#can't wait for the next chapter

[mamabearcat]

If you haven't had a chance to read @elkonigin's new chapter fic Intensive Care, do yourself a favour and go read it now. Laughter really is the best medicine.

[anemoneirissidera]

[iris-nonsense]

They found a way to bring him to court for shibuya screaming

But sukuna probably knows how higuruma's ct works since he was still inside yuuji when they fought, so it's possible he prepared a counter for it during the last month

[rosyhue-nightss]

Shakespeare who?

They're so shocked lmao they really thought she didn't mind.

At this point none of you girls are right in the head. But yeah she's right. I still like her tho.

Can't believe she forgave her? Babe have some self-respect

A natural manipulator. Free my girl Nanase

Yuni is so unlikeable that is almost funny

They really left in the middle of her speech

:(( she just wants to be her number one. Actually... she's also fine with being her number two

[rjshope]

Can't believe i'm saying this but finally: goodbye 2019, hello 2020

[lila-augen]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Husk/Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Other Character Tags to Be Added Additional Tags: Husk is So Done (Hazbin Hotel), Husk Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Husk Swears (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Husk is Bad At Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Hallucinogens, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Sexual Abuse, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), No Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationship, My First Work in This Fandom, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending Summary:

Husk was new to hell, he didn't know how to survive this place. He shouldn't have been so quick to sell his soul.

What if?... Husk was contracted to Vox.

[modjisan]

toxic yuri whatever day it is

[beanghostprincess]

Akutagawa (victim of abuse who became an abuser and is still learning about self-worth) being the one who has to take care of Aya (a child of an abusive dad who treated her like a failure) is something so important for both of their characters. I am so excited to see how this dynamic ends up developing. Akutagawa could finally show his emotional improvement while taking care of her in comparison to how he treated Kyouka, while Aya becomes her own knight but learns to let herself be protected too and mourn Bram. And they bond over the same trauma. And they're happy at some point because if they aren't I might die.

[cheriate]

Okay so everyone has read this fic right?!?!?!? THE CURSEBREAKER! an amazing LU fic by @rebornofstars! i love this wind. he means so much to me. every moment with him on page has me holding my breath in excitement.

SO a quick doodle page i will post to tumblr. sorry im so inconsistent.. :P

[thereaperisabitch]

"On Easter, he was going to leave a note for you for his little egg hunt, hoping you'd wake up Saturday morning and make your way over to his place to find the final prize."

This part hit me like an actual arrow because he was going to tell her he was her neighbor 😭😭 he was going to tell the truth that time😭😭 I'm already aching for tomorrow, wondering which toy you'll use for them 👀

a dress up!Joel interlude

tomorrow (29th May) I'll be posting the next part of dress up!Joel, lovingly titled ghosted.

in the meantime, have this interlude of sorts that I've been sitting on for weeks (and honestly thought I posted back in April, whoops.)

main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

rating: Explicit (18+ only!) word count: 969 warnings: more brotherly shenanigans, sex toy talk, mild relationship angst, alcohol consumption summary: Joel's egg hunt couldn't have gone worse, and so he confides in the one person who has his back no matter what - his baby brother.

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Shooting the shit with his little brother wasn't something Joel Miller ever thought he'd enjoy. But, with age and maturity, there wasn't anything quite like sipping cold beers in his backyard, his brother yapping away about work, or girls, or the playoffs, or just about anything else, as they relaxed at the end of a long week. Tommy could talk, and Joel could listen, and that's how it'd always worked.

"Hey, you still got that thing I gave you," Tommy suddenly asks, after giving Joel a blow by blow of his latest conequest - some blonde he met at a bar and didn't even know the name of.

"What, this pain in my ass? Yeah."

"Very funny. Nah, I mean that ballpedo thing. Turns your balls into a torpedo."

"Balldo."

"Yeah! You still got it? If you ain't usin' it, ain't no use in it goin' to waste."

Joel lifts his beer, the condesation leaving a dark ring on his jeans, and takes a sip, averting his eyes from Tommy.

"Still got it."

It was stuffed at the bottom of his sock drawer upstairs. After Christmas, and his uncomfortable walk back home with the thing still strapped to his balls, it took him a little while to pry the thing off. The lube he'd spread over himself was turning tacky combined with your juices, and wetting it just made everything too slippery. But, eventually, he was free, and he cleaned the thing up and left it to dry, as if there would be any opportunity to use it again.

