navstuffs

[navstuffs]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE - 1.04 | 2.07

[navstuffs]

[navstuffs]

you are so real for this, id thank him on my knees

civillains when bumping into ezio, causing him to roll into the floor: MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!! ARE YOU STUPID?

civillains being shoved/hit by bayek of siwa: YES SIR SORRY SIR I APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE, THANK YOU FOR BUMPING INTO ME, HAVE A GREAT DAY SIR

[navstuffs]

self-promoting myself since the new trailer came out:

want to read a fic where carmy is extremely nervous about his first official meeting with his father in law?

Friday night dinner

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x Sydney Adamu

Summary: Carmen Berzatto has dinner with Sydney and her dad.

Trigger warnings: none, they are already dating, domesticity with syd's dad

Author's Notes: hiii! launching this one month before the show comes back and i had this idea since last year?? lol im an embarrassment. OH, i personally didnt like the alternative ending i gave this fic but left in there, you can read it if you want to :) also the name of the fic comes from a british show. anyway, enjoy your reading!

Carmy arrives at the apartment, knocking precisely three times and holding the wine bottle in his hands. No sweaty hands, which was good. Years of cooking probably stopped that side of him, at least. Deep down, he can feel the tingling sensation of nervousness and anxiety, and it just grows when it is Mr. Adamu who opens the door, cloth on his shoulder, apron on his hips. Mr. Adamu doesn't say anything as Carmy, standing there like an idiot, greets, "Good night, sir."

"Hey, come in, she's in the kitchen."

Not off to a good start, but at least Mr. Adamu had given him a slight smirk, not one that Carmy had noticed, looking down as he entered. It is his first time in their apartment after they started what he doesn't know yet how to call, two months ago. Richie explains, "going out, getting to know each other," what Fak calls "being utterly in love," and Sugar pinches his arm, stating, "If he loses Syd, I'm going to kill you."

Carmy tries to erase the thoughts in his head as he follows Mr. Adamu into the kitchen. The recognizable smell of food, Syd's food, welcomes him and slightly calms his nerves. When Carmy finally sees Syd in the middle of boiling pots and sizzling pans, he feels like he is home.

"Look who I found at our doorstep. Didn't have a choice but to let him in."

"Dad!" Syd sounds scandalized as Carmy nods. 

"Hey, I-mhm, I brought wine." He hands the wine bottle to Sydney, who thanks him. Then, Carmy stands there, hands in his pockets. "Can I help?"

Before Sydney can even reply, her dad shakes his head. "Please, like any of my guests would ever work in my kitchen. Go relax, Carmen. Syd and I will take care of this. We are almost done anyway."

Well, great. At least, while cooking, Carmy would not have to think about what to say to Mr. Adamu during dinner without sounding like a fool. Now? Carmy nods, giving another smile in their direction, before leaving the kitchen. He could sit on the sofa, but that would sound like he took more liberty than he should. Or he could hang between the space from the kitchen to the living room, looking like a piece of furniture that no one actually knew how exactly got there. You know, in case they needed help.

Carmy decides on the middle ground: the living room, but without sitting on the sofa. With one last look to Syd's back, he steps into the living room, his eyes working the space. Smooth jazz plays in the background, but it is low enough that he has to pay attention. CD’s, books, even DVD’s. Carmy feels like invading space, invading somewhere he shouldn't be yet. 

He turns his eyes to the books: some mysteries, science, and cooking—tons of cooking books. Carmy gives a small chuckle, some of which he had himself. He then turns his eyes to the pictures across the bookshelf: Syd and her dad, his arm squeezing her shoulders on probably the day of her graduation from the Culinary Institute of America. Mr. Adamu looks proud, pulling her into a half-hug as Syd smirks back at the camera.

The other picture shows an eight-year-old Sydney playing in a backyard, running after a woman he couldn't see. The next one shows the same eight-year-old Sydney with a woman who looks exactly like her, smiling at the camera. 

"My mom." 

Carmy turns to find Sydney at his side, a glass of wine in her hands. "Oh, yeah. She was a pretty woman."

"Yeah." Syd hands him the glass of wine, but Carmy doesn't drink it. She also looks nervous, not as in the day we re-opened The Bear together, but you are here now, and this is getting more real.

"Hey, you good?" Carmy asks, squeezing her arm. She takes a deep breath and nods. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Didn't think it would be this nerve-wrecking, and it's just, you know, my dad!"

