#feel good about your body

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[hasellia]

[lululeighsworld]

it was literally their moment and they just let us watch

(if you need me i'll be marinating in this for the foreseeable future)

[bielbunny]

Based off a true story, perhaps. Get bigger it's fun

[tangledinink]

absolutely obsessed with gemini Donnie's piercings! They suit him so much! and i bet theyre fun to draw too!

you also mentioned tattoos! what kind do you think he would get? like what kind of designs and where?

Ah thank you! ; w ; I just think they're fun <;3 he deserves piercings... And yeee he has quite a few tattoos as well that he builds up over the years--

both his arms host meticulously planned, carefully considered, personal and meaningful full-sleeve pieces that were done professionally by sorrelshine's older sister, leafwhistle (she's the one who pierced donnie's eyebrow in that comic!)

his legs are where everything else goes. there are dozens of different pieces patchworked all over-- some done by leafwhistle, some by other artists, some by sorrelshine (who is not a professional, let it be known, but knows how to use a tattoo gun!), some even done by himself. he let leo do one once. mikey has done several. there's everything from stick-and-poke stars to little grayscale robots to brightly colored flowers down here, and he'll shove new things wherever they'll fit whenever he feels the urge.

[ gemini au ]

[uncanny-tranny]

Whenever people who are entrenched in diet culture talk about how terrible chemicals are, I just want to whip out this:

[esggs]

cult leader!geto suguru x secretary!reader

Geto snores into his pillow, his long hair spread princess-like over his broad back, having escaped from the little bun he made before bed last night. The heavy curtains are keeping his bedroom still cool and dark at 11 am. I guess that’s why I didn’t wake up on time, I’m pretty sure we missed the Ichinori meeting. You look over at your naked boss next to you, deep asleep. Well, I doubt he’ll get mad at me. 

He looks so… breathtaking. His back still carries the marks of your sharp nails, you smile as you run a soft finger down his spine. So perfect. Glowing skin. Hard muscles underneath. He’s not going to wake up anytime soon, you know that. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, but especially after having been wrung out like that last night – you’d done a good job, you grin at the memory. Maybe he’ll give me a raise. 

You try to piece together all your clothes, you do have to go reschedule his meetings after all. Pleated pants- got it, under the blanket that Geto’s hogging all to himself. Formal blouse- got it, near the door, ugh, is that a tear on the neckline? A shame, this one was expensive. Bra, bra, braaa- got it, what the fuck?? Ah. You remember Geto tore it off you, too impatient to wait a second more. He liked to do that, ripping your clothes off you. Yanking a handful of your hair too close to your scalp. Hickies on the soft of the thighs and belly that seemed a touch from bleeding. A harsh spank with his large hand that made your lamb eyes tear up. Pushing a thumb into your ass while fucking into you from behind. A little painful, a little rough. That is how Geto enjoyed you. 

You decide to give up looking for your panties (they're definitely not in a wearable condition anymore, after having been pulled down your wet heat by Geto's teeth and promptly stuffed into your mouth). For a second, you dare to wonder if you’ll get away with stealing one of Geto’s briefs from the clothing drawer, before deciding that’d be crossing a boundary. Regardless of how many times he’s cum down your throat, he’s still your boss, after all. He’s still the wonderful Geto-sama that you adore and respect, one who found your potential as a sorcerer, one who will rid the world of all curses. 

One who’s trying to pull a hair out of his mouth in his sleep. Adorable. One pant leg in and other pant leg out, you awkwardly hop over to him and take the hair out for him. Those eyelashes melt your heart. You cherish him as you wear your pants as silently as you can: he looks painted, he looks angelic, he looks overwhelmingly loved. 

You put on the ruined blouse anyway; you’ll just go home and change. The bra he can have, you leave it tucked under his pillow, a little gift for him to find later. Your nipples chafe slightly against the fabric of the blouse. They still feel raw sensitive. Geto always insists that lapping them with his tongue would heal any wounds that his lips or teeth have caused to your pretty, perky nipples, but that’s not true. You can feel right now that it’s not goddamn true. Your tits still have full marks of his bites stinging red on them. 

In fact, now that you’re paying more attention to yourself, your entire body feels sore. Your neck has a faintly purple outline of his large hand, and your voice seems to still be rough. Was it him choking you within an inch of your life till your head swam within clouds of ecstasy as he finally let you cum on his cock? Or was it the way he roughly pushed your head into his lap, his thick cock stretching out the insides of your throat? Oh, the image of him hissing as he threw his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing with every deep groan and gasp. “A magician with that mouth,” he’d call you, as he petted your cheek before falling asleep. I’d do it every night just to hear him say it again. 

