#but it is what it is

[polariscroquis]

Yes, yes, I did an Art vs. Artist. A little sneak peak of your pocket artist here ;)

I took that pic after I watched Right Here Right Now at the movies alone, 'cause my hair looked nice xD

[ato-dato]

I found my one and only gomens fanart from 2019 so it had to be redone. Naturally.

[oobbbear]

Dialogue assignment, audio from stanley parable

[dailyvanellope]

Vanellope hanging out with Calhoun maybe?

day - 5

Calhoun is giving Vanellope pointers on her newly gifted blaster gun.

Ralph: Sarge? You sure that thing is safe?

Calhoun: As long as the safety lock is on, it's basically like playing with a toy.

[cool-thymus]

I'm catching up on Mable's "Up Against the Wall" and in one of the recent chapters Kakashi remembers:

He taught me hopscotch, Kakashi thought at her, his memory supplying an image of himself and Minato carefully drawing big chalk squares and bubbles on the ground outside the Hatake estate, insanely hard jumping patterns that would require a burst of chakra from the soles of one’s feet to finish. That was the first thing he taught me. Later, we worked on how to lace up bandages on one’s shins…

I thought it was absolutely genius and wanted to quickly sketch the "intricate baby ninja hopscotch," but it was not recognizable as hopscotch in b&w pencil, so I had to add color, one thing led to another, and ....I got stuck with a "warm up sketch" for hours 🥲

[yuanology]

this is what being gojo satoru's weakness feels like—

the door to your apartment creaks open at precisely three in the morning; the witching hour. it's terribly fitting, you'd like to think, with how satoru has a tendency to flit in and out of your life with minimal warning, sporting new bruises and scars every time he comes back. it has become something you learn to expect, so you always leave the door open for him.

he says nothing when he approaches you, footsteps light against the hardwood floor, but he knows you are awake. you know that he knows this because the bedroom door soon slowly gets pried open as well and there is an added weight on the mattress next to you. satoru still says nothing, and you still pretend to be asleep.

after this, comes the following routine:

one, satoru will turn you slowly on your back (if you are not already on your back), and then he will;

two, sling his leg over your waist, moving to straddle you. his ass is flushed against your pelvis. after this, he will either do the following;

three, he will rest there, his hands either framing both sides of your face and pressed against your pulse over your throat and over the beating heart over your ribs. or, he will be impatient, desperate to wash away the thoughts of today's sins and he will directly move to;

four, grind his hips slowly, rolling it in a way that he knows you would enjoy if your eyes were open to watch him. here, he is always languid no matter what tension builds underneath his skin. oftentimes, you're already awake for this part, but you always allow him this moment of false privacy. after this, he will;

five, he will lean close, his mouth pressing open mouthed kisses over your throat and collarbone where the skin is visible from above the fabric of your shirt. here, is the part where he slowly lets himself get caught in the rush—all wandering hands and panted breaths and a kind of vulnerable boldness that he will never allow anywhere else.

this is where the routine ends. this is where you decide what you wish to do with the god begging for a glimpse of his own humanity in your hands.

your eyes will flutter open slowly, drinking in the sight of the moon's rays casting pale shadows all over satoru's skin. there is a halo borne around his head— creased and warped and ruined by the touches of the people who is supposed to take care of him. it is in this moment you will always realise the sheer gravity of your situation, the implicit trust pushed into your hands, the explicit faith he instills in your kindness.

"satoru," you murmur, soft and slow. your hands move to rest on his waist, never quite guiding him to move faster or to stop, merely ever grounding him into the moment. "what do you need?"

because this arrangement is never about what you want, only ever about what he needs. because you only ever want him to feel safe, and he only ever needs you to make him human.

for a moment, you are almost certain that satoru will say nothing. this has happened before in the past, when satoru will climb into your bed wreathed in the shadows of the early morning and he will say nothing as he allows you to guide him through his own thoughts. during these moments, you must always treat him with utmost care; fine porcelain and delicate china designing the bones and structures that crafts the body of the god the shaman world reveres so cruelly.

but tonight is not one of those nights.

he blinks at you slowly, like a cat, like a ghoul, like a boy reawakening from a day filled with haze. he whispers your name, his voice hoarse as if unused. your hand inches higher, moving up to rest on his sides, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs accompanying each of his breath.

"satoru," you try again, because you are relentless when it comes to satoru. because for a man who saves so many people so many times, people rarely ever come around to save him. "look at me, sweetheart. what do you need?"

his breath shudders, his eyes falling shut. he leans forward, his face finding itself a home where it is buried in the crook of your neck. his response is soft, quiet, nearly inaudible if you are not listening to him. but you are always listening, because satoru always has something worth saying and no one else will listen to him.

