#HEY HEY

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar johnny got in the business because he likes sex. he's got a degree collecting dust in his closet that he could use but why would he when he finds himself in between a pair of legs every other day? heaven.

also he became a certified munch because he was tired of seeing pornstars (not amateurs, like legit contracted individuals) eat pussy like they hate it. if he had to wank to one more girl letting out manufactured noises, his cock would perma soften.

(bonus for him cuz he's got a pretty face. getting in and rising to the pinnacle was as easy as making the top AV model clench and quiver around his fingers. in an interview he once mentioned liking to flatten his tongue when his costar is at the precipice cuz he loves to feel them pulse. something about it almost having a heartbeat of his own. sickening man. he said it while apple cheeked and a wolfish grin.)

[macy-bee]

Black Lives only matter when they get votes. Do not forget the Biden Admin’s (that includes Kamala!) Safer America Plan that spent millions on hiring and arming cops and giving more funding to Cop Cities.

I’m gonna need everyone to read Angela Davis’ “Freedom is a Constant Struggle” and start supporting mutual aid. Because we’re in it now. And there’s no going back.

[neilsanders]

the greeting you get when you find chewing gum under the table at school

[konjkitkatty]

RAAAAAAHHH NOBODY LOVES SONIC COLORS LIKE I DO RAAAAAAAAAAHGHHGHH

[goblinbeetle]

[scrollonso]

More — Strollini

The bedroom was dim and quiet when Luca woke, the only light on was the bedside table lamp that bathed the room in a soft, orangeish-golden glow. His head was pillowed in Lance's lap and his fingers were petting over his hair in a comforting, rhythmic motion, his hand blessedly cool when he smoothed it over his forehead. It would have been a nice way to wake up, Luca considered, if only he hadn’t felt so horrifically sick.

“It’s still snowing,” Lance whispered, instinctually knowing that his normal speaking voice would be too much for Luca's current state. 

“Mmm,” Luca hummed in brief agreement. The window curtains were partly opened so Lance could look out the dark window; the street lamps outside illuminated the fat snowflakes drifting through the air and collecting on the window sill in a white, fluffy pile. 

Luca weakly pushed himself up from his boyfriend’s lap and onto his elbow. Lance's hand gently moved down his head to rub little circles over his shoulder blade, lips ghosting over his temple.

“How are you feeling, mon amor?” 

He groaned in response as a wave of nausea rolled through him from simply sitting up. Breathing in and out, Luca tried to push down the sick feeling, but very quickly realised that it was a battle he wouldn’t win. The too-heavy blankets twisted around his legs as he attempted to hurry toward their bathroom, only for an arm around his shoulders to stop him. 

“Right here, amor,” Lance whispered, easily halting his efforts and reaching for the basin he’d placed there earlier that morning. “It’s alright.” 

Luca didn’t know how he possibly had anything else in his stomach at this point as he leaned over the basin and threw up once more. After heaving up little but water and bile, he spent several long minutes dry-heaving. Each round of heaving drove the dull headache that’d been plaguing him for the past three days to a searing pain straight through his skull, bringing tears to his eyes. 

Terrible chills racked sharply down his spine as Luca weakly spit into the basin, lowering himself back onto the bed. A pair of painful sneezes ripped their way out of him, jarring his head even more. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt the hot tears leak down the side of his face and drip onto the pillow.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lance soothed, placing the basin back on the floor beside their bed and sliding down to his knees so he was at Luca's eye level. He reached out a hand and cupped Luca's flushed cheek, brushing his fingers delicately along his boyfriend’s jawline. 

“I feel awful,” he rasped.

The combination of tears and his sore throat rendered his voice nearly inaudible, but Lance heard and planted a kiss on his blazing forehead, simply whispering, “I know.” 

Gathering the blankets closer, Luca took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Crying wasn’t going to make him feel better, he lectured himself. Four days ago, Lance dragged him to the doctor right away when he entered his office and found him near-faint at his desk. The IMF doctor had quickly diagnosed the Italian with the same flu that was affecting half of their friends — and that was partly Luca's own fault anyway since he was normally excellent about getting his flu shot every year. Still, he was so busy with work and training that he forgot. The doctor left him with strict orders to rest, take ibuprofen for the fever and body aches, and take the prescribed cough medicine as directed with the assurance he’d be back on his feet within a week. He was being silly, Luca told himself, to get so upset about a stuffed-up nose, a slight fever, and a little bit of nausea. 

