#from you

[cupidskissx]

a compilation of left!charles and right!max from The Folder (i think 2 or 3 i found from other blogs but i don't remember which ones :( but thank you to them for the food!) . your advance payment😊✍💻💯

I greatly appreciate my advance payment in return for HOT SALSA DIP ficlet! Truly feels like I came away the winner out of this little exchange! 🙌❤️

Also FYI, the second last pic has taken me out and it is going to be seared into my brain until the end of time!

[seven-meds]

i love your posts and artwork on fetishism (the wetlook studies you did are beautiful.) the history of fetishes and kink is fascinating and often overlooked. thank you for perserving what youve found!

Thank you! Though at the risk of seeming self-deprecating, I'm actually a guest in the community that preserves the material. Fetish spaces have their own keepers of the history and because media collection is generally a part of being a fetishist (saving not only works directly exploring the fetish but also outside media that incorporates the fetish indirectly), even a small community can collectively own a large chunk of their own history. Quicksand and wet/messy spaces in particular happen to have a large percentage of preservationists; people who collect thousands of TV show segments, film scenes, and personally shot videos, some that still exist solely on VHS tapes or film reels. Not to mention physical photo albums, magazines, books, maps marking secluded areas with thick mud, etc...

My intention isn't to present material as if I've discovered something or am anywhere close to being as historically worthwhile as those who have organized what I've seen, I'm interested in how the fetish is visualized and practiced, what sensations and imagery evoke eroticism to the average fetishist, and the history of the formation of and perception of a community. I'm looking at fetish material as art and as a reflection of a side of humanity, so although I save and keep a lot of what I find, I likely could never present it adequately as a detached party. If you have an interest in fetishism, exploring the spaces directly is ideal because the outsider lacks the earnestness that the fetishist exudes and that earnestness is integral to understanding their experience.

Still, I appreciate it!

[yourlovelyspace]

It would be a really long list 💝

[drivinmeinsane]

Colt is going to be the love of my life and I don't think you should be writing about him so soon. YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM. You're probably just projecting harmful thoughts onto MY BABY like you do with Ken. Cut! It! Out! ✂️💥

The wonderful thing about liking characters that are in the public eye, everyone will have differing thoughts on those characters and the ways they wish to interact with their source material. I appreciate the message, it inspired me to assume even more things about Colt Seavers. <3

{ masterlist }

※ Summary: It's golden hour at the beach. You and Colt have some waves to catch.

※ Rating: T for suggestive remarks.

※ Word count: 609

“I can carry my own board,” you protest as you watch your companion begin sliding the epoxied piece of polyurethane from the bed of his lifted truck. Colt pauses to look at you, an easy smile on his face. The sand is cool under your feet. The entire beach is awash in a golden hour glow. It was bordering on being too cold to be riding waves, but that wasn’t enough to make the stuntman hesitate. He lived for pushing the limits.  “I’ll be all weirdly lopsided if I don’t,” he jokes, dramatically tipping to the side under the weight of his surfboard that he’s already tucked underneath one arm.   You roll your eyes at him, but drop it. He’s too stubborn to argue with when he gets it in his head that he wants to do something nice for you. You latch the truck’s tailgate for him once he has both boards in his possession. The two of you start off towards the lapping ocean. This section of the beach is deserted, it’s only you and Colt out here. Even the gulls were absent, off harassing visitors on the more populated stretches of sand. “You think we’ll be lucky enough to see Bruce this time?” He asks over his shoulder. He turns just enough that you can see the laughter lines crinkle around his eyes at his own commentary. “Only you would be excited by the idea of getting eaten by an oversized fish.”  “I mean... whose idea of a good time doesn’t involve someone getting eaten?” He quips in response, tone flirty. You know that if the two of you were facing each other, he would have dragged his graze slowly up your body to further the remark. Torn between embarrassed and exasperated, you briefly cover your face with your hands. They do absolutely nothing to muffle your groan. You hear Colt chuckle when he sees your reaction out of the corner of his eye. He really could be the most insufferable person alive, but damn, if you didn’t love him all the same.  The water is cold as the waves push over your feet. You hiss at the sensation, but take your surfboard from Colt all the same. You both lean down to secure your ankle tethers. Upon straightening back up, Colt squeezes your shoulder. His hand is hot on your bare skin and you lean into his touch, chasing the warmth. “Ready?” You ask him. “I was born ready,” and with that, you’re both plunging into the water.  You shout encouragements at each other as you attempt to maneuver through the ocean. During one particular effort to crest a wave, Colt wipes out spectacularly. He somersaults through the air with a shrill shriek before he hits the water. You laugh so hard about it that you lose balance and pitch headfirst into the waves yourself. He’s right there when you resurface, hair plastered to his forehead and sitting on his surfboard with a sheepish grin spread across his face. He watches while you pull yourself back onto your own board. He paddles closer, until your knees are brushing. “Hey,” he says, leaning in.  “Hey yourself,” you answer, closing the distance.  He cradles the side of your face with one large hand. His thumb makes slow passes over your cheekbone, caressing. You allow yourself to get lost in the firm press of his mouth against yours, the taste of salt on his lips, and the warmth of his body. If Colt’s favorite fictional shark were to pull you down underneath the water right now, you think you would die happy having been loved by this man.