"please," he murmurs, and you can feel him falling apart in your arms in real time. "just take it all away."

and your heart breaks a bit for this man, because you know what this entails. because you know what it means when he wants the world to be stolen clean from his hands.

"alright," you say in response, your nails digging into to scratch at his back. welts immediately begin to bloom all over his skin, but satoru is shuddering in your embrace and you already know that it is the right thing to do. "get on your knees. i want to fuck your face."

satoru scrambles quickly to comply. he slides off of you like oil off ice, even when infinity is nowhere to be found, and he gets off the bed. he moves to kneel on the floor instead, over the soft carpet that you had installed after you realised how much satoru liked simply staying on his knees, simply lazily sucking you off as he allows himself to drift off and away from all of his own thoughts. you shuffle to the edge of the bed, sitting with your legs parted so that satoru can move to settle in between them.

his hand moves to your thigh, a visible swallow tracking a long line along the column of his throat. "may i?" he whispers, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. satoru blinks up at you with wide eyes, pleading at you as if he is afraid of being pushed away, and there is a part of you that wants to cry for him.

but you don't. instead, your hand finds purchase in his hair, running through the soft strands, and you tell him, "go ahead, baby." because there is nothing better than you can do for him than this.

he smiles at you; none of that bright as the sun grins that he would give to the rest of the world. no, this one is more muted, desaturated, but no less genuine. this is gojo satoru at his softest moments, at his most honest. you follow his guidance as he gently manoeuvres you so that he can pull off your pants and boxers.

when you are once again situated on the bed, the both of you finally comfortable and pleased by the situation, does satoru begin to lean in. it starts slow, at first; kitten licks on your tip as his head begins to bob. he takes in your length slowly, bit by bit with all the hesitance of a virgin.

you both know better, though; all of this is part of a show, the one where satoru acts all innocent and boyish and oblivious so that you can take him by his hair and teach him how to take you properly. it's the same game you have been playing with him since the day you first took his virginity.

"is that all you've got?" you murmur, your voice mocking in that now familiar lilt that always spurs satoru on. this time is no different as he keens around your cock in his mouth, pulling off so that he can pout at you with pretty pink, spit-slick lips.

"i don't—" he cuts himself off with a soft whine, his knees shuffling forward so that he can get closer to you. you cup the back of his head in appreciation, twisting a strand of his hair between your fingers in a subtle act of approval. satoru immediately goes lax, all of the tension accumulating on his shoulders finally bleeding out as he simply looks up at you with wide, lost eyes.

"you're too big," he tells you, a familiar script. the corners of your lips twitch; into a frown or a smile, you could no longer tell. "i don't know if i can take it."

"shh, baby." this one is a little different, but the glaze in satoru's eyes at the sound of your falsely-comforting words is all the same. "don't you want to be my good boy?"

"yeah," he breathes out. he shifts closer, always so eager. "wanna be your good boy."

you hum, tapping the head of your cock on his lips. "then open your mouth, and take what i give you like a good boy, alright?"

it's easy, after that. satoru no longer plays any games. instead, he lets his jaw drop open easily, his lips parting to take in your cock. you slide yourself into the velvety warmth of his mouth inch by inch, watching his face swiftly acquire that dazed, fucked out look as you stuff him full on your cock. pretty, you think to yourself as you stroke his hair gently.

"see," you whisper, bending over so that your mouth was hovering over the shell of his ear. "you can take it. good boy."

satoru whimpers around your cock, nearly choking on it as he does, but his eyes are rolled back to the back of his skull already, and you know he's most pliant like this. you straighten as you push yourself off the bed to stand properly. the change in angle has the tip of your cock meeting the back of his throat, and you both let out a choked moan at the feeling.

you look down at satoru, your hand tightening its grip in his hair in warning. "i'm gonna fuck your throat," you tell him again, a second warning, and you begin to thrust into his mouth shallowly. "and you are going to take it, yeah? you're gonna be so good for me, won't you, baby?"

if this isn't what he wants, satoru knows that this is the time to push you off. just three repeated taps on your outer thigh and you will pull off immediately. you don't want to hurt him, not when he is already hurt so often.

but satoru's eyes meet yours, summer seas filled with determination, and his hands only move to cross behind his back, wrist caught in his hand. like this, he looks like the perfect image of subservience. no longer gojo satoru, the god, but rather simply satoru, a boy eager to please.

you roll your hips once, twice, experimentally to gauge out satoru's reactions. when he lets out a low moan, a muffled consent, your hand temporarily leaves his hair to thumb at his slick lips, drool slipping out of the corners of his mouth, leaving a mess all over his face.

