#(Hope that's ok)

[meluli]

Dedicating this one to @xxprincess1x ♡

[vallentiina]

Izpira se zlato

[pitchblackespresso]

My entry for @bahbahhh's DTIYS!

[angel-fruitcake]

Trick or treat!!!

👻💀👻💀👻👻

i'm so sorry i missed this ask on halloween!! i hope this treat will make up for it 🍬

[bloggingboutburgers]

I find your view on things interesting. Would it be alright if I ask you about your opinions on story tropes and characters?

Sure, if you like! I find a lot of my opinions tend to be on the unpopular side though, so sorry in advance if that winds up being disappointing ^^"

[space-blue]

Toombs trying to fix a medical droid who'd make a famous pal!

Present for @spicedrobot, looking forward to read more about him!

[mainstreetmissy]

Need hugs

Y'all, I just got railed on that other toxic sm for defending people shipping DT and MS. Can I get a some virtual cuddles from my moots to make me feel better?

also eff them.

[beautifulhigh]

I had a funny thought of Carlos using "I'm gonna sic TK on you" as a threat to someone when he's being frustrated/want something or just want someone to leave him alone and everyone knows that TK has an uncurable bitch syndrome and they don't want to be subjected to that expecially when it's about Carlos 🤣

Usually when it comes to wedding people try and upsell you, add in additional costs, try to push you for the bigger packages.

Those people had never come across TK Strand, Carlos mused.

They had sat down and planned out their budget, what they wanted, and started visiting a range of Austin venues with their requirements in hand. The first time someone started with the, "well you want your wedding day to be special" they had politely tried to redirect the conversation back to their wishes. The second attempt of, "this will reflect your love clearly" was a little more forecfully dealt with. The third attempt - Carlos had forgotten what was said because he knew what was coming - had released TK's inner bitch and Carlos had to admit he kinda liked watching it when it wasn't directed at him.

"It will be special" and "I think people know how much we love each other without needing it embroidered on napkins" and then something about their day and their plans and their wishes and many other options in a city this size so if they don't need or want the business then that's fine.

His favourite was the one time someone tried to suggest rainbow suits, or rainbow ties, or rainbow underwear? He wasn't paying attention, just waiting for the show to start.

("We like classic, we like simple, and we want to match because surely that is a symbol of us coming together and wanting to spend the rest of our lives together?")

Eventually it started to wear a little, and Carlos didn't want to get a reputation (even if they were starting it) and so on the first attempt the (new) caterer made about upselling he was very firm.

"Look, I know you want to try and upsell but let me be clear. This is what we want, we've told you where we're open to discussion, and trust me when I say you don't want to engage my fiancé's bitch mode on this."

TK had scoffed a little, then laughed and admitted it was true.

They got their menu, as requested, with some cute little flourishes on the mini desserts as the concession.

"Maybe I should reign it in a little," TK said as they got ready for bed that night. "I don't want to be a groomzilla, and I certainly don't want to be that kind of a dad."

"Why not?" Carlos challenged, biting back the smile that always seemed to try and force its way onto his face when TK brought up kids. Them having kids. Being a family. "It's not like you don't give people chances to back down."

"No, but--"

"And are you telling me that if someone came at our kid and tried to push them towards something they didn't want to do, you'd be so kind as to give them three chances?"

The look TK shot him from across the room made it clear: TK would burn down the city at the first hint of that.

"Sometimes you need to be a little bitch," Carlos said, "and you shouldn't apologise for that."

"Just... promise me you'll stop me from going too far?"

"What? And ruin my fun watching them realise the error of their ways?" Carlos laughed. "Not a chance."

[bernardisgross]

doing your best is enough, even if your best isn’t the best of yesterday. It’s okay to slow down and take it easy, and you still have worth as a person even when you can only do the bare minimum. you were born to be alive, and i hope you get to have something for yourself soon. people who care about will understand even if it’s hard at first. Don’t let anybody or even yourself convince you that you’re anything less just for existing. it’s okay to take up space and need help. If you are in an environment where you can’t do much, reach out for help and don’t stop trying. no effort is ever wasted. It is paramount you prioritize your mental stability and well being over being productive and ‘perfect’. You will do nobody any favors by tearing yourself down, and you can’t hate yourself into improvement. Forgive yourself for not behaving the best under duress. A cornered animal will bite. But take responsibility for yourself and make sure you do whatever you need to make yourself happy and stable.

thank you anon for your kind message...

[the-abe]

Where: Amy's home With: @amyinnile

A mistake had been made when he had gone home, drunker than usual, maybe needing to relax after the difficult night shift on Monday. He rarely drank that much, but when he did he didn't worry because his metabolism would work through the haze faster than what a normal guys' would. But even then he had been influenced enough to grab his toolkit from the bed of the truck and enter the house he had freshened up a year and a half ago... And now he had found himself with the need to repaint and redo his bathroom because he wasn't sure if he had tried to fix the leaking sink or break everything else. But the latter had been the outcome. He'd spent two days trying to repair, but his nature was more of destroy than fix.

