#The urge overtook

[bisexual-horror-fan]

So thanks to Batty I am re-watching Third Rock From The Sun already.

[prettyboyincc]

columbofied this pompompurin figure i got at michaels

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

Here, Fantasy AU :)

Their paths will all connect to ultimately the same goal, but first, they have their own little journeys to get through.

[mac-n-cheese-art]

Mucus Membrane

[im-smart-i-swear]

who even needs consistency anyway?

[corruptpixel]

lego upon you

[new-muldul]

I made this for me specifically but u guys can have it too smile

[hollowhornets]

I need to talk about pantalones design because it's been eating at me ever since I started looking into character design language and color theory a bit more (i absolutely dont know everything this is just me rambling to the void because i find it cool), ok so firstly, colors, the majority of his design is made up of purples/blue-ish purples and black, purple is often a color thats associated with royalty (aka really rich people) and it absolutely makes sense that he would want to present himself this way considering his status now (the wealthiest among the harbingers and one of the richest people in teyvat) and his past.

in the words of his fandom wiki page "Pantalone was born into poverty and was never able to receive a vision. This made him question why gods held dominion over so many aspects of life and gave him a deep desire to obtain wealth for himself."

and in the words of pantalone himself "we shall, by whatever means necessary, become the heart that pumps money around the world. and, when the moment comes, that heart shall cease beating by our will alone" it is very clear that he knows his status perfectly, even before he got to where he is now, and him having purple all over his design is making sure everyone around him (including players) also understand his status and know just how wealthy he is.

straying away from his clothes a bit and talking about his eyes, ive seen it in the hoyofair 'house of wolves' animation thing but ive also seen it in fanart and i need to talk about it cause it is eoughg (/pos), so pantalones eyes are usually closed (something i could absolutely talk about more but for the sake of this not being 10 pages long ill save it for a later date) but people often draw him with his eyes open with eye colors ranging from white to blue to purple, but i specifically want to talk about his eyes being gold.

so firstly (its a bit silly so bear with me) purple clothes, wants to present himself like hes royalty, etc etc we've established this, but something thats a little less obvious (because his eyes are always closed) but says so much character design language wise is his eyes being gold, signifying he only has eyes for money (because, mora, mora is gold, get it) purple is a color often associated with royalty and gold is a color often associated with money. giving him any eye color in fanart is absolutely fine and i love it all regardless but him having golden eyes makes so much sense with his character.

and just color theory wise, yellow and purple are on opposite sides of the color wheel which make them contrasting colors, which look so good if you make most of a characters clothes a darker shade of one and use a very bright and vibrant version of the other color in something small, like the characters eyes or a streak in their hair, it adds such a nice little 'pop' that looks so good on pantalone and i adore it its so pretty on him

[tubework]

been really into fish lately

[casualtydept]

just to let you know skull face tober is 100% still happening! despite the name i always intended it to be a long term project/to be writing the fills at my own pace so i can jumpscare everyone with a bunch of skull face fics somewhere down the line. tee hee

[skitskatdacat63]

It's so cool that the f1 YouTube is gonna be streaming thw2005 San Marino gp tmr, wow an old race I actually have watched hehe :D

[hp-hcs]

(i have no self control i swear)

tw: child abuse (duh)

The first memory Tom ever had was of Mrs. Cole hitting him. He had accidentally dropped his spoon during breakfast, and without any pause, Mrs. Cole backhanded him.

Tom had retreated to the safety of the overgrown and long-forgotten greenhouse in the field behind Wool’s Orphanage. He liked it there. Nobody went out there, and there was a very friendly garden snake named Sasha who liked to talk to him.

The memory, unfortunately, ends there. Likely, though, Sasha comforted him; and just as likely, he was hit again when he returned to the orphanage.

For the first eleven years of his life, Tom Riddle did not feel a single kind touch. No, every touch he was given hurt and stung and bled.

Then a man with a long white beard came and set his wardrobe on fire.

At Hogwarts, he was still avoided by everyone. He pretended to not hear the whispers of the other students, but alas. The only touch he received for the next five years were the brushes of shoulders against one another in crowded hallways.

(And a pureblood by the name of Abraxas, one Yule Ball. Tom later found out that he had been dared to ask him to dance, though.)