"keep your eyes on me, pretty boy," you tell him, your voice low and heated. "i want you to watch me as i make a mess out of you."

satoru makes an aborted motion, the familiar buffered movements of a nod interrupted, and you smile. your precious satoru is always so damn eager to be good for you, to be good to you, that you can't help but wonder if perhaps this is your greatest blessing or a premonition for something worse.

your hips rear back, and you fuck into his mouth in earnest.

satoru's eyes immediately widen at the feeling of your cock filling up his mouth at rapid speed, the head bumping the ridges of the back of his throat. a high whine slipped out of satoru, the sound watery as it was muffled by your girth.

your hand once again finds purchase in the soft strands of his hair, but you no longer card at it gently. rather, you gripped at it; holding him upright by only his hair as you use it as leverage to make his head meet your every thrust.

choked, garbled sounds escaped satoru's throat, and you kept the sound of your own groans and moans to a minimum so you could enjoy the sound of satoru's aborted attempts at telling you how good you felt. satoru has never been quiet, not when you are involved, and even as you fuck his face, he will always, always try to tell you how good you're being to him.

"you look so pretty like this, baby," you coo, your voice breathless. "so goddamn gorgeous."

and satoru is. he's so beautiful, even out of bed, casted by rays of sunlight, untouchable in the daylight, but there is something almost otherworldly in the beauty he emits when he is yours. because here, on his knees, satoru is a different sort of gorgeous—he is stripped of his godhood, of his title, of his crown, and he is reduced to being just your good boy, your pretty, pretty satoru, your satoru. no matter how briefly, no matter how ephemeral.

but that isn't the most important factor in what makes him look so ethereal. no, it's the fact that for a man forced to be on his knees, satoru never once looks out of place. he looks up at you, long lashes revealing summer blue, and there is a dazed smile on his lips even where it is being wrapped around your cock prettily. it's the fact that gojo satoru, for all his pride and arrogance, will always willingly get down on his knees for you and he will enjoy having your presence be lorded over him. because satoru, your satoru, knows that you are his just as much as he is yours.

even on his knees, even when he is relinquishing all power into your hands, he still conquers.

fucking beautiful.

satoru constricts around you when you shift the angle ever so slightly to reach deeper into his throat. for a moment, you almost falter as you watch his hands closely. but they don't move, remaining where they are positioned behind his back, and you take that as your cue to keep things going at that steady pace.

tears begin to cloud satoru's beautiful eyes, clouds dotting at warm, clear skies, and you have to stop yourself from fucking him deeper, fucking him rougher, because even satoru has his limits and your job is to bring him to those limits, but never beyond those limits.

the sight, however, admittedly brings you close to your high. you feel warmth beginning to pool in your gut, steadily building as you guide his mouth to take you in further, deeper, until there is a bulge forming in his throat, matching the shape of your cock.

satoru keeps his eyes on you the entire time, the good boy that he is, and you know that he can see that you're close, because he starts doubling his effort. no longer does he simply take you, he begins to hum around your cock as well; the vibrations sending electric thrills running up his spine. low pants begin to escape your lips as you tug at his hair.

he whines.

"i'm gonna cum in your mouth," you tell him, feeling yourself getting closer and closer. "and you're gonna swallow it all like a good boy, is that right?"

satoru's eyes glaze over, and he moans around your cock. you feel your composure breaking, your movements growing erratic. with the purchase you have in his hair, you bring his face close to your hips until his nose is buried in your pelvis, nestled amongst your happy trail, and you're spilling down his throat.

satoru fucking swallows it all like a goddamn champ. he doesn't even struggle, choking on it at first but quickly finding rhythm like the damn prodigy that he is. he keeps his eyes trained on you the whole time, you know he does because you can feel the burn of his gaze on your skin even as you tip your head back, a guttural moan escaping your lips.

you make him stay like that for a moment longer, choking on your cock and your cum, before you finally pull out. his lips were shiny with spit and dribbles of cum, his eyes still glazed over by pleasure and tears, his face looking like a fucking mess and his hair sticking up in every direction.

"come here," you say as you fall back onto the bed, and he scrambles to follow.

he climbs into your lap and his lips are on you immediately, his hands scrambling to pull you closer to him. satoru's actions are filled with anxious energy, one that you recognise immediately. this is beyond just his desperation to feel you close to him after you've fucked his throat, this is satoru seeking repentance.