But he was just so tired and sick. 

He swallowed down the sob that was crawling up his throat, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his temples. 

“It’s all right, baby,” Lance soothed, “I’m right here, you’re going to be okay.” 

Luca blinked his eyes open to look at him. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath his eyes, but his expression was soft and gentle. Guilt gnawed at his insides, knowing he was the reason why his poor boyfriend looked so exhausted. He was already stressed with his own job, and Luca hated to add to his list of worries. 

A choked sob escaped his lips as he apologised in a strangled voice, “I’m sorry.” 

Lance's thumb gently brushed a tear off his cheek. “Why are you sorry?” 

“I’m keeping you up,” Luca croaked, hating how small his voice sounded. 

A smile tugged at Lance's lips and he shook his head. “How many times have you stayed up with me when I was sick? Or when any of us are injured?” 

But that was different, Luca wanted to argue. He was supposed to be the strong one; whether that be nurturing Lance back to help when he injured himself last year or helping out whenever one of his friends needed someone, ensuring that their little family was safe and protected. That was his job, and he adored doing it.

All Luca managed to convey of this was, “I’m not supposed to get sick.”

Lance's lips curled in a barely contained smirk as he let out a breathy laugh. 

Luca felt his own lips twitch into a smile despite his efforts not to. “Don’t laugh at me.” 

The bruntette's smile broadened. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not,” he sniffled, sounding like a petulant child. 

Lance winked and crawled under the blankets, pulling Luca into his arms. “You take such good care of everyone, mon cœur. Now it’s my turn to look after you and I’m very happy to do it.” 

A lump formed in Luca's throat, but he swallowed it down. “Grazie,” he whispered. "Grazie mille, Caro"

Lance tapped his nose fondly in reply, which made him laugh and then promptly triggered a coughing fit. 

“Easy, amor,” he remarked, rubbing his back until the fit passed. “No more laughing until you’re better.” 

Once the coughing settled, Luca snuggled against his boyfriend and let him wrap him into his capable arms, his head pillowed on Lance's chest. Maybe he was just imagining it, but his body seemed to ache less and his nose less stuffy as their limbs intertwined underneath the blankets. 

After a few quiet minutes, Lance asked, “Do you think you could manage another dose of meds?” 

Luca's stomach churned at the thought of the disgusting, cherry-flavoured cough syrup. He shook his head against Lance's chest once, firmly. 

“Could you at least try some water?” Lance asked again, a hint of a pleading tone bleeding into his voice. "Or I'll go get you a sprite."

Luca shook his head again, “Not yet.”

Sighing, Lance hugged him closer, if that was even possible. “You’re starting to worry me, chéri.” 

“I’m alright,” he croaked, pressing his lips to Lance's collarbone. He felt like a miserable, sure, and like a soggy, pathetic mess, but he didn’t think he was in any serious danger. 

Lance pressed his nose into Luca's hair, kissing the top of his head. “Get some sleep,” he whispered the instruction. 

Luca didn’t need to be told twice, snuggling closer to him with his head pillowed on Lance's chest. Combined with the feeling of his heartbeat under his ear and his grounding embrace, he drifted off in only a minute.

When Luca woke again, this time to early-morning daylight than snow, his nose was less stuffed up and his stomach felt blessedly settled, but he was sweating profusely and the sheets and pillows felt amp. Lance had fallen asleep beside him, arms still wrapped tightly around him and their limbs entangled. Pushing himself weakly against the mattress, Luca rolled on top of him and Lance grunted awake at the moment.

“What are you doing?” the blonde agent asked, his voice still raspy with sleep. 

“My side’s all sweaty,” Luca muttered, hooking his arm around his neck so he could roll Lance over with him. 

“So you’re leaving me with the sweaty side?” Lance asked, sounding more awake and with amusement now replacing the sleepiness. 

