#LOVE YOU ALL MWAH MWAH MWAH !!!

[n7viper]

hi hi, doing my irregular life check-in again

I got a 3D printer and I'm addicted to being sillay with it

that is all

[molgars]

people I'd like to know better

@eraserspiral and @mxjackparker thank u for the tags ilu <333

last song: I Love You Like An Alcoholic - The Taxpayers

favourite colour: the babiest of baby pinks and phthalo green

currently watching: buffy rewatch babeeyyyyy

last movie: cruel intentions lol

sweet/spicy/savoury: savoury and spicy all the way. both. at once.

current obsessions: bg3 lmao in case that wasn't clear

last thing I googled: phthalo green (to check the spelling)

tagging (with no pressure, obviously) @dwarfsized @shewhowas39 @gilded-glitter @socalledfreethinker @tattelatte @fandomreferencepending

[sunlitsoil]

there is always tomorrow

[814519]

vampire wives (twt)

[verflares]

would you like to live deliciously?

[sincerelybubbles]

could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍

Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333

"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.

"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.

"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."

The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.

All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.

"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.

"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.

You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.

"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.

"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."

You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.

"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.

[blondie-drawings]

I recently got a bunch of TNG novels at a charity shop and this passage from the FIRST BOOK is making me feel craaaaazy

[ozzyeelz]

Just know whenever I see my mutuals liking my posts I giggle and kick me feet in the air

[leftneb]

Is anyone else feeling terminally ill about Oscar clearly being in pain from laughing (see: holding what I assume to be the bit with the broken rib) but still laughing at basically every 2nd sentence from Lando. Like he just can't help himself. Like it would hurt Oscar more not to laugh with Lando than it does to break a rib. Like it's worth it. And that makes me think: did Lando know before we did? Was he told or did he notice through Oscar's body language? I wouldn't put it past him. Did he ever feel bad for making Oscar laugh? For causing him pain? Does he realise that Oscar doesn't mind?

I wonder how Kim feels about this. the objective stupidity of it all

[triona-tribblescore]

UH- UM- MY HAND SLIPPED-

Tw// suggestive material

[nekrosmos]

They're going on a date 👍​

[ooppo]

[arthursfuckinghat]

I know I've shown it before but I can't stop looking at this picture and smiling to myself without thinking about the fact that Charles taught Arthur how to use a bow.

And not just any bow - Charles' own bow. Even with the rough circumstances they were in at the time, Charles was still patient enough to teach Arthur how to use the bow efficiently. He didn't make fun of Arthur's skill level, he didn't criticize him, he didn't shout or yell at him afterwards, Charles simply guided Arthur and let him learn at his own pace.

If you shoot the deer but it doesn't die? He still helps you. If you miss completely? He still helps you and encourages you to try again. If you need to track down the deer again? He will still help you. He will still help Arthur. This wasn’t just a lesson in hunting; it was a moment of trust and respect.

Charles knew that Arthur was perfectly capable with a gun, but he still taught him an incredibly valuable life skill that day - a skill Arthur eventually honed.

[canisalbus]

hey there! sorry to bother again, but I was in a animating mood, so I ended doing a short animation of Machete for practice. It's kinda messy since I havent done that for a while, but hope you like it!

.

[melioristicbeast]

*chanting* big spoon stiles, big spoon stiles

(Because he's always got Derek's back (◡‿◡✿) )

I got out of bed 30mins early this morning just to work on this, I am not feeling normal about these two

[nighttimenothings]

there are very few people for whom i would kneel for. and for you, i would. i would kneel. reverent. your name on my lips like some kind of salvation. how ever so sweet you are, my love my love my love. all bright eyes, soft curves and shy smile.

would you lie back for me, eager and wanting for me to take care of you? would you be good for me?

how shall we begin, my dearest love? shall i inch closer, hands skimming your thighs? my shoulders keep your legs spread; this is as much for you as it is for me. i'll give you everything you want so long as you let me take my time with you.

would that be amenable? could i kiss you here? what about here? i'll leave a trail of kisses up your thigh, slow and anticipatory, so as to rile you up. i've got to make sure you're ready for me, hm? all the while, my hands will make a home of your hips, my thumbs rubbing slow circles.

oh, my love. look at you. you're beautiful. the way you rock your hips desperately, the way your hand reaches for mine, the way your skin begins to dampen. but how would you sound? how every so pretty will you sound when i put my mouth on you?

easy, now. i always take such good care of you, don't i? when i finally lean in, i can already smell you, how ready you are for me. gorgeous. so puffy and wet—for me. how is it that i, of all people, am allowed?

you spoil me, my darling. and so, when i lean in, tongue easily tracing around your entrance, collecting, exploring, i can't help but sigh. it's messy and carnal and human. there's nothing more transcendent. slick stains my chin, your inner thighs, and it's perfect. you are perfect.

my girl. my girl. my girl. look how well you take me. so incredibly good for me. your moans and whines—music. sweat-sticky and flushed, you're a vision. a goddess, and i've found myself at your alter. you slide a hand into my hair, pulling me closer. anything for you. i press closer, tongue sliding deeper, nose nudge-nudging at your clit.

the world narrows, your thighs tremble and i hold your hips still. easy, easy, easy. there now, it's okay. let go. i'll be there when you fall. go on, pretty girl. it's okay. i've got you.