The places he’s grasped you to hold you against him, your sides, shoulders, thighs, ass, they all hurt. He went overboard last night. Did something happen yesterday? Hmm, December 7... nope, doesn't ring a bell. You pout as you find your phone, tablet, and a Plan B pill you take from his bedside drawer. Geto would rather not use condoms, but also doesn’t fully trust you to take your regular pills on time. So there you go. God’s punishment for creampies.

You suppose Geto has a thing for them. Not that he wants kids, just that he likes feeling you raw. Hearing you cry as you struggle to take him. Smiling as you plead that it’s too much. Pressing your ankles down to your ears as he sinks deeper into you. Moaning into your mouth as he ruts his pleasure into your warm walls, his cum drooling over your sticky thighs. Doing just as he likes, without restraint. 

You have to leave him now, it’s so sad. Rapunzel is still snoring deeply, turning over and letting the blanket fall from his X-scarred chest. You dig his phone out of the mess and leave it next to his ear, you’ll call him awake at 1 pm so that he’s ready for his daily evening address and other meetings. You quickly put your heels on and leave, but not before dropping a kiss on his nose. To keep him company throughout the day. It’s pointless and a bit too sentimental for Geto to appreciate, you believe. Besides, you’ll be right next to him all day anyway, won’t you?

a/n : every now and then the geto suguru agenda seizes me until i cant function.

img credits: 1 2 3

[yardsards]

im like the lorax when it comes to women's body hair. we should let it grow.

[go6jo]

childhood friend karasu who throughout the years you've witnessed jump from one relationship to another despite the obvious feelings that are left unaddressed between the two of you. there is this tangible tension, one that grows substantial with time, with each relationship you watch him get into. and you're somewhat aware of your feelings towards each other yet neither of you own up to it.

you will often show up to his front door on a short notice, to hang out on the occasions that you were coincidentally driving past his house after work. more often than not, however, he'll open the door with his shirt slung over his shoulder, and if you took a peak inside you'd notice some girl, one that looks nothing like you, whose features couldn't be more distinct from your own, sprawled on the couch of his living room, her hair a mess, lipstick smeared all over her lips down to her chest, smudges of red disappearing under the collar of her shirt that's riding dangerously up her stomach. more often than not, too, he'll smirk at the way you look away from the scene in front of you, trying to act unfazed, how you try, to no avail, to conceal the frustration that shows in the furrow of your brows. jealousy, it reads on your face - it's written all over it, even a blind man could see it. "wanna join?" but you've already started walking away and tabito thinks he knows the answer, anyways. (you've never been one for sharing, not ever since you were a child and as he watches you leave there’s a certain tenderness that settles in his chest, that softens the smirk on his face into a subtle smile, one of affection upon realising that, when it comes to him, you never really stopped behaving like the little girl he knew and grew up with, the little girl who had always wanted him all to herself.)

you watch as girls grind up against him at the club everytime go out together. he’s grown handsome, you reckon, (more handsome now at 20 than 14 year old you would ever thought he’d turn out to be.), drawing some attention, girls naturally flocking to him - something you’re still not used to. him being the object of other people’s affection. you having to share. your eyes meet across the room - you stare at him in silent revulsion, as an affront when he lets them cling onto him, smirking at you over the girl's shoulder as she starts kissing up his neck, feeling him up, her manicured nails grazing down his chest. what are you gonna do about it, he mouths at you in defiance. like clockwork, you pretend that you didn't take notice of his disappearance, that you didn't feel a knot in your stomach as you watched some girl drag him into the bathroom with her and when it's time to leave, you pretend you don't notice that the buttons at the top of his shirt are undone - that he's breathless and his pupils are blown wide. you get in his car and he drives you both home - to his place - then you get inside and you both pretend like there is nothing to be said. you slip out of your heels and you curse him quietly when he walks past you into the living room. "you're an asshole, tabito" but there isn't any malice to it, it's meek in a way. sad and hopeless. he just scoffs in fake amusement, discarding of his shirt and throwing it in the couch. all of his witty qualities, any energy he might've had to retort with a cheeky remark began to fade as soon as he had walked through the front door. he always found it harder to play pretend in the silence of his home, away from all the buzz, where the feelings you've both been negleting for way too long begin to weigh heavy in the athmosphere. there's a certain bitterness hanging in the air as he adjusts himself on the couch to settle for the night, as you walk into his room and lock the door behind you. neither of you have the energy to argue anymore. you used to fight on nights like these, “does it bother you that much?”, he'd ask once the dust begins to settle with his forehead touching yours, holding your chin so you couldn’t avert your gaze away from him. “could be you, you know?”. he tells you as he kisses your cheek, left then right, on each corner of your mouth, dangerously close to your lips then holds your head against his chest. he could be so sweet, so convincing. you used to fight but that was before, when you still thought it was worth a shot, that this was worth fighting for - whatever this was. "just say the word and i’m yours, baby.”