Then, his memories stopped again. His sixteen year old self checked out two books from the library: one from the restricted section on Dark magic, and the other a child’s book on ciphers and anagrams. He trapped himself inside of his diary, (Really, Tom, what were you thinking?) before he was forgotten again.

Well, he was forgotten. The rest of him, the rest of his soul, certainly made a name for himself.

Then, in a whirlwind of absurd coincidences, Tom was booted out of the diary by a well-meaning spell from a ginger first year and landed smack down at the feet of the boy who had killed the rest of him.

Without any hesitation, Tom hugged him.

(Whenever he was asked later, he would simply smile and respond with, “Voldemort was the product of an unloved child and a silly library book. I, however, am Thomas Marvolo Riddle. I am whatever I choose to be—not what was chosen for me.”)

((Although one time he did respond with, “Voldemort was a douchebag and I’m not him, dipshit.”))

And oh, Harry James Potter. The boy with coffee-colored skin and unruly hair, and those bright, emerald green eyes.

Harry Potter did not hug Tom back when he first emerged from the diary. He stood stock-still, as if physically holding himself back from flinching. (He was, of course, but Tom didn’t know that then.)

While Tom spent countless weeks in St. Mungo’s for observation, the cold and clinical touch of aurors and doctors made his skin crawl. So when the emerald-eyed boy arrived awkwardly with a box of chocolates and a small snake around his shoulders, who can really blame Tom for jumping up to hug him again?

And who can really blame either of them for crawling under the scratchy hospital bedsheets and holding each other close while they whispered things never before said aloud?

Harry spoke of a broom closet beneath his guardians’ staircase, (which prompted Tom to brush his fingers over that sprawling lightning scar with a whispered apology) and Tom recalled being forced to cut his own switches. (“It was never your fault, Tom. You’re not him.”)

And who could blame Arthur Weasley if he quietly shut the door after finding them asleep, wrapped up in each other? After all, they were merely two boys who deserved soft touches and gentle hands.

To all the Tomarry | Harrymort writers out there;

*slowly puts gem onto table*

Touch starved Tom / Voldemort. Anyone?

[gold-medal-ribbon]

Editing an old Jake fic instead of folding my laundry

[abandoned-as-mustard]

Once I sit on the floor against the wall, that's it, anywhere I was planning to go is cancelled

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ chris is obsessed with the bulge in your throat when sucking him off

you lay on the edge of chris’ bed, your head tilted back just enough to nearly dangle off, while he stood above you, his tip grazing the soft curve of your lips.

he looked down at you with a grin, his eyes darkened with desire and intensity that sent a shiver through you, every glance seeming to drink in the sight of you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

he shifted his stance slightly, his movements deliberate as he sought a better angle. his breath hitched for a moment before a low, husky groan escaped his lips. “fuck,” he muttered, his voice heavy with list as his gaze locked onto you.

“look at how perfectly those lips wrap around me…” his words trailed off, his eyes darkening further as he watched your tongue flick out, teasing him with a slow, deliberate taste that made his grip on your boobs tighten slightly.

you parted your lips slowly, inviting chris to slide his length past them, the warmth and softness drawing a low groan from him as he pushed forward.

a satisfied hum escaped you, vibrating against him as you adjusted to the length and feel of him, your lashes fluttering shut while your hands gripped the sheets beneath you. each inch felt deliberate, his movements slow and controlled, as if savouring the sight of your mouth taking him in.

his fingers slid into your hair; tangling gently as he guided your movements with a firm yet unhurried touch, letting you set the pace while he watched. each subtle pull and shift of his hand was deliberate, steering without forcing, as his gaze fixated on the way his cock disappeared between your lips.

the sight alone was enough for small noises to pass his lips, but what had him completely undone was the sight of the bulge forming in your throat as you took him in so deeply.

his free hand moved down, trailing over the curve of your neck, his fingers pressing lightly to feel himself beneath the skin. the sensation made his head fall back for a moment, a guttural groan escaping his lips before he looked down at you again.