It was a happy coincidence that Sarah was with her mom again on Valentine's day, and your calendar for that day was empty - he noticed when he was fixing a drip in your kitchen sink. Given you enjoyed Christmas, he thought you might like something else too, and he was happy to be right. On Easter, he was going to leave a note for you for his little egg hunt, hoping you'd wake up Saturday morning and make your way over to his place to find the final prize.

He hadn't expected to get caught, and he hadn't expected things to be left as they were afterwards. Now the memory of all of it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Can I go grab it? I'll take it off you."

"Nah... nah it's okay," Joel says, with a non-commital wave, as Tommy stands, taking a few steps to head inside.

"C'mon, if you ain't usin' it, I can take it. Mom never teach you to share your shit?"

"I'm always sharin' my shit with you, I said no," Joel shoots back with finality, unable to stop himself from mumbling into the rim of his beer. "You wouldn't want it now anyway."

Tommy was never one for being quick to catch on, and for that Joel was grateful. Though, maybe this time he underestimated his little brother. Tommy still makes a move to head inside, likely to rifle through his shit to find the toy he'd given Joel so long ago, but he stops in his tracks before pulling the patio door open.

"Holy shit," is all Tommy says. "Holy shit."

"You remember you're an asshole again?"

"You used the fuckin' ball thing?!"

Joel's silence says all Tommy needs to know.

"You gave yourself a dick for balls and you didn't tell me? Fuck I've been wonderin' about that thing ever since I gave it to you. It good?"

Joel doesn't really know what to say. He doesn't want to say anything - he wants to keep his fuck up with you his own tragic little secret, but now the balldo's out of the bag, he can't exactly dodge the question. Tommy was a persistent bastard when he wanted to be, and Joel knew that he was going to be extra persistent with this.

"It... yeah. Yeah, it was good."

"Wait... fuckin' wait a minute. This mean you got a girl?!" Tommy's face lights up as he asks, and Joel can feel the color drain from his. "You got a girl and you didn't bother tellin' me? You wound me, brother."

Shaking his head, Joel takes another swig of beer, hoping it'll wash the memory of the taste of you from his mouth. It doesn't.

"Nah. Didn't get the girl."

"You fuck it up that bad?"

As much as they could piss each other off, they always had each other to fall back on. Usually, of course, it was Joel picking up the pieces for Tommy, but there was an unspoken agreement between them that meant no one was keeping score. No one owed anyone anything, they'd always be there for each other, whether it was one time or a thousand times. So, against his better judgement, Joel tells Tommy everything and, for once, Tommy listens.

"Only one thing I don't get," Tommy muses when Joel finally finishes with a sigh. "If it was a misunderstanin', what the fuck are you doin' here with me, and not over there with her, explainin' yourself?"

"She told me to leave. I don't wanna intrude any m-"

"You broke into her fuckin' house, brother, think you're long past that."

Tommy slides the patio door open, half inside, half outside, and looks back at his big brother.

"Take it from an asshole who knows - doin' nothin' ain't gonna do shit. You don't get the girl, you don't get your shit rocked. Talk to her. You got nothin' to lose. If she don't want anything to do with you, nothin' changes, and if she does, well... you get the girl, and you get your shit rocked."

He hated to admit it, but Tommy was right, and Joel had never felt so fucking stupid that he didn't come to the same conclusion sooner.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd make this right.

[bilolli]

Hi @spadillelicious , yesterday I read your fic and I'm normal about it. Take a messy fanart.

[ajwalkerartblog]

I need more scenes of them just dancing please and thank you

[dr-fluff-meow]

Awesome, awesome, awesome! 😍😍😍😍🤩

@renaerys just recently published the tenth chapter of this gem of a story. What can I say? Time between the ninth and tenth chapter seemed to move uncharacteristically slow - it felt like sweet, pure torture not knowing what'll happen next, if Sakura manages to come and save our beloved, idiotic, charismatic Shisui just in time. And where the hell is Itachi? Will he be able to return from his mission right on time?? Questions after questions, a dread to go by every day. Oh how bittersweet those days have been, until... Until finally(!) we are able to read the most awesome and thrilling chapter known to fanfiction that gets your pulse up well over 180, your heart hammering so hard, trying to break through the rib cage while reading this perfectly written masterpiece of all time! Reading the tenth chapter did things to me I never anticipated or experienced. The thrill, the suspense, those feelings running havoc, sympathising with the characters, with Shisui, the dread and angst of Sakura, the vulnerability of Itachi - all because of this vile git Danzo who, honestly, made me so angry that I feared my wrath and disgust for this human being unintentionally extends to poor souls immediately surrounding me. But behold, Sakura and Itachi! As I wrote before, it is truly a masterpiece. I can't stress this enough. A MASTERPIECE!