liar. he’s pretending to care when he squeezes your hand a little tighter in his as soon as he begins to feel you grow restless as you struggle to engage in conversation with his friends, too afraid to intrude yet too scared of looking bored as they talk football tactics (you had just wanted to spend some time with him after a whole week of being too busy to hang out). faking the kindness in his smile, too, as he tries his best to put you at ease. they like, you know, he tells you once you leave, eita’s told me you should give him a call if you’re ever done being friends with me. he’s only feigning sympathy when he offers to rub your feet after a long day, when he kneads your calves as your legs rest over his on the couch. he’s pretending to be attentive when he rubs up and down your arms as you stand in line together to keep you cosy on a particular chilly day, lwhen he tells cashier your coffee order that he has memorized by heart, when he brings your hands up to his lips and blows some warmth into them, sharing some of his heat after your coffees run cold in your grasp, definitely only acting suave when he presses his lips ever so softly against the skin of your forehead to check your temperature when, on the following day, you tell him you might be getting sick.

so you refused to yield. you've loved him for as long as you can remember yet still you never wavered in your decision to refuse to surrender to him. he's all you've ever known, for the longest time you watched him jump from one relationship to another thinking that someday when he grew older, more mature, he'd stop playing these games with you. so you waited, you waited until you realised that maybe you'd never see the end of it, that maybe he just enjoyed being chased, enjoyed how suscetible you were to his provocations, thrived on your silent jealosy — he must have thought it was flattering. he's always loved to pick on those weaker than him, to feel like he has the upper hand while picking on their weaknesses and yours just so happens to be him. you don't think he ever means it when he says he'd be yours, that he'll drop his current girlfriend if you ask him to, if only you tell him you want him. to admit such a thing, however, you think, would be to akin to handing him the gun with which you he’ll make you meet your demise. it is a scary thing to have someone hold that power over you, the power to destroy you if they so desire. so you won't surrender, it hurts enough already as it is.

but he has needs, he tells you, (teases you), and if you won’t indulge him he will have someone else tend to them. and karasu does try to enjoy their company to a certain extent - pretends to make love to you through them. pretends it's your tongue he's sucking on, your whines, your scent, your touch. and even though he purposefully chooses girls that look nothing like you, he manages to get into it so long as he keeps his eyes shut. his relationships never go past the three month mark, though. Karasu does just enough to keep the entertained, kisses them nice and slow so they feel cared for, feels and gropes them over their clothes while whispering all kinds of dirty things into their ears, all the things he will do to them (all the things he’d like to do to you) and for a while those empty promises are enough to keep them around. he knows what women want and knows how to keep them on their toes. it never goes past that, though. it never lasts much longer once he begins rejecting their every advance because as soon as they start kissing down his chest, their fingers sneaking past the waistband of his underwear, he is grabbing their wrists while glancing down at them with a dangerous look on his face. it’s not long before they start whining at him, telling him he’s no fun and leave through the front door, never to be seen again. then he’s left to think of you. it was fun for a while, to introduce you to all of these different girls and watch you act friendly with them only for you to let your frustrations out on him as soon as the two of you were alone. it sort of amused him, really. for quite some time, your jealousy had been enough for Tabito, it'd been enough reassurance of the feelings you still harboured for him after all these years. it was proof that you desired him and maybe if your desire was strong enough, maybe you wouldn’t notice that he’s not that special after all. that there is nothing exceptional about him, not a secret quirk or any hidden talent or passion besides football - not much to give, not much to love. he had relied on all these girls who blindly craved him so hopefully you, too, would find him worthy of love, your love. but it's been too long now and you’re both adults and he's tired of playing this game of cat and mouse and you might probably think he's the worst person alive by now so it's no use trying to convince you of his feelings for you either. and how could he blame you for it, really? for not trusting him when all he has done for the past years is deceive you.