"Wait until you meet my family," Carmy replies before he can stop himself. He realizes what he said and quickly tries to correct it. "Not, not that we would be going there. If we went there, I meant. We don't have to."

Syd looks at him, her face opening into a smile. "We shouldn't -"

"Hey, Sydney, I think the pie is almost done." Her dad calls her from the kitchen, and Sydney startles, asking for one second before leaving. Carmy follows her, glass of wine still secured in his hand. 

He watches Mr. Adamu and Sydney work for a while. They barely look at each other, but there isn't no animosity. No screaming, shouting, nothing like that. Mr. Adamu tries to explain to his daughter that he didn't know if the pie was good, and Sydney gestures that it was nothing. He goes back on finishing the salad, humming to the tune it was playing; how he could hear it, Carmy had no idea. Carmy just stands there, observing their work. What a contrast with his family.

"Oh, could you put the plates, please, Carmen?"

"On it, Sir. Where are they?" 

"Upper cabinet to my right. Forks and knives will be on the first drawer down here."

Carmen takes the task seriously, trying to impress Mr. Adamu with his ability to place the plates, forks, and knives on their dining table. But hey, you try to impress when you can, right? 

Soon, they are seated at the table. Carmen waits until Mr. Adamu is properly seated on the head of the table to sit himself, looking straight into Syd's eyes. He has a good feeling about this.

"I hope you enjoy the food, Carmen. I was responsible for the salad preparation."

"Which looks good, Sir."

Mr. Adamu doesn't correct the "Sir" but gives him a satisfied smile. Carmy then feels a slight nudge on his foot, Sydney's brown eyes smirking. She was probably having a blast, watching him all nervous and shit. But Carmy realizes he doesn't seem to mind, not this time, as he smirks at her back.

extra/alternative ending:

It is not later that night, after saying goodbye to Emmanuel, that Carmy asks Syd how well he did. Syd, who is walking him to the door, stops her hand on the door's handle.

"I don't think he hates you," she replies, face serious.

"Yeah, but, but, do you think he liked me? Like actually liked me? Because I feel like now, I shouldn't told that stupid joke Richie suggested, or I shouldn't have -" Before he can continue, Syd's lips are on his, silencing him. His hands immediately go towards her hips, pulling Syd close to him. After they break apart, Syd taps his chest, "You did great. He let you call him Emmanuel."

[navstuffs]

Me as soon as I saw Claire in the trailer:

[navstuffs]

THE BEAR season 3

[navstuffs]

honestly, fak shut the hell up indeed

there are moments to speak and moments to not and you lost a good one to stay SHUT!

@ Fak

[navstuffs]

The Bear | Season 3 Official Trailer

[navstuffs]

Synesthesia

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x GN!Reader

Summary: "A condition in which stimulation of one sense generates a simultaneous sensation in another". Or aka the fic where Gojo Satoru fucks you inside his domain expansion.

Trigger Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!, SMUT, tiny squint of dubcon (reader goes mind blank inside the domain), creampie, multiple powerful orgasms, reader gender isn't mentioned

Author's Notes: probably the hardest smut i have ever written. idk how many times this has been done in the fandom (im sure tons) and one time i read this INSANELY good fic abt it and have never found it again. anyway, enjoy! credit on the images from this post right here.

other gojo fics

An average person will feel many sensations in this world, either physically and/or spiritually (if you believe in that type of stuff). Before meeting Gojo Satoru, your emotions were still there to remind you, hey, you are human: come and feel us; you can't stop us.

Everything changed after you met Satoru.

Gojo Satoru wasn't normal. Even in your first meeting, even without being a cursed user, you could tell something was off about him in the best way possible. The white hair, the ethereal blue eyes behind the sunglasses, or the fact that he consumed sweets as someone should be consuming water. Even your concerns about diabetes didn't feel necessary with this man. 

And then you started dating him. Yes, you, the average human being of this world, the single person in the million of eight billion or more. And he chose you, fell for you, for some crazy idea in his head. You became his new drug in the best way possible. Gojo Satoru could never have had enough of you. 

The kisses were intoxicating, and his neediness was that of someone who could not hear the word "no." Satoru would pout like a child, his head down enough that you could see his eyes shining through his sunglasses. And you would say "yes" as if only that vision persuaded you (it was your heart speaking).