“Mhmmm,” Luca hummed.

Lance chuckled and even though he wasn’t quite awake yet, he still thought that the sound was the most beautiful one in the entire world.

“I think your fever broke,” he remarked, kissing his forehead. The thermometer was right on the nightstand, where it’d been the past couple of days, and yet, Luca preferred his way. 

“That’s good,” Luca sighed in acknowledgement, billowing his head on Lance's chest and hugging his boyfriend closer to him. The other man just let himself be used as a pillow, chuckling again and trailing his fingers down Luca's back. 

“Are you feeling better?” Lance asked.

Luca nodded against his chest. 

“Do you want anything?” he asked again. 

“No.”

“You want to go back to sleep?” 

“Mhm,” Luca hummed again in response. 

“All right, go back to sleep,” Lance whispered, his voice tender and affectionate. 

“Ti amo,” Luca muttered, his eyes closing on their own volition before he forced them open. 

Lance's hand stroked over his hair, which was damp from sweat. “Je t'aime aussi, Luca. More than you could ever know.” 

Luca wanted to respond, to tell him that he knew, because he loved him just as much, maybe even more. But his eyelids felt so heavy and talking seemed like just an awful lot of effort. Luca would tell him after he rested for a few moments, he promised himself.

He was snoring less than a minute later.

[itsnotzka]

🌙✨

[formulawolff]

ok i cant stay away

[minus-world-of-love]

Oh, we’re doing an intro/promo thing? Okay~!

HEY HEY.

I'm Wisp (or you can call me Minus, actually as I type this, that sounds like a nice name...). Finally got to making a selfship blog on the side, so here we are...

Got an F/O page over on it directly, so check that out at your own discretion.

Very anti-censorship here. Self-styled safe-shippers are not safe here (kinda ironic, ain't it? feels odd to me, but oh well)

Main F/Os at the moment are (with tags)...

Stigma (SHY): #world 20-1: alice in children's land

Kyoka (Danganronpa): #world 4-castle: private invader~

Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel): #world 11-1: outset of silver snow

Yosuke Hanamura (Persona 4): #world 15-3: panta rhei

Ume Ochazuke (Food Fantasy): #world 8-1: a golden scheme

Tōru (JoJolion): #world 13.5: fire for the stone cold

Blacephalon (Pokemon Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon): #world 18-3: master pierro-technician

Shiver Hohojiro (Splatoon 3): #world 22-1: pedal to the megalodon!

I don't mind sharing. But yes, I'm fine with those who don't. In the wise words of DOOM Twitter, "you control the buttons you press". I guess the one thing that makes me really uncomfortable is those fake x reader posts where the character in question leaves for someone else? Don't even get me started on the ones that are just bluntly "X leaves you for(insert same gender-character here)/(insert same gender here)". Pardon my french, but it's just super retarded. But I think that's only a problem, with like, one F/O (Yosuke).

Got a problem with me shipping with a character, take it up with the air.

And thank fucking christ for @spiritmoodboards for this lovely banner o' mine.

[okaydays22]

[viewfromthelake]

Before diss tracks were invented, bands could literally be too busy singing to put anybody down.

[daughterofyourdarklord]

Delphini gets given a diary by her uncle Lucius right before she leaves on the train to Hogwarts with the simple but profound statement 'it was your fathers'.

On the back in gold block capital lettering is the name 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE'.

What happens next... ?

The pages are blank. Delphini may be young but she’s no fool. There is a wonderful magic that radiates from this empty book, its gilt page ends shimmering even in the darkness of Hogwart's dungeons. Delphini sleeps with it just beside her bed, she stares at it long into the night wondering when it might be safe to explore. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle. It sounds so wrong - plain. It couldn’t (shouldn’t) belong to her father. Still, her fingers trace the engraving constantly, a sense of familiarity comes every time she touches the leather. The pages are still blank. 

Dumbledore seems to have a set of eyes just for Delphini. She can feel his gaze tearing into her in the Great Hall - even when he’s not looking. Their magic is all over her, she knows that much, the traces of it obvious - dark. Dumbledore couldn’t possibly recognize that… could he? She suspects the Headmaster has a hunch, if there was any sort of proper evidence to go off of Delphini very much doubts she’d have been allowed past the castle gates. 