"what," you start, your head still feeling light. "what'd you do?"

"i'm sorry," satoru rasps out quickly, sounding so guilty that you can't help the frown that creases your expression. it's the wrong thing to do because the anxious energy increases and satoru is scrambling closer to you, hands grabbing onto your shirt. "i'm sorry, i didn't—"

"satoru," you say, not reprimanding, simply grounding, as you force him to still by grabbing his hips. "what happened?"

satoru swallows, looking at you with lost eyes. "i didn't mean to cum," he whispers. "i'm sorry."

for a moment, your head is entirely empty. satoru is still gnawing his lower lip nervously as he looks at you, watching you, anticipating your next move. but you honest to god can barely even think because you were watching satoru the entire time. his hands were behind his back and he barely even grinded against the floor, so how could he have—?

your hand moves to cup him, your thumb brushing over the wet spot. satoru stiffens, even as a weak whimper escapes him. "i'm sorry," he tells you again. "i didn't mean to."

fuck.

"it's okay, baby," you tell him hurriedly. your hands move to cup his face, feeling your brain come back to life. you wipe the tears out of his eyes, the clouds once again clearing to reveal cerulean blue. "i never told you that you couldn't cum. it's alright, baby. you did a good job."

he sniffles. "i'm still your good boy?" he asks, his voice so quiet that your heart breaks for him.

"yeah." you press a kiss to the top of his head, wrapping your arms around him to hold him close. "you're still my good boy."

and satoru is looking at you now with wide, guileless eyes, looking so much like a lost boy that you feel something splinter within your ribs. how terrifying it is, how something so seemingly simple can destroy satoru in an instance.

you tilt your head back, gently slotting your lips over his in a delicate kiss. there is none of that earlier hunger in the way you kiss him now, merely a softness that makes satoru loosen even if he does not melt yet in your arms.

just as he always is after an orgasm, satoru is pliant as you guide him onto your bed. you kiss him slowly as you take his clothes off, cleaning him of his sweat and drool and cum, before you redress him in a loose t-shirt and a pair of well-loved sweatpants that you had tucked away in your closet just for him.

once the both of you are clean, you situate yourself in bed next to him. your arms come to wrap around satoru where his face is tucked into the crook of your neck, your legs tangled as you hold him close to you. with this proximity, you can feel the way your heartbeat aligns with one another; beating the same rhythm, slow and steady and alive.

he mumbles your name into the silence, looking hesitant and shy all at once. "i'm still your good boy, right?" he asks you, his voice quiet as if he's afraid of the answer.

you swallow past the lump in your throat, distracting the momentary silence by leaning your faces close to each other; foreheads pressed together, noses brushing against each other. "always," you tell him, because it's true. "i'm glad you enjoyed yourself, baby."

and then, and only then, does satoru allow himself to go lax as if he finally believes you. he sinks into the warmth of your embrace, his eyes sliding shut at long last when you press a kiss to the side of his head and tuck him close to you.

because—

because there's a delicate line you have to toe when you're dealing with one gojo satoru; too much of something and you will crush him entirely in your hands, too little of something and he will believe that you do not want him anymore. satoru is a delicate game to play, a fragile person beneath all of his strength and glamour who simply yearns for a person to see him and hold him.

this is what it's like to be gojo satoru's weakness; in your hand resides to power to make and break a god, a boy, a lover.

[maria-ruta]

funny game fanart, i drew while still being sick...

I wanted to try something new, based on arts that inspire me. cant say im prefectly satisfied with result, but i think the process and getting out of the comfort zone is whats important, also i did learn somethin i think, yay!

💖Best wishes in new year, everybody!🎉

[the-whispers-of-death]

Thinking about a reader who worships their partner, aka Worshipper!Reader, and how you'd worship Ghost. It's such a stark change in the way Ghost's previous partners have been with him. Usually, he's the one worshipping his partner. Taking care of them, making sure they know how much he adores them.

But you? You worship him like he's your new god.

You hang onto to very word of His, you fetch Him food and water without Him having to ask. You clean His boots and His gear if He allows you to, but if He doesn't allow you near His gear then you definitely respect it the moment He sets that boundary. You give Him such reverence and devotion in your actions and words. You don't ask for anything in return except for the privilege of being in His presence.

And so He gives that to you, and so much more. Because best believe that man god is worshiping you back, He's not one to be cruel and just take and take. He gives the same amount of attention, though it's subtle so you don't feel like a burden (yes I think this Reader is a little insecure).