“fuck,” he rasped, his voice low and full of raw hunger, “look at you…so perfect, taking me like that.” his thumb stroked gently over the bulge as he bit his lip, savouring every second of the sight before him.

one of your hands trailed down your body, trembling slightly as you found your way to the heat between your thighs. pressing over your baby pink thong, you began rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit, the thin fabric doing little to muffle the growing ache.

a soft, needy moan slipped from your lips, vibrating around chris in a way that made his head snap back, a sharp hiss breaking from his mouth. his grip in your hair tightened, not rough but enough to hold your attention as his gaze flicked down to where your hands worked against yourself.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained and full of awe, “you’re so good…so fucking good.” his free hand slid down your cheek, brushing over your jaw as he smirked, his hips stuttering slightly from the sensations you were giving him. “keep going,” he urged, his tone dripping with want. “i’m so close, ma.”

chris’ hips began to move faster, each thrust more urgent as his need to release overtook him. the rhythm was relentless, and you felt the intensity building with every movement. your eyes squeezed shut, tears prickling at the corners as your throat worked around him, earning a guttural groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

"fuck, baby... look at that," he rasped, his voice thick with awe and desperation. his hands moved from your hair, sliding beneath your neck to cradle it, his thumbs brushing tenderly over the bulge that formed in your throat each time he pushed deeper. the mix of his rough desire and gentle touch made your head spin, and the way his eyes darkened as he watched you rub over your clothed pussy.

“fuck, fuck, fuck," chris chanted, his voice breaking as his head fell back, every muscle in his body tightening as he teetered on the edge. his grip on your neck faltered for a moment, his fingers flexing as his hips bucked forward.

"i'm gonna come, baby," he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as a sharp hiss escaped his lips, the sound raw and desperate.

with a final thrust, his release hit, thick, hot ropes of cum spilling into your mouth. his body trembled above you, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he struggled to catch his breath.

"shit, baby," he panted, opening his eyes as he slipped out your mouth, his chest heaving as he smirked. "you're fucking perfect." his thumb brushed against your swollen lips, his gaze locked on you as you swallowed every drop, sending another shiver through him.

[calicocita]

SUKUNA RYOMEN: ❝ NOT JEALOUS. ❞

sukuna couldn't help the primal urge that overtook him every time he noticed another man looking at you.

no, looking wasn't the right word, eye fucking you, his perfect beautiful wife, right in front of him.

it happened more times than he could keep track of. at the mall when you dragged him along with you to run your little errands. at your job when he'd go to drop you off or pick you up. even at his job, he'd be forced to witness his own colleagues gawking at you with their jaws on the floor whenever you dropped by to see him at his office.

as if all of that wasn't enough to drive him feral, you were just completely oblivious to it. of course.

maybe that's why you didn't notice what he was doing at first. since you two started dating, ryomen would always touch you in public. like a lot.

you didn't suspect anything when he grabbed you by the waist wherever you went. or when he started holding your neck when you waited in lines, kissing your jaw and that soft spot behind your ear, which always made you giggle. or even when he kissed you so deeply and for so long—in the middle of the street in broad daylight—you had to take a moment to catch your breath.

it wasn't until things escalated that you started to wonder if there might be something behind his behavior.

it was at his office's christmas party, while he was making speech in front of all his colleagues about something you couldn't pay attention to, because while he rose one glass to the public with one hand, he simply slid his other hand down your back, squeezing your ass for everyone to see.

to say that you were pissed at him was an understatement.

you waited until you two got home to scream at his face about how incredibly inappropriate he had behaved.

"as if you didn't like it." sukuna teased, getting as close to you as you would allow him. "what? you want me to just stand there while those little shits eye fuck my wife in front of me?!"

"no one was eye fucking me, ryo—"

"c'mon, baby, be fucking for real with me, now." you let him get closer now, his large hands enveloping your waist. "you can't be that innocent." you tried looking away from him, but he grabbed you by your neck forcing you to face him. "do you really think there was even one man at that party who wasn't looking at you?"

"you're jealous?" you scoffed at him, and you immediately felt his grip tighten around your neck, making you involuntarily squirm under his touch.

"i am not jealous." sukuna snarled, tilting his head to the side, with a predatory smile that didn't reach his eyes. "what i am is fucking pissed at all those fuckers lusting after my wife."