[eidolons-stuff]

Enid: *freezing* "Alright, but no funny business"

Ajax: *hugging Enid* "Of course not"

[wiirocku]

Psalm 139:12 (NLT) - but even in darkness I cannot hide from You. To You the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to You.

[agoobersretreat]

We’re packing lunch now?

🥪🍏🧃🥦🧁

Lunch- courtesy of a certain Eldritch woman. (Not me-)

"I guess so? Let's see what we have here~!"

"Whoa, a Monte Cristo! And toasted extra hard, just how I like it! Oooh, a honey crisp apple! They are perfectly in season, right now~! Whooooooaaaa, is that a Juicy-Juice Strawberry Kiwi juice box? Ahhh, steamed broccoli with a little bit of butter! Oh...? Oh my goodness, there's a butterscotch cupcake in here..."

One moment, she's trying her best not to absolutely wail with joy. She thanks the universe, mostly exactly who she knows sent this will just know, before digging in. Very, very happy goober noises.

(Maybe next time~?)

[senseiwu]

...I really think some of you don't know what a bad parent is

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[multistoty]

is she dying? it occurs to her maybe a little too late. she just...well she didn’t really think that’s what they were facing here. but again, she doesn’t know new orleans. she doesn’t know the threats, the intricacies, the players. she didn’t really think, she just moved. they were coming after him --- whoever they were ---  and back in mystic falls it never would have been that obvious. but the chill spreading through her, the weakness that she can feel  weighting her bones, the tingling in her fingertips moving through her arms through the rest of her --- that’s not good. and he’s not the type to be unnecessarily dramatic about it. he’s not the type to beg. and she wants to tell him that it’s fine. of course it is.   ❝ i’m---i’m okay, ❞  it comes out sounding shaky and she falters, glancing down at the object they ( who are they, anyway? ) stabbed her with in a mixture of confusion and horror. he looks worried. in that way that she’s never really seen him worried. and that, she’s certain, is never a good sign.   ❝ they were...they were gonna hurt you, ❞  again, it comes out sounding almost confused, as if she’s trying to work it back through her head. it makes sense, doesn’t it? this is what she does. she gets hurt to protect the people she cares about. she gets hurt so her loved ones don’t have to.   ❝ i’m okay, right? ❞  the shock gives way to pain, the kind that moves steadily and strongly through her system. the kind that makes her vision blur as she tries to fight it.

@tofeelthecold​

[veradragonjedi]

@airlocksandaviaries

https://href.li/?https://www.pixiv.net/stacc/menkichi

[seven-meds]

why is your username seven-meds?

Based on this exchange:

Not a relation to the sentiment but rather an identification with Arthur's pills; a collection of objects he holds and swallows, something preparing to break apart and seep into his body.

[yourlovelyspace]

Isn't that what we always want from our special person? 💝

[drivinmeinsane]

i know you just did this, but good god i need more of the driver!!! you just write him so incredibly well. the driver x ken fic is my roman empire <2

anyway i just love driver being dangerous and intense and obsessed with the reader, if that's something you'd wanna write :)

Thank you!!!! Driver is one of my absolute faves to write for, and I'm glad you enjoyed the content I wrote for the silly little ship. <3

I hope this is along the lines you were looking for!

{ masterlist }

※ Summary: Your not-quite-boyfriend, Driver, handles your after work harassment situation.

※ Rating: T for mention of implied murder and sexual harassment

※ Word count: 1130

You’re quiet when you get into the passenger seat of his car. The black leather seat is cold underneath you. You buckle yourself in, hoping that your body doesn’t betray you with shaky hands. The man behind the wheel doesn’t greet you. That’s normal. Perfect even, after the night you’ve had. 

“Thanks for picking me up,” you finally say, trying to aim for normalcy.

“Happy to do it.” He doesn’t spare any extra words.