And now, I crave the next chapter. What will happen? Aaaw, silly, naive me loved and hated the suspense until this tenth chapter has been published and while reading this chapter. But now, the days, yet again, stretch infinitely and I just can't handle the suspense for the new and eleventh chapter.

Shisui and Sakura - this pairing is so lovable and the way their relationship is portrayed in this story, so bittersweet, fragile, and intimately emotional is spot on and so very relatable that there's just no other way to love them.

@renaerys you did an superb job! ❤️ I am so obsessed that I'm not even mad but anything but thankful for your story and that to a degree to which I am unable to put into words. THANK YOU ❤️ can't wait to chapter eleven 🥰

A Quiet Thunder (Shisui/Sakura)

Hey hi hello, I’ve swan dived into the ShiSaku fandom hard. Here’s Chapter 1 of a new fic because I simply cannot help myself. Premise is the 4th War goes wrong in the worst way, so in a desperate bid to do just one thing right, Obito magicks up the last of his power to send Naruto back in time to fix it. But, oh no! Naruto is not available, and Sakura is next best (and only) option. Rewind 10 years, and she crash-lands (literally) in the arms of one of the most powerful and renowned shinobi Konoha has ever produced. Surely everything will work out super fine, right?

Summary: Destiny has never chosen Sakura, and it’s not about to start now. But with Naruto gone and the world as she knows it on the brink of collapse, the pickings are slim. Good thing she’s too stubborn to lose. 

[Or, Obito has not stopped to consider that he’s left the future in the hands of a pair of idiots.]

Rating: E

[crystallizabethine]

I'm not saying it's their doing buuuuut...

@somerandomdudelmao's latest update for context

[matcha-gg]

Whitepine whitepine whitepine whitepine whitepine am I right???

[pleaktale]

SCREWMING CRYING TH2ORINY UP JQBAQ>;+*#+&#*+# UEEEEEEEE UEUEEEE UEUEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭 why did I cried this is the first chapter???? So, so beautiful, I absolutely love how I can see everything you write clearly

In The Badlands

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: No us of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW guns, TW death mention, CW blood, CW food mentions, CW violence mention.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

Amidst the tar blackened smoke, a tall stranger appears, puffs of smoke parting way for his leather clad form. His spurs clinks as he moves past the doorway of the homestead, ashes floating by, coating his long coat and steel toed boots. The leather vest is perfectly tapered on his waist, pierced lips curled around a slim cigarette, as if the heated smoke entering his lungs wasn't enough. The dark hat he wears obscures half of his face, shadows dancing on his jade eyes. Fire light flickers on his skin that glistened with sweat. Flames lick at his feet, the roof collapses just behind him.

As he leaves the ashes of the former home, blood coating his thick leather gloves, crimson mixing in with the gray ashes. Knuckles hurting and jaw aching, the still warm barrel of his gun weighs heavy on his waist. His horse, Buckeye, neighs, as if he was calling him over.

Shifting his weight on the last step of the burning porch, he spots someone waiting for him, clad in leather, an armour perfectly tailored for his broad shoulders. Golden gun strapped to his waist, rifle on his back, the man's hazel eyes reflect the flaming chaos that the stranger left. The dappled horse huffs behind him, hooves trotting in fear, ready to leave his owner in the dust.

Death is visited by an old friend.

The hazel eyed man dips the brim of his hat in greeting, it's enough for the flame kissed stranger to scoff. “Fine evening ain't it, Hobie?”

“It was, then you came along.” He says gruffly, voice hoarse from the smoke clinging to his throat. “What do you want, Miguel?” Through narrowed eyes, thumb pressed closely to his gun belt, Hobie's body says it all, ‘not in a good mood for a conversation.’

Yet, Miguel still stays on the now ashen field, nose itching at the stench. “I have a proposition—”

“‘m retired,” Hobie interrupts, now standing beside his horse, he calms Bucky down with a pat on his snout. His loyal steed knows Miguel well, and Miguel has the right idea to steer clear of his behind lest he gets kicked to an early grave.