And from all that, at first just not wanting to be a nuisance and make more noise without giving a notice to his neighbor first, he had ended with a good bargain for a close bathroom and a dinner. He had planned on using the gym and the station for showers, but this seemed like a far better option and he was grateful to the blonde woman. Through the months they had been mostly polite talk, sometimes helping out with what he could if she needed it, he thought he may have even once gotten a great deal and received food for a favor of repairing and repainting part of the fence. But this was a first type of neighborly quality time.

Knocking on the door a little early than needed, a text sent when the pizza had arrived, a container with still hot veal steaks, he knocked on the door, a plastic bag on his elbow as he wasn't sure if she would like beer or wine. "Evening, neighbor. I bring the promised goods and hope I'm not too early" he smiled as the door opened.

[mediumorange]

i get along without you very well (except sometimes)

by hoagy carmichael and jane brown thompson. this version is inspired by chet baker and by the fic that glued this song into my brain: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37180426/chapters/92759461

i had fun with this one! as a classical musician, improvising off a lead sheet is something new for me. please enjoy the mistakes! they were made from the heart 💗

[moccasins]

inktobertale day 11: library

inktober day 11: wander

[avengernomore]

Date or Pass Deidara

Send ‘Date or Pass’ and the receiving muse will answer truthfully if they’d date the sending muse or not. @reddawnmultimuse

"No."

[aluminia]

📖 Fave book and 📏 How tall are you? Απαιτώ να μάθω αν είμαι ψηλότερη από σένα 🔫🔫

📖Fave book: Το πιο κομφορτ βιβλίο μου είναι το Παραμύθι Χωρίς Όνομα της Πηνελόπης Δέλτα. Γενικό αγαπημένο πρέπει να είναι το And then there were none της Αγκάθα Κρίστι

📏1.64 νομίζω, ας δούμε ποια νικάει🔫

[googledocsdyke]

ziz i'm reading your little sterek fic

[jawbone-xylophone]

This hit something in my brain like a firework and I want to participate, because I've been a dog and a neat table setting and something in the shape of a girl and I want to scream.

I say that I hate the way things are because to fear is to be feminine. I say that I want to kill and bite because women swallow. When I was old enough to be strangled like my mother's bonsai tree into a cultivated kind of beauty (it's healthy, it's beautiful to fit inside a little box) I ripped my own hair out and it wasn't harm. It wasn't violence. Violence is something done to you. Beauty isn't something done to you, it's the way things are. Right?

Part of growing up is learning how to be beautiful. Part of growing up is learning how to be eaten. Bleed the right way and you can get anything you want, isn't that how it works?

When I was in grade school a boy told me he was a werewolf in some attempt to be attractive. It was popular to swoon for a boyfriend with sharp teeth and enough hunger to last eternity.

I don't get it. I want the teeth.

To be a man is to be a carnivore and to be a woman is to be an herbivore, but I have sharp front teeth and flat molars, somewhere between lion and deer. Does that make me less of anything? More of something? I try to picture myself in my head and I see Hermaphroditus in the spring, tangled with Salmakis who loved him so much she became him. I see the sterile annotations about his disgrace of being feminized. I hear a quote in my head, where the falling angel meets the rising ape. Can't I be both? Does it make something new?

People look at me like fertile ground and I hose myself down with pesticide, with days-old grimy eyeshadow. I want to be beautiful like a tomb rather than a cradle, dead the way a library is a crypt of tattooed corpses, all leather and ink and gold. I don't want to be a bonsai tree, I don't want to be eaten, I don't want to choose.

Women aren't herbivores and men aren't carnivores, but the script is on every TV and street sign and holiday potluck. It doesn't matter what I want. Beauty is something done to you. You're either the teeth or the meat.

I dress myself like a corpse instead of a turkey and I cling to that by my fingernails, because a third option may not exist but I want it anyway with all the red hunger of a grade school werewolf and a bonsai tree that's finally broken that fucking pot. I am angry and afraid, canine and molar, Hermaphroditus and Salmakis, and if I cannot have the privilege of being an omnivore then I will chew a hole in the stomach of the world and make that privilege myself.

At the very least, if I can't have it, maybe I can leave a hole for someone else to nest in. I'll say the words until I'm hoarse, wear the pins, paint myself gaudy like those street signs and the disgust at holiday potluck. Someone will come after me, someone I've never met and will never know, and they will never be truly alone because I refused to be pruned and left an ugly, massive, beautiful crater in the walls of this Alcatraz.

Nobody likes it very much when the weeds come. That's fine. I'm going to plant more and grow wild like they do, both teeth and meat.

I'm going to scream and I will never be quiet again.

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.