It’s routine now, this nameless man picking you up from work. He's been doing it ever since he slid into your life at the laundromat of all places. He'd offered you a ride back to your apartment in his forty year old car after being involved in the struggle with your laundry basket. It had ripped itself out of your hands and emptied the contents over the pavement. He helped you put everything back in despite your furiously flushing face. He didn’t bat an eye over your ratty sweatpants or your underwear. Accepting his offer was easy. He seemed politely earnest, safe. Besides, you had reasoned, it was broad daylight. What harm could there possibly be? 

There hadn’t been any. The short ride had gone so easily that you had let it slip that you were without a vehicle. In response, he offered to help you with errands and to take you to and from work. You shot him down partially, insisted on walking or taking the bus during daylight hours to your job. He had begrudgingly relented on picking you up from your workplace. This agreement has ended in the two of you spending a lot of time together. More than you probably should be. It's not just errands and commutes. There have been shared meals, movies… he’s been everything but your boyfriend. That line still has not been crossed. Though… you have started to wonder what it would be like to take the ever-present toothpick out of his mouth and kiss him. Would he let you? Would he enjoy it?

You finally take a look at him while you sit in silence at the last stop light before the turn into your apartment’s parking lot. He is looking straight ahead, eyes focused on the street beyond the Chevy’s hood. His face is impassive, but right as the light turns green, his eyes flicker to meet yours. The possessive glint in them causes your breath to hitch. For a split second, he looks like he would eat you alive. You turn away, the moment passes.

He doesn’t speak until he pulls into a parking spot in front of your apartment building. He gets out and opens your door for you like always, ever the considerate friend. He watches you extract yourself and shuts the door after you. He leans against it, crosses his arms, looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“What happened tonight?” Disinterested tone to go right along with his relaxed posture. His eyes say differently.

A long silence stretches out between the two of you. You’re reluctant to speak, embarrassed over the situation. You manage to look at him and he calmly raises his eyebrows. He’s not going to drop it. 

“You know… it was just those guys again. They got a little bolder tonight, I guess.”

“What did they do?”

“Ran their mouths,” you shrug. “One of them found some courage and slapped me on the ass…” You trail off, the look on Driver’s face enough to steal the words right out of your mouth. You’ve never seen him look angry, not like this. 

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. When his face doesn’t soften, you realize he’s serious and you sober up. “No. I’m okay. Really. Please don’t worry about it.”

“They upset you.” The mechanic says it matter of factly, like upsetting you is a death sentence. 

You wring your fingers together. Uncertain. Nervous. Concerned. You haven’t been sure of what your relationship with him is lately, and when he acts like this, you’re even less sure. He frightens a primal part of your brain with his intensity. He is like a different creature in the night, more animal than man.

“Driver…” you say softly. You’re not sure of what else to say.

He stays quiet. The look on his face as he leans against his car and rolls the toothpick in his mouth between his fingers is full of dark promise. You shiver and it has nothing to do with the cold. He notices it, of course he does. He’s the most observant person you have ever met. Nothing escapes his awareness. The man pushes himself out of his casual lean, uncrosses his arms, and comes to your side. He lightly brushes his fingers over the back of your arm. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the layers separating your bodies. 

The walk to your front door is uneventful. He remains at your side, close enough to where you brush against one another with every other step. You pause at the door, unlock it, and impulsively twist to look up at him. You catch a tender look on his face before he puts his guard up and he’s a blank slate again. Your mouth feels dry. You throw caution into the wind and fully face him. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you wrap your arms around him, firmly hugging the man. Driver is stiff, caught by surprise, but his arms come up around you. You stand like that for a long moment. He gradually relaxes and melts against you. 

“Don’t do anything ridiculous. I worry about you,” you mumble against the smooth fabric of his bomber jacket. You reluctantly release him and step back. 

He doesn’t respond with words, just opens your door for you and gently guides you through your own doorway with a firm hand spanning across your lower back. 

“Goodnight," he tells you.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It’s not until halfway through your shift that your coworkers start making a ruckus. One of them loudly calls your name from the other room until you respond. You push through the swinging door out into the dining area to see the other employees gathered around the television mounted on the wall. 

“-beaten almost to the point of no recognition-”, “police say the men were found in an alley by-”, “-no suspects at this time-” 

The news anchor’s voice fades in and out as your mind reels. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

“Aren’t these the guys that were giving you trouble last night? Musta got on somebody’s bad side.” The dishboy jokes to you.

“Yeah,” you say, faking a laugh.

He would. You know in your gut that he would. For you, he would do anything.

[kenapiece-main]

Can you believe I'm having to make this meme even after successfully finishing up taxes and applying to job