then he goes off to paris and he begins to take his relationships more seriously, as a way to actively work towards getting over you. he’s sparking all kind of dating rumours when he’s seen leaving practice with a french model under his arm. you haven’t heard of him for over a year and you see the pictures all over social media. on the first picture of the sequence you can tell he’s just left practice because his skin is covered in a wet sheen of sweat. he's smiling and his jersey is clinging to his torso almost a bit too provocatively (you're sure he'd bask in the praise of the people on the comment section complimenting his physique) and you can’t help but notice the way the sleeves are a little too tight around his arms, he has put on some muscle since the last time you saw him - he looks so handsome and hes a lot stronger and you miss him so much. you smile fondly at your screen but your smile begins to falter as you scroll through the pictures and theres an image of a blonde handing him a bottle of water while he noses at her cheek affectionately, in gratitude you think, another picture capturing a more intimate moment where he’s holding her head to his chest as he drinks from the bottle and you don't think you've ever seen him be this genuinely gentle towards anyone before, anyone but you. there is an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, you feel sick — it’s the first time you’re truly scared of losing him. you call him almost instantly - instinctively. you don’t know what to say if he picks up, you don’t even know if you want him to pick up, you don't even know why you’re calling him but you feel nauseous and your vision is blurry from all the tears that are threating to spill and its taking him way too long to pick up. you have half a mind to hang up when you hear his voice on the other end and you start sobbing, unable to form any cohesive sentences, apologizing to him instead, over and over again.

“hi, bab-“ it should've felt comforting to know that even after all this time his voice is still gentle when talking to you, that he'll never stop calling you baby - that you're still his baby.

“sorry.” you say in between hiccups “im sorry. please, tabito. im so sorry. dont do this, please.”

he wants to say he has no idea what you're talking about, that he's happy now, happy with her that he never once wondered how you'd react once the news reached you on the other side of the globe. he pretends he can't feel his heart aching in his chest at your crying fit because he'd dreamed of a moment like this - where you'd call him crying, begging for him. you'd always been so tough that he thought it'd be somewhat sweet to watch you finally break - he didn't foresee this though. feeling this gutted, this miserable at the weak sound of your voice, hating himself this much. he never thought things would reach such dimensions, could never imagine the depths of your feelings for him, that you'd hurt so much for him. its breaks his heart. he aches for you yet he finds you ache for him just as much.

"hey." he hushes. “i won’t, baby. i won’t, okay?”

his words seem to soothe you and he lets you cry for a little longer until your sobs gradually begin to fade on the other side of the line until it's mostly quiet. he runs a hand through his hair, unsure of what to tell you, of what to do.

“you have got to give me something here, pretty.” he can feel you grow agitated again as he listens to your quivering breath. “i need to know what you want.”

it's silent again until you begin to sob quietly, trying to get the words out. “i need you, please. don’t do this.”

“you’re hurting me, tabito.”

you sound so small, childish almost and he loathes it. he loves you and he doesn't want to see you hurt anymore, not for him. he loves you so much, so much, but he’d been so worried you’d see through him, that you'd deem him insignificant - so focused on making you love him. all this time he forgot about making you feel loved in return, cared for.

"your address still the same?" he wants to hold you, he thinks. to kiss your face while whispering sweet nothings onto your ear, again, again and again until you believe it when he tells you he loves you. he hears a sound of confirmation coming from you and he adjusts himself on the couch, a arm folding behind his neck for support, waiting for your breaths to even out and he tells you he’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. he stays and he completely forgets about the blonde sleeping in his bed next door.

a few days go by and you feel stupid for thinking that maybe he’d come to visit you, that he'd come to kiss away your tears and tell you that he wants to be with you, he’ll stay in japan just to be with you (you'd innocently dreamed of it. that his love for you would make him stay, your councious mind tells you that you'd never overcome that guilt, though. you'd never want to stall him, to ruin the bright future he has ahead of him. so instead, you choose to dream of a love that's enough to bind you two together despite however many miles might stand between the two of you.) you watch him on television and he shines on the field and you engrave that same image into the back of your mind because you think that’s the last you’ll ever see of him. but one day, two weeks after the call, when you’ve come to terms with the fact that maybe he’s not coming, he shows up at your doorstep and all you can do is drop your head onto his chest — surrendering, to him, in the sweetest submission. something so docile, so earnest it has his chest aching in adoration. there are no ulterior motives to your touches as you run your hands down the expanse of his arms only to finally link your fingers with his when you reach his hands. no other reason besides the fact that you want to touch him, feel him. he’s here and that’s enough. he’d been gone for so long that, for now, you won’t demand anything more of him except for his touch. it feels innocent again, mellow like when you were kids — uncomplicated. it feels overly sweet when you look up at him with honeyed eyes and hold his face in the palms of your hands getting on the tip of your toes to place a lingering kiss in the corner of his mouth, both of you with your eyes softly closed. then you move with uncertainty to brush your lips against his. it’s only then that he reacts, that he snaps out oh his reverie and grabs your face in his hands to put some distance between you. just enough so that he can look you in the eye, just enough to gain back his composure.