He does this by taking offerings in the form of you performing self-care, making sure you eat and drink properly. His worshipper needs to be properly fed and taken care of in order take care of Him and His altar, after all. He allows you to feed Him after watching you eat first. He allows you to wash His body after you've washed yourself first while you're both showering.

It's so endearing, the way you murmur His name so reverently as your hands wash Him so gently. The way you're so gentle when your fingers brush against His scars and tattoos, the way you memorize every inch of His divine body.

Yeah, Ghost could get used to being worshiped by you.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!

[1hellofacookie]

Her job

is...

Beach?

and kissing women

kenjoy

[wongwh0re]

can't get them out of my head

[lansangprincess]

i dont know how i can forgive the writers for giving me "you're my too much" from Darren in S1 for them to then say "the world can't always follow your rules" in S2 😔

[dramashii]

He liked her first.

A GOOD DAY TO BE A DOG (2023) | Ep 3

[rocketpunchhh]

for Kakairu Valentines Week hosted by @kakairu-rocks

Day 6: Pick Up Lines

@mandapandabug20 made A LIST with (fantastic) horrible pick up lines Kakashi would use on Iruka and this orphan one was so bad (aka brilliant) it spoke to my heart

[ghcstao3]

(x)

-

The night of John’s first visit to meet Simon’s family, Simon and Tommy both get exiled to the kitchen to wash dishes after dinner so Beth, quote, can have a chat with someone who can properly gossip.

Of course, though somewhat reluctant, they both oblige. And as always, they settle into their silent rhythm, Simon washing and Tommy drying, uttering no more than a few words when something is needed. Because it’s just what they do, what they’ve always done, in a way—the two of them have always been men of few words.

But then Tommy is casting a quick, almost paranoid glance back to the dining room where Beth and John chat happily before bumping Simon’s shoulder and flashing a cheeky grin. All Simon can do is huff and raise a questioning eyebrow because of course his brother is going to pester him about John, now that they have a moment of almost-privacy.

“He’s cute,” Tommy teases, easily slipping into their mother tongue.

“He’s a friend,” Simon replies tersely. Now knowing what nonsense Tommy was going to bring up, Simon finds he has no issue returning his attention to the few dishes left to clean.

Tommy scoffs. “Friends don’t look at each other like that,” he says. “I know you like him, Simon. No point in hiding that.”

Simon sighs. He tries to force his tense shoulders to relax, but it’s no use. Is he really that obvious?

“I just—“ Simon swallows. He sets the dish he’d been scrubbing aside to instead brace his hands on the lip of the sink. “I don’t know if I can… admit it to him. Not yet, at least. He’s just…”

Tommy snorts. “He isn’t anything. I mean—it’s obvious he feels the same.”

Simon frowns at that, because surely it isn’t true. Johnny liking him like… like that? No, that just doesn’t seem quite right. Simon isn’t good enough for Johnny, couldn’t—wouldn’t be, not in a million years.

Tommy laughs, watching the emotions flicker across Simon’s face.

“Who else do you let invade your space like that?” Tommy asks. “Who else do you let call you Si?”

Simon’s frown deepens. “No one.”

Tommy hums, resuming his task of drying and storing. “Thought so.”

The rhythm they fall back into is stiff, only reminiscent of what it had been before. Simon’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, cataloguing every interaction, every conversation, every moment with Johnny over the night; over the years—could Tommy really be telling the truth?

“I can hear you thinking, idiot,” Tommy eventually mutters. “I wasn’t saying you need to profess your undying love or whatever tonight, but I am saying—“

“Beth sent me to see what was taking so long,” John suddenly interrupts from the doorway. Maybe there must be some truth to what his brother had said, given the way Simon’s heartbeat flutters the moment he hears Johnny’s voice. “Thought you both drowned.”

Tommy shakes his head, turning while Simon pointedly continues to wash. “We’ll be out in a minute,” he laughs. “Your lieutenant’s a bit slow at washing.”

“Am not,” Simon grumbles, but it’s no use. John is already disappearing back into the other room.

Wordlessly, Simon and Tommy finish up with the dishes, wipe down the counters, and make for the dining room to rejoin their other halves in whatever conversation they’d been sharing in the meantime.

But before they can, Tommy stops Simon and gives him a look that Simon can’t quite decipher.

“Just… think about it. He’s not as unattainable as you’ve convinced yourself he is,” Tommy says, then turns and leaves Simon with the aftershock of his words.

In no world does Simon think he’d confess his feelings that same night—but maybe, just maybe, Simon should listen to his brother’s advice for once.

[lenakluthor]

"Buckle up. There's 5mg in each square."