Not because of what they can do for you.

Likes are nice, but reblogs are better. If you really like the author's writing, share their work or tell them via their ask box/dms how much it meant to you. Takes a second but means a lot.

If a fic author has a warning asking minors to not interact, respect it. Wait until your of age or find writers who are minors. Fanfic writers come in all sorts of age groups.

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what are some of your fav blogs on here? need some cool folks to follow <3

This is not an exhaustive list, so nobody come for me if I've accidentally left you off---this is top of dome and basically everyone I've spoken to most recently.

@keeryhours ---that's bae fr. Sage has over 400+ requests in her ask box so I'm gonna need you to go add about 200 more. It'll be funny. To me. Maybe not to her🤭

@glassbxttless ---Cece has been pumpin' out fics this summer with a wide range of plots and characters, so go read her stuff and tell her you wanna make out with her brain all sloppy-like🤩

@28bohemianmoons ---T is darling and super cool and just all around lovely🙂‍↕️ She just recently changed her blog theme and it looks great. Also, she's got a budding masterlist going so go check her out🙂‍↕️

@munsonstorm ---Gracie has been putting out bangers and recently she's ventured into Johnny Storm territory too and we all cheered

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listen, fuck "to each their own", sometimes your mutual gets into some batshit insane rarepair that they're a little embarrassed about and it becomes your sworn duty to put on your jester bells and jingle jangle proudly by their side for moral support. don't be a pussy. it's ride or die motherfucker

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hey, if adults say minors dni and have it plastered everywhere on their blog??? then minors don’t fucking follow me??