Now, fucking Gojo Satoru, that was on a whole new level. At this point, you knew of the curses, the Jujutsu world, and the fact that somehow you are dating the strongest of that universe (?!). Fucking Gojo Satoru was not like fucking your other lovers. Satoru was entirely in during sex. As in head, soul, mind, the total package deal. And it was only fair you gave him the same. 

-x-

"What would happen to normal humans inside your domain expansion?" 

The question is met with curiosity by Gojo, who is wearing his black bandana today. He ponders for a moment, one finger toward his chin (because you said once he looked cute doing it, and he does it every time now). "They probably wouldn't be able to see it. Just feel it."

"Could it be considered safe?"

"Mhmmm, let me think. For some milliseconds. Why?"

"Nothing."

Oh, but Satoru had already perceived your interest. Your eyes did not meet his, and you tried to look away, embarrassed. His smile grew from his side lips until Satoru questioned, his voice low, " Is there anything I should know of?"

"You promise you won't laugh?"

-x- 

That's how you end up on top of him, his dick buried deep inside your body. It is already overwhelming, suffocating almost, the air being pulled from your lungs every time your hips meet his, and you weren't even inside his domain yet. Satoru insisted on starting slowly for your safety: 0.1, 0.2 seconds max, according to his estimation. 

"Now?"

"Are you close?" You shake your head impatiently, furrowing your brows. "Didn't think so."

Differing from all the other nights, you sense Satoru's tension. He can't relax, not even without you moaning in his ear. It's not that Satoru believes he will hurt you; Satoru has to consider the slight possibility of what could happen if he lost control for a tiny second and ended up frying your brain on accident.

"'Toru. Focus on me." You demand, squeezing his nipple so he can come back to you.

Satoru reacts: he starts rubbing in between in the middle of your legs, stroking your sex in a way only he knew how to do, after weeks of studying your reactions every time you had sex. In less than two weeks, the prick had learned places you haven't even discovered yet. It had to be six eyes, giving your body away like that. Biting where the neck meets your shoulder together with a particular way of fucking you and hitting on the place that made you see stars could make you cum in minutes. You are thankful he is the strongest because Satoru had ruined you for any other person who existed. 

"Focus, honey."  His voice is steady, his chest heaving up and down.

If someone asked you how a mere mortal felt bringing God to his knees, you would know exactly how to explain. That's exactly how you felt fucking Satoru. Like now, with his hands on your hips, helping you sink inside further every time, your open palms resting on his chest for support. It feels powerful and mythical; his mouth parted away like that, licking his lips from time to time. Satoru is a proud moaner, loud and about - but for this time, his forehead is furrowed in concentration, and barely any noises are coming from him. If it were any other time, Satoru would have helped you or taken control when it had gotten too much for his small patience to handle, moving his hips until you were a blabbering mess.

But now, he has to be focused on not harming you. The situation is even more thrilling if you think like that. Bring a God to his knees because if you don't, he might kill you with his power.

"Satoru!" You moan, needy. A warning that you are getting close.

His white hands raise, and you watch (as always) fascinated as the bandana comes off, even forgetting about your looming orgasm. Gojo Satoru is the most attractive man you have ever seen in your entire life, and if you believe in reincarnation, about ten more lives. He has a smirk on his lips now, happy with the way he affects you. I mean, how couldn't he? 

"Domain expansion, Unlimited Void."

Everything stops. The air stops moving, and time stops. You are paralyzed, your eyes wide, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. Your mind goes blank in the total sense of that word; you can't form a single thought. You forget your name, can't remember your parents' names, or where you were born, what you do. 

At the same time, everything is being shown to you; your consciousness is there, floating lost in the sky, but you can't grasp it. The only thing you can feel is your orgasm, but even that feels like it has toned down, a small explosion the size of a jelly bean growing inside your stomach.

The next thing you know, you wake up in Satoru's arms, gasping for air, shaking, with tears coming down your eyes. You can't stop squirming, and you realize it is your orgasm, with so much energy that could light up an entire city, spreading in your veins and going back into your brain at a swift speed, amplifying your senses. Then you find yourself staring at Satoru's blue eyes, and your mind goes blank again, but not like when you were inside the Unlimited Void. No, now you can feel everything: Satoru's love, Satoru's shooting his cum inside of you, Satoru's hand gripping your hips, the scream coming out of your throat!