The pages are blank - until they are not. It is a dreary October afternoon when she finally allows herself to bring a Quill to the paper. She dates the corner, watching as the ink seeps into the paper. She waits. Nothing. 

‘Delphini Cassiopeia Black’. She writes it in large bold letters right in the center of the page. This quickly fades too and she feels a sense of frustration budding inside her. That’s it? It takes a moment before - ‘Is that so?’ - something writes back, the handwriting perfect. Delphini’s heart is in her throat. ‘For as long as I have been alive.’ She answers, sharing her birth date with the pages for good measure. ‘Not just a Black.’ It tells her. 

‘What is this magic?’ It’s a few days before she can muster up the courage to ask. She’s figured her father must’ve charmed the pages something fierce when he was young. That whatever is responding back to her is just the subset of a protection spell. Or that perhaps her magic is merely resonating with the bit of his that was left behind? Perhaps he even spelled the notebook in jest? To deter anyone who dare try to decipher the pages? Still, it feels much too powerful for the magic to simply be residual... ‘Not what - who.’ 

‘You are my father.’ She asks and tells it. There is memory to this magic, like a person - a soul. ‘How did you come to possess this diary, Delphini?’ 

‘So, you are still alive?’ They’ve been telling her as much but it has gotten harder and harder to believe as the years went on. ‘What can I do - how can I bring you back home?’ 

It takes time, but eventually she learns that He is somewhere in Albania and that, yes, He is very much alive. It’s after Hols that he instructs her down to the chamber. Delphini offers herself to him quickly, already so loyal, so ready to serve, so eager for His praise.

She meets the basilisk who quickly bends to the will of the heiress. It is almost strange, she spent her whole life only ever acknowledging herself as a Black, being the last in a long line of Salazar Slytherin's descendants certainly has its perks. The basilisk reminds her of herself - lonely, hiding.

Over summer they agree to keep the snake confined to the chamber - for now. Such sudden deaths would very quickly get Dumbledore's unwanted attention and Delphini has already explained to her father her concerns regarding the Headmaster. Turns out he very much shares in the sentiment.

Whatever piece of her father that lives within the pages refuses to take her life-source. ‘Find us someone we can manipulate, bring them here.’ It’s her first mission. 

It takes time, finding the perfect victim. Luckily, Delphini is well practiced in patience.

She terrorizes Neville Longbottom because she can. And why shouldn’t she? He makes it too easy and that look on his face is too hilarious. Still, witches and wizards would notice if he were to somehow turn up missing. She needs a mudblood, or perhaps someone even less relevant? It would be so much easier if her insipid half-blood cousin were still traipsing around the school. 

Delphini spends several nights a week in the chamber practicing magic at her father’s written instruction. It’s on her walking back one evening, when she is forced to duck into a nearby classroom to escape a Prefect, that she finds it. The classroom is quiet and Delphini even quieter, she turns readying her exit before startling immediately. It takes her a second to realize it’s her own reflection that frightened her, only.. It’s not just her. Delphini is mesmerized, she recognizes them instantly. Her father looks proud, her mother looks loving, they are exactly as she remembers them and strangers at the same time. 

She suggests they use Harry Potter. Two birds one stone, petty revenge and everything in-between. She hates the half-blood so much she can hardly even look at him but would revel in the chance to watch on as he chokes on his own blood. He deserves to suffer. 'The boy remains alive - for now.'

It takes time, and much more patience, but one day, her father sends the perfect victim straight to her. 

Professor Quirrell follows her down the wet and winding corridors, sputtering the whole way.

Finally. 

[kirockk]

Tala and the Manta. The right tattoo. Artwork by Kurt Kress

[lazygyodza]

Brother Lun

I realized that I've only been posting pictures of him with his lovestruck face expression. But IRL, when his precious GF is not present in one space with him - he has a btch, ahem, serious face 24/7. He's not very approachable. He can change the color of his hair and horns according to his mood.

And he works two jobs as a handyman and as an employee of the forest park.