#coming soon?? when i have more time

[earlysunshines]

minji fic spoiler that i'm working on and i'm enjoying this sm im ngl but maybe it's bc its xmen au and im a NERD for xmen... my gosh

this is going to flop but idc bc i looove writing this it doesn't even matter... ooo wolverine minji save me,... i need her....

[orkazh-arts]

"Somebody will die… 😡" "Of fun ! 🥰"

[shroomerr]

Oh, help me God, this hellboy got me coming back for more

reblogs super appreciated !!! close-ups under the cut !

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: WELCOME TO YOUR WORLD: How the Built Environment Shapes Our Lives by Sarah Williams Goldhagen.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

If you look at jewish people voicing their concerns about antisemitism as anything close to a "victim complex," you're just an antisemite, like... How do two THOUSAND PLUS years of antisemitism around the globe sail over your head so easily.

[hiphopcherrrypop]

save me bottle blond bass player

[myokk]

70s au

[bacchuschucklefuck]

caps from comic Im doing

[vaguely-concerned]

the relationship between the chantry and the mortalitasi in nevarra is SO fucking funny. the carefully politic and civil syncretism of it all. the ‘I’ll refrain from scratching your back to bloody shreds if you refrain from scratching mine :)’. left hand politely averting its eyes from whatever the fuck the right hand is doing merrily up to its elbow in entrails because it usually knows what it’s doing I guess. speak softly, and have an army of the restless dead ready to go banapants horrorshow bonkers if you don’t get to tend to them. We Receive: being able to keep doing our goth thing mostly unimpeded. You receive: us not raising the great majority to protest your unwelcome meddling. render unto the chantry what is the chantry's and unto the watchers what is theirs (or, with all possible courtesy you understand, else…)

[microtyalm13]

everything about Gavriil feels suffocating.

how his presence alone can be almost overwhelming, how his massive body cages you everytime without a chance to escape. you wouldn't dare to try anyway, knowing that you don't even have a say against a creature of his caliber. he will find you. in your dreams, in your nightmares. in your room.

how he will be intense and vague about everything just for the sake of it; to confuse you further, to see the conflict of emotions in your eyes merge with arousal. eventually your hesitance turns into acceptance, a desperate need to feel his hands all over you. and he will be oh so grateful to fulfill that desire.

how his thick tongue pushes past your lips and into your mouth, reaching almost the back of your throat, relishing in the muffled little sounds you make. your drool mixed with his saliva drips down your chin, and your hazy eyes look up at him when he finally pulls away, giving you a second to breathe.

how his hips are slamming into you relentlessly, your wetness and lack of resistance allowing him to move almost effortlessly. forced to hold onto him for dear life instead of pushing away. all of your morals and principles are being tossed out of the window every single time he comes to you. he has you where he wants you, and will not stop until he feels like you can't take it anymore.

and how in the morning he vanishes away, leaving you guessing: was it just another wet dream? but the cold stickiness between your legs tells you more than you need to know.

[puppppppppy]

adhd is when you shoot for the moon but you forgot the rocket fuel and by the time you realize it everyones already on the moon and then you panic and crash into the sun and it explodes

[tetzoro]

this years birthday comm has been ordered 🧘‍♀️✨

[fidgetspringer]

-

[javierduffy]

“uh … it’s a bit girly … no?” javier examines himself in the reflection of his knife’s blade, looking this-a way and that, the dark blue of a large silken bow now peeking sheepishly around his neck as it sits gently in his hair. next to him, kieran clams up a smidge, hands still held close to his chest nearby his completed ribbon project on javier’s head. he finds it in himself to wring his hands a time or two rather than immediately undo his work as javier seems to continue to formulate his final opinion. “you … think so? look at me?” kieran asks, politely as a mouse. javier easily complies, turns at his hips and looks behind, up at kieran where he sits on the stump above him.

kieran, as he peers over, can’t help the meadow of flush that blooms over his neck, then his ears, then his nose and his cheeks. he can tell javier is deep in thought by the look on his face, mouth twisted just a might sideways, cocking his mustache awry, and the deep wrinkle sat between his brows. the ribbon he used matches javier’s vest perfectly, and the shine of the silk warms bright in the sun, just like every piece of jewelry and metal javier has adorned himself with. with this ribbon, javier’s hair sits lower on his head, ponytail draped down his nape and more hair framing his face in his bangs. kieran resists an urge to tuck one side back behind his ear.

kieran thinks that he looks like a painting, a muse, a love letter so heartbreakingly full of adoration that the only language it could be written in is bright swipes of pigment on a canvas. as he makes eye contact with the silk squinting around the red of a necktie, he thinks that javier may be right, if ‘girly’ could sum up ’poetry written in effeminate reverence’.

kieran always did think women made better art, wrote better books- found a better way to love. softer. warmer. prettier. like javier.

the world sounds like it’s underwater.

“i think … it’s very pretty. it suits you real well.”

earnest to a fault, the look in kieran’s eye dances gingerly with javier’s internal voice. it dips and sways him, and javier, despite his instinct, finds himself charmed by its rhythm.