“This doesn't look like retirement to me. I keep telling you you're too young for retirement.”

“This was just a favour, prick deserved it.” His eyes grow darker at the mere mention of the newly departed soul that is now having an impromptu cremation.

“This one is also a favor,” Hobie narrows his eyes further, he taps impatiently on the scorpion etched on his belt buckle. Miguel can tell that he's close to shooting him right on the spot. “from me.”

Hobie groans, “can't, busy.”

“Tending to your dirt farm ain't being busy.” Miguel tethers on the gallows at his pointed words. Still, he pokes and prods at the reaper in front of him. “Told you that the land you bought was a dud.”

Hobie gets on his horse swiftly, more than ready to leave his former associate behind. “Can you get on with it, Miguel?”

“Just like I said, I've got a proposition, the reward could really help out your farm. ‘sides, early retirement doesn't suit a man of your talents.” Miguel flicks his eyes over to the house when a large cracking sound almost startles him. Proving his point. The porch collapses, embers and ashes floating away like snowflakes.

“I don't do bounties anymore.” Hobie doesn't spare the destruction a glance, green eyes staring intensely at the man before him.

“This isn't a bounty, it's a find and transport.”

“Since when do you accept those kinds of jobs?” Hobie raises a pierced brow, sweat coating the back of his neck irritably. “Sounds like the gang have fallen on hard times.”

“Since they offered me five k.” Hobie's intrigued, just like how Miguel predicted. “Also, I heard from the informant that your target seems to be sailing from your old country. I'm sure you'll get along well, with your teas and shit. But knowing you, you won't.”

Hobie ghosts his hand over the large scar on his neck, like it still bleeds, like the blood he shed still drips on his calloused hands. “‘m listenin’” Sounds like an easy job, he thought. He's not exactly a novice, so he already considers it done.

Miguel gets on his horse with a groan, he can tell that Hobie is biting his tongue from making an old man joke. “You have to do it alone though, I'd take it but I've got another job lined up.”

“You already had me at five k, stop tryin’ to convince me. But ‘m guessing you have a cut in that five k?”

Miguel chortles, “’course I do, why don't we have a drink and we'll negotiate. I'm sure Riri would appreciate my patronage.” Hobie nods curtly. “First of all you need to take care of your wounds, you're covered in blood.”

Hobie rides ahead. “Not my blood.”

Almost two years of being ‘retired’, Hobie hasn't changed one bit. Miguel smirks victoriously, this'll be an easy job for a man like Hobie and an easy fifteen percent for him.

—

You're hungry, incredibly hungry. Stomach growling angrily, you feel like you're about to pass out from starvation. Two days of not being able to eat a single crumb, and almost a day of not having a sip of water, you're ready to dig your own grave. But you refuse to fall without reaching your goals.

You can't fail.

You already hate it here, the air stinks of horse shit, the roads are covered in mud and horse shit, and now the smell of horse shit has made a home in your nostrils. A week in the west and you're already at your lowest, money gone from a quick handed street child, clothes all ratty because you traded off your silk dress and remaining jewels except for the simple gold band around your middle finger. Hair greasy, and skin sweaty and from the sweltering sun, you're more than ready to leave. But you can't let her win, you cannot let her have the last laugh or your life would end before you could actually live it.

Licking your dried lips, eyes glued to the window of the general store, you take your bandana and wrap it around your face, making it a makeshift mask just like how bandits do. Armed with a six shooter that has no bullets left in its chamber, you find courage to rob the place when no one else is inside, or at least get some canned peaches.

Storming the shop, shouldering the door, the bells chimes as you enter. The man behind the counter yelps at the intrusion, wide eyes staring at you in fear. His hands raise next to his head in surrender, mouth stuttering to stitch together a sentence.

“T-take anythin’ from the register! P-please just spare me! I have children to feed!” The man shakes, mustache damp with sweat.

You're equally terrified. “I–I just need food and water. Please,” you almost chuckle at yourself. “I don't want to hurt you—!”

The bells chime again, heavy boots thud against the wooden floorboards, a breeze entering as the slim stranger wanders through the store. The air in your lungs is sapped away, something in the stranger makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

You and the shop owner stare at the masked man curiously, blinking, you watch as he casually takes two cans of peas. Taking the cans to the counter, he doesn't even spare you a look or cower in fear at the sight of your gun.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks the terrified man. His accent reminds you of the land you ran from, the familiar tone would bring you calm but his mere presence exudes danger.