Satoru is murmuring something, praising you, saying he loves you, but you pass out again, and the entire world goes black. Satoru holds you, feeling your heartbeat, not placing his bandana on his eyes, your body twitching unconsciously. 

You return to him after a few minutes - if anyone asked Gojo, precisely two minutes, twenty seconds, two exact milliseconds, almost three. 

"'Toru?" Your voice sounds exhausted, grateful, and in disbelief all at the same time.

"I'm here, honey. I'm here. You are okay." He kisses your forehead, holding you tightly in his arms, still buried deep inside you.

Later, when you ask, Satoru will answer that he had felt your orgasm within you. He had never seen you so out of this world, literally dumbfucked. He won't confess he got worried for a second and ended up placing you inside his domain for ONLY one millisecond. You also won't confess yet that you wanted to try again, up to 0.3 seconds (normal humans wouldn't survive), but who cares? You want Satoru to fry your brain. Instead, you will roll your eyes at his answer, slapping his arm playfully, and he won't even turn infinite on because it is you. And who is he to ever deny you? You who finally made his life whole. 

You that had a God wrapped around your finger.

[navstuffs]

fallout drawings from the last week

[navstuffs]

If you, for some reason, still have a subscription to the Atlantic, cancel it

[navstuffs]

Friday night dinner

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x Sydney Adamu

Summary: Carmen Berzatto has dinner with Sydney and her dad.

Trigger warnings: none, they are already dating, domesticity with syd's dad

Author's Notes: hiii! launching this one month before the show comes back and i had this idea since last year?? lol im an embarrassment. OH, i personally didnt like the alternative ending i gave this fic but left in there, you can read it if you want to :) also the name of the fic comes from a british show. anyway, enjoy your reading!

Carmy arrives at the apartment, knocking precisely three times and holding the wine bottle in his hands. No sweaty hands, which was good. Years of cooking probably stopped that side of him, at least. Deep down, he can feel the tingling sensation of nervousness and anxiety, and it just grows when it is Mr. Adamu who opens the door, cloth on his shoulder, apron on his hips. Mr. Adamu doesn't say anything as Carmy, standing there like an idiot, greets, "Good night, sir."

"Hey, come in, she's in the kitchen."

Not off to a good start, but at least Mr. Adamu had given him a slight smirk, not one that Carmy had noticed, looking down as he entered. It is his first time in their apartment after they started what he doesn't know yet how to call, two months ago. Richie explains, "going out, getting to know each other," what Fak calls "being utterly in love," and Sugar pinches his arm, stating, "If he loses Syd, I'm going to kill you."

Carmy tries to erase the thoughts in his head as he follows Mr. Adamu into the kitchen. The recognizable smell of food, Syd's food, welcomes him and slightly calms his nerves. When Carmy finally sees Syd in the middle of boiling pots and sizzling pans, he feels like he is home.

"Look who I found at our doorstep. Didn't have a choice but to let him in."

"Dad!" Syd sounds scandalized as Carmy nods. 

"Hey, I-mhm, I brought wine." He hands the wine bottle to Sydney, who thanks him. Then, Carmy stands there, hands in his pockets. "Can I help?"

Before Sydney can even reply, her dad shakes his head. "Please, like any of my guests would ever work in my kitchen. Go relax, Carmen. Syd and I will take care of this. We are almost done anyway."

Well, great. At least, while cooking, Carmy would not have to think about what to say to Mr. Adamu during dinner without sounding like a fool. Now? Carmy nods, giving another smile in their direction, before leaving the kitchen. He could sit on the sofa, but that would sound like he took more liberty than he should. Or he could hang between the space from the kitchen to the living room, looking like a piece of furniture that no one actually knew how exactly got there. You know, in case they needed help.

Carmy decides on the middle ground: the living room, but without sitting on the sofa. With one last look to Syd's back, he steps into the living room, his eyes working the space. Smooth jazz plays in the background, but it is low enough that he has to pay attention. CD’s, books, even DVD’s. Carmy feels like invading space, invading somewhere he shouldn't be yet. 

He turns his eyes to the books: some mysteries, science, and cooking—tons of cooking books. Carmy gives a small chuckle, some of which he had himself. He then turns his eyes to the pictures across the bookshelf: Syd and her dad, his arm squeezing her shoulders on probably the day of her graduation from the Culinary Institute of America. Mr. Adamu looks proud, pulling her into a half-hug as Syd smirks back at the camera.