“-b-but! i could take it out! if you don’t-“ javier looks down at himself in his knife again, the sunlight filtered through the leaves glinting a yellow green around his dark features, and kieran hands him patience on a silver platter. a rich blue makes friends with bright green quite easy, javier thinks. this is how he must look through kieran’s mossy lens.

“pretty … yes. you know, i think you may be right. i’ll keep it. gracias.”

[sunforgrace]

random intersection of thoughts on account of the fact i finally watched iwtv recently and subsequently the vampire armand appeared in my dreams and though this is by no means a 1:1 can i play in this space with you guys for a moment: i think if armand could bear witness to cas’ perfected craft of the 🥺 he would be sooo sick . armand after seeing cas win the divorce every time:

armand after watching cas form plans with the enemy while lying to dean about it and invisibly watching him turbo blast dean’s brother with the agonies tell dean to kneel and declare love for him as his new god and have dean yelling where’s the angel and refusing to leave actual purgatory without him two seasons later and fully believing he’s hallucinating visions of cas out of guilt grief and rewriting his OWN memory by himself because the reality that cas stayed behind is more painful then the illusion that he failed him - because he 🥺ed about it:

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 4: Beard*

Warnings: sort of a small panic attack in PoV. Implications of… well, we are seeing Celebrimbor post-reembodiment. So you can estimate. But only implications.

"I wish I could see them again," said Celebrimbor. "The Dwarves, I mean." It was still somewhat strange to speak with words.

Mahtan smiled. "I wish I could see one of them too."

Right. Great-grandfather hadn't ever met any of the Khazad, obviously. Because he had enough common sense to not leave. Obviously. Celebrimbor looked at him. "I'm sorry."

Mahtan laughed and continued leading him down the stony corridors of Lord Aulë's mansion.

Assuming that he could continue the conversation, Celebrimbor said "I've always wondered, and Narvi too—how it is with beards? Are they something Lord Aulë invented, or...?" He trailed off. It seemed a stupid question.

And yet, his great-grandfather was not offended. He stroked his own—meticulously braided— beard, and spoke. "I've always assumed it was his thing, as I had not grown mine before I became his apprentice. But now of course they say the Men have those too— they do, right? It's not another thing Pengolodh made up?"

"Oh yes, they do have beards. Some quite impressive."

They went down another set of stairs, the corridor was windowless and illuminated with lamps. It felt like home, but safer.

"Mhm. See, Tyelpe, we're somewhat secluded here. Nor Tuor, nor of course Earendil had one, so... Anyway, I'm sure you'll grow it eventually."

"I don't— I mean, the fact that I could work with— Despite everything— It's just so much more than I could ever deserve."

Mahtan laughed again—a deep, rolling laughter that felt in place in those stone halls. "You will need to get accustomed to working with people who aren't— nasty."

The forge noises became louder, discouraging further dialogue. Not long after, they reached an arched gate, leading to a huge workshop, where Maiar and Elves worked, and of course, in the center, the Smith himself.

All the hammers stopped and the room went silent. Celebrimbor bowed deeply, barely daring to look at the Vala.

Lord Aulë smiled. "Come, you two. Mahtan, my friend, we've moved your things already. Tyelperinquar, I'm so glad to see you. I— I still don't understand your kind well, but Mahtan said you won't be offended— it is the best workplace after all." As the two Elves came closer, he spoke more quietly. "As an apology."

In the centre of the forge, next to Lord Aulë's huge, carved stone workbench with mithril top, stood two others, smaller, but even more ornate. One, to which Mahtan walked and began checking the tools, was made of bright white stone carved in intricate geometric patterns, parts of which seemed moveable. The other one — apparently meant for Celebrimbor — was a gold square design of perfect four-fold symmetry, with the tools sorted by size and type. While not dusted—nothing in Aman was—it was long unused, judging from types of the tools. There was a peculiar beauty to it, like—

His head went light and he grasped the edge of the golden table— than let it go immediately— if that was to be his apology, he'd have to bear it— he was better now, after years in Mandos—and yet, the very memory—

Mahtan held him like he used to do when Tyelpe was a small boy visiting his forge with the same fascination as his father and grandfather before.

"Shhh. It's all right. It is all right—" he repeated louder. "He will get over it, just give us a moment." He turned his face back to Celebrimbor, whispering: "It's all right. You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"But…. My apology—"

Great-grandfather held him tighter. "Not your apology, Tyelpe. Lord Aulë meant it as his apology to you. He felt like he owed it, especially as there's nobody else to apologize to you now, I think. But let's not get there. It is— we both thought that it would be a kind of justice to give it to you. I'm sorry. You don't have to."

The tightnes in Celebrimbor's chest slowly dissipated. "No, I— I appreciate it, and it would make him so angry and that's good, just— could I maybe reorder it a little. Not much, just…."

He spoke softly, unsure if it was worse to ask Lord Aulë if he could change the designs of his Maia (well, back then), or to talk in private when he was nearby. but apparently it was not soft enough, as the Vala replied him.

"Of course. You can change anything you like. It's yours."

A few days of work later, when Aulë again returned to his forge, he looked at Celebrimbor's workbench—now not as perfectly symmetrical, and carved in rows of Dwarven runes.

He smiled. "It looks alive. I missed it."