“W-what?” The mustachioed man trembles. You just stare, arm aching from how you hold the heavy gun.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” your breath stops when he finally acknowledges you. “When you rob a place, you don't tell ‘em that you have no intention of hurtin’ ‘em. You just lost your advantage, fear is your main weapon, not your gun.” His jade eyes bore into your skull, you swear you feel the heat of it like you're stranded in the desert. “Which doesn't have any bullets by the way.”

The moment he says it, the shopkeeper cranes his neck quickly to a fumbling you. Quickly taking his rifle behind him, you run before he could even aim at you. A shot rings out in the small building, the bullet lodged in the back doorway where you fled.

“Grab her and I'll reward you!” The man yells at the stranger.

“How much?” He stays in place, casually leaning on the counter, watching your form get smaller and smaller as you run with all your might.

“Ten bucks!”

The stranger cracks his neck, groaning at the relief. “Fine.” Running after you, with his longer strides and full stomach, he's already behind you. “Stop runnin’!” It doesn't sound like a warning but he intended it to be. The sun bares at his back, quick drawing his gun out, the silver barrel shines as he aims at the ground.

The bullet whizzes past you, nicking your ankle, warm blood soaking your shoes. Yet, you still do your best to run. You can't be caught, you can't go back. You cannot go back to the life she planned for you. Limping, trailing crimson on the dusty ground, you feel his heavy presence right behind you.

“You gonna make this harder for me?”

“Yes! Leave me the fuck alone!” You continue to bolt away, but the man casually catches up to you with only a few strides. You smelled him before you felt his hand on your shoulder. Sweat, leather, and tobacco, a scent you've gotten all too familiar with in this new world you've fallen into. But there's a whiff of something you're familiar with. Something you've almost forgotten.

He grabs your shoulder back, but you're still too fast, taking advantage of your adrenaline. Bolting away, he takes his lasso from his belt, with a practiced hand, he swings it and the rope hits its mark, your legs, hemp wrapping around your knees with a slap.

You hit the ground face first, dust on your face, and sand in your eyes. The stinging pain on your chin and nose makes you groan, tears welling up, and blood trickling down from your nose.

The almost silent footsteps getting nearer has you scrambling away. The stranger takes your shoulder, trying and failing to bind you.

Fighting back with a swift kick on his chest that doesn't even faze him, you slap him away in futile. “Stop–! Fuckin-!” You two wrestle on the ground, dust flying all over, nose itching at the particles. You bite his arm, he flinches before he wraps his gloved hand around your wrist, pinning you down. The rough leather is hot against your skin. “Ow! You– stop! ‘m not gonna hurt you!”

“You fucking stop!” Your free hand grip the bandana hiding his face. His legs trap you in between them in retaliation. “What did you say back at the store? Fear is your main weapon, not your gun?!”

“You're bloody butchering it—!” With one strong tug, you take his black bandana off, revealing a familiar face.

You gasp breathlessly, frozen in place. His name falls on your lips, a name you've only whispered before you fall asleep like a prayer murmured to whoever was listening.

“Hobie?”

Hobie's heart stops, now he notices your eyes, those eyes he once loved to stare at endlessly. Eyes that he's fond of, eyes that still hold his promise. With trepidation in his chest, and the ghost of pain around his scar, he gingerly takes your bandana off. Your face greets him, he imagines a scowl on your pretty lips, but instead of hate, he sees relief. A beaming smile on the lips he's all too familiar with, the same lips he'd kiss everyday for two years.

Death's carefully plastered façade falls.

You're his target, the same person he told those three words to a thousand times before when everyone told him it's not meant to be. You proved them all otherwise. The same person he once loved all those years ago, before he faced death himself.

“Y/N?” His voice breaks with the mere utterance of your name. A name that has been tattooed in his mind ever since everything came crashing down. Ever since you two tempted fate too much, and he alone faced the consequences. The scar around his neck proves it all.

Your grin gets wider, and you feel like the luckiest girl alive. Hobie feels like he lost a thousand dollars in poker.

“Hi.” You could only muster, the hands that slapped him away now hold his face carefully, fingers tracing all the new scars and marks on his skin. “I finally found you.”

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