The other picture shows an eight-year-old Sydney playing in a backyard, running after a woman he couldn't see. The next one shows the same eight-year-old Sydney with a woman who looks exactly like her, smiling at the camera. 

"My mom." 

Carmy turns to find Sydney at his side, a glass of wine in her hands. "Oh, yeah. She was a pretty woman."

"Yeah." Syd hands him the glass of wine, but Carmy doesn't drink it. She also looks nervous, not as in the day we re-opened The Bear together, but you are here now, and this is getting more real.

"Hey, you good?" Carmy asks, squeezing her arm. She takes a deep breath and nods. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Didn't think it would be this nerve-wrecking, and it's just, you know, my dad!"

"Wait until you meet my family," Carmy replies before he can stop himself. He realizes what he said and quickly tries to correct it. "Not, not that we would be going there. If we went there, I meant. We don't have to."

Syd looks at him, her face opening into a smile. "We shouldn't -"

"Hey, Sydney, I think the pie is almost done." Her dad calls her from the kitchen, and Sydney startles, asking for one second before leaving. Carmy follows her, glass of wine still secured in his hand. 

He watches Mr. Adamu and Sydney work for a while. They barely look at each other, but there isn't no animosity. No screaming, shouting, nothing like that. Mr. Adamu tries to explain to his daughter that he didn't know if the pie was good, and Sydney gestures that it was nothing. He goes back on finishing the salad, humming to the tune it was playing; how he could hear it, Carmy had no idea. Carmy just stands there, observing their work. What a contrast with his family.

"Oh, could you put the plates, please, Carmen?"

"On it, Sir. Where are they?" 

"Upper cabinet to my right. Forks and knives will be on the first drawer down here."

Carmen takes the task seriously, trying to impress Mr. Adamu with his ability to place the plates, forks, and knives on their dining table. But hey, you try to impress when you can, right? 

Soon, they are seated at the table. Carmen waits until Mr. Adamu is properly seated on the head of the table to sit himself, looking straight into Syd's eyes. He has a good feeling about this.

"I hope you enjoy the food, Carmen. I was responsible for the salad preparation."

"Which looks good, Sir."

Mr. Adamu doesn't correct the "Sir" but gives him a satisfied smile. Carmy then feels a slight nudge on his foot, Sydney's brown eyes smirking. She was probably having a blast, watching him all nervous and shit. But Carmy realizes he doesn't seem to mind, not this time, as he smirks at her back.

extra/alternative ending:

It is not later that night, after saying goodbye to Emmanuel, that Carmy asks Syd how well he did. Syd, who is walking him to the door, stops her hand on the door's handle.

"I don't think he hates you," she replies, face serious.

"Yeah, but, but, do you think he liked me? Like actually liked me? Because I feel like now, I shouldn't told that stupid joke Richie suggested, or I shouldn't have -" Before he can continue, Syd's lips are on his, silencing him. His hands immediately go towards her hips, pulling Syd close to him. After they break apart, Syd taps his chest, "You did great. He let you call him Emmanuel."

[navstuffs]

A very shy maned wolf stopping for a visit at a monastery in Brazil for a bite to eat provided by monks. Because of their super long legs, they walk more like giraffes than typical canines. Maned wolves pose no threat to humans. 

(Source)

[navstuffs]

About Gaza Funds

[navstuffs]

award-winning palestinian children's illustrator baraa awoor writes:

"what use is it to be an illustrator of children's books when the world has sentenced the children of your country to the death penalty, to vanish, to genocide?"

some of baraa's illustrations:

this is an illustration for youssef, whose mother is remembered running desperately into the hospital asking if anyone had seen a "small white boy with beautiful curly hair, his name is youssef," a description which was remembered by millions when she finally identified his body:

this illustration is for young omar, who was hugging his little brother and teaching him how to repeat the shahada after him (a prayer spoken by muslims before their death) as he lay on his hospital bed:

"we want a new year that doesn't kill us or our children, we want it a year without blood, without screaming, without pain, we want a new attempt to get our lives back, or something that resembled our life, even if life is a lie we still cling to it, return life to us—a new year's card unlike any other year:"

[navstuffs]

“The best advice I’ve ever received: ‘no one else knows what they are doing either.”

— Charles Bukowski

[navstuffs]

SINCE WHEN CAN BOTS CREATE POLLS??? EXCUSE ME?? ALSO WHAT ARE THESE OPTIONS?