“no.” he locks eyes with you, holding you firmly in place. he kisses the furrow of your brows in a soothing manner, in reassurance at the look of betrayal on your face. “say it, baby.”

he looks down to traces a finger over the collar of your night dress and there a certain eagerness to his words, to the way he leans his forehead against yours and his chest is heaving in antecipation. he wanted to kiss you, too. and it fills you with courage.

“just make me your girlfriend, tabito,” you sigh “please.”

and it feels good to surrender. to be held in his arms as he kisses you slow, longingly. i have very little to offer you. the hands that roam your body and slide up your thighs under the fabric of your dress want to say. it’s enough, the hands that hold him closer to you whisper. you’re enough.

“you say it, now.” you pull away from him, breathless. “say it’s only ever been me.”

“yeah, baby. yeah.” he closes his eyes as he chuckles lovingly at the determination in your eyes and holds your head to his chest, close to his heart. (still not quite close enough.) “you’re my girl. you’ve always been my girl.”

[saint-ambrosef]

saying "it is not necessary to have sweets every day" should not be seen as controversial, but i have had people go for my throat for that take. its literally unthinkable apparently not to have a sweet treat on the daily (or multiple times per day).

i'm not saying "sugar bad" or anything, it's good to enjoy a little dessert every now and then. but i think a lot of Americans are so used to having a diet high in sugary foods, and it's so normalized and what so many people grew up with, that me saying "your kids don't need to have dessert every day" is accused of toxic diet culture mindset and depriving children of joy.

and the thing is, our sweets are really sweet. you don't notice it when you grew up with it, it just seems normal. but if you travel elsewhere or go on a low-sugar diet, suddenly our ice cream and cookies and donuts seem un-appetizingly overly sweet.

anyways i'm not saying don't give your kids dessert, but i think a lot of Americans underestimate how addicted they are to sweets. if the mere suggestion to limit the intake to once or twice a week gives you a knee-jerk reaction of fear/horror/disgust, "i could never! i earned this!", there is a problem.

[salthien]

and tattoo #2, on the inside front of my bicep (photo angle was awkward). i. yknow. part of me feels like i have to justify myself here, explain my reasoning, but i don't think i do, actually.

[sukugo]

Do you think gojo makes those freaky ass feral expressions while getting dicked down?

YES YES YESSSSSSSSSSS RAAAAAAAAAHHHH THIS IS SOMETHIGN IM PASSIONATE ABOUT OKAY!!!!!!! YES HE DOES

like, pleasure looks such a specific way on satoru. we can see it in the tojigo fight, the hanami/jogo fight and the sukugo fight. they're the only moments where we truly get to see raw pleasure on him and it's that. eyes popping out and manic grin and laughter bubbling in his torso and body charged, and mannerisms especially crude.

there's something so animalistic about it, his "human" mask slipping from him and showing him in all his monstrous glory, unfiltered and raw and like the freak of nature he truly is

and it's exactly the same thing when it comes to sex. it's all pleasure after all.

[uncanny-tranny]

I love you smile lines and worry lines and grey and white hair and wrinkles and purple spiderweb veins and the process of aging and living in a body that is standing the test of times. I love you experiences that make you wiser and stories that make you laugh, and every little process that happens to get to the point where you have so many memories because you have the fortune to be here and be so radiant

[silentsockfeet]

with the obvious addendum that act 3 isn’t out yet and we can’t form true opinions until the show’s officially done, i’m still really feeling like it could have maybe benefited from a third season. they’re hitting all the right plot points and those moments are full of really intense emotion, but everything in the middle feels so underwhelming in comparison and so much of it still feels rushed to me. idk

[mersei47]

maybe 2bdamned is the kind of person that likes to tell a joke with deadpan face just so he can fuck with other people