#got a tad bit

[umblrspectrum]

i think i read this in a fic on ao3 but i forgot which one

[chiliger]

Blot away the light

[starry-bi-sky]

wolfpack. aka: if not friend, then why friend-shaped?

"Hey-- uh, Danny?" There's an almost imperceptible tremor in Tucker's voice.

Danny doesn't look up from what he's doing, his pencil scritching across his notebook as he tries to do another quadratic formula question. "Hm."

"What's -- uh -- what's with the dogs?"

He looks up now, and finally sees where Tucker is -- standing in the doorway of his room with an ashy look on his face and a skewed, nervous smile. He's got a white knuckle grip on the doorknob. Sam is wide-eyed behind him, and using him as a partial meat-shield.

Danny looks down to the two giant ghost wolves sprawled next to him lazily. One large green one with his head in Danny's lap, letting him use him as a prop-up for his notebook. Another equally large black one splayed against his hip, sleeping on her side with her head tilted inward to his calf.

Automatically, a grin tilts across Danny's face, and he lifts his notebook up to scratch behind the green one's ears. He opens a lazy eye, one that is bloody red with a ring of yellow around the pupil, before slipping it shut and leaning his head into Danny's touch. "This is Sirius and Procyon," he says, and reaches down to scratch Sirius' belly. "And they're not dogs, they're wolves."

"Great," Tucker says, his voice suddenly much smaller and faint, "Love that distinction."

Sirius makes a great big groan, and Danny's grin widens, his heart swelling with fondness. His hand slips away from her belly, and before he can put his notebook back down, Procyon pushes his head up his lap until his ear is against his stomach, demanding pets now too.

Sam peeks her head up from over Tucker's shoulder, "I think what Tucker's asking here is what are they doing here, Danny."

He shrugs, scratching under Procyon's chin. "They kinda just showed up. I tried sending them back to the Zone, but they keep returning." And they were weirdly intent on just following him around, which is the only reason he gave up on returning them. They weren't causing trouble, and they knew how to hide around the living. Plus, he just loves dogs. "So now I have two wolves living with me."

This, oddly enough, did not do anything to calm Sam and Tucker down. Tucker's mouth purses into a thin line, and he presses the sides of his palms to his lips in prayer. "How have your parents not found out about this?"

Danny wordlessly raises his hand, and his sleeve slides down to reveal a thin chain bracelet hooked around his wrist. He whistles sharply, and both Procyon and Sirius jerk their heads up to look at him, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

Silently, he points to his wrist and rattles it twice, and in unison both wolves stand up and pounce. Instantly, they turn into a respective, opaque black and green mist that swirls around the bracelet and forms into two, flat wolf charms.

Both wolves are posing in the stereotypical wolf howl, with little stars indented on the sides. Procyon's charm has the Canis Minor constellation engraved on it, while Sirius has the Canis Major.

Danny faces Sam and Tucker, and points at his wrist. "Like this."

[alicornze7]

Silly guys goin' on silly adventures:]

@rorydrawsandwrites's puppeteer au but the only difference is that jax gives consent

My contribution to this wonderful au has been long overdue:')

Rambling in tags ehe (cw: ribbun:p)

Well maybe it's not the only difference

[itskaitsart]

that one hot pilot

[kisses4kaia]

on my knees, foaming at the mouth, begging for more sub coryo

u guys are so funny oh my goodness😭 (slight au where sejanus did not die because we love him🥰) i got a bit carried away as you can see!! but that’s ok !!!! also, university!corio .. okok go read now plz enjoy and reblog :)

being the girlfriend of the winner to the plinth prize whilst simultaneously biting your tongue constantly was no easy feat.

every thoughtless, careless, borderline sexist, comment corio received from older men—and even some of your male peers—along the lines of, “oh, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? bet you keep her on her knees, huh?” (whilst you were right there, mind you!), infuriated you beyond belief and typically made corio tense up and awkwardly brush them off.

because no, corio did not always keep you on your knees. as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. you had him on his knees, every night, begging and pleading for a taste of you. and if he was a good boy, he would get one. you were assertive, not cruel.

you so badly wished you could shut them down, tell them exactly how it is, but you still loved and respected corio, and you knew what might happen to his reputation if that kind of secret got out.

so you kept on biting your tongue.

and tonight, corio’s arm is snaked around your torso and his large palm rests on the small of your back.

you’re at a elite party he was invited to, making friendly conversation with clemensia and sejanus while throwing witty comments back and forth with your boyfriend, when all of a sudden, one of crassus snow’s old friends come up to the both of you and it goes how you would expect; however, this time, something’s different.

this time, he laughs boisterously and nods, agreeing with the crude comment the man made. coriolanus shakes his hand and says “oh, absolutely. would you expect any less from my father’s son?”

you are fucking appalled, and the astounded expression on your face doesn’t do much to hide it.

when the old man whose name you didn’t bother to remember finally leaves, corio finally looks down at you to see your narrow eyes shooting daggers into his.

you say no words and storm off, and he’s hot on your trail. “baby? baby, hold up, slow down!”

you heed no mind to his words, and only stop your stampede when you find an unoccupied bedroom and drag him inside.

it was glamorous, which was to be expected, considering the host of the party was volumnia gaul; she always was one for dramatic flare. the ceiling was high and the walls were crowned in gold paint. the layout was simple, there was nothing but a queen-sized bed, an empty dresser, and bare vanity gracing its presence, all but proving that it was not it use, and perfectly fine for you to punish coriolanus in.

“what the fuck was that?” your voice is scornful and with the way your face twists up and contorts into a look of contempt, he knows he’s in for it.

he stumbles over his words, trying to think of a way he can phrase his words to deescalate the situation, lessen the blow for himself. “i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. please, honey. please forgive me. i’m begging you,”

the last phrase causes you to look up at him before smirking wickedly, “are you?”

you can see it dawn on him, the realization that you really are going to make him beg—the proper way, down on his knees.

he sighs ashamedly before letting his knees buckle, right one hitting the ground, the left following suit.

the slicked back hair on his scalp gleams perfectly underneath the warm overhead lighting the small chandelier provides, and his glossy, devastatingly blue, eyes are boring into yours as his bottom lip begins to quiver ever so slightly.

“i’m so, so, so, fucking, sorry. i’m so stupid, i just didn’t want him to think lowly of my fathers kin. i fucked up, i know, just, please, please, forgive me,”

he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks and you can’t help but revel in how hot this all is. having one of the most powerful men in the capitol at your feet, pleading for you, you have to work hard in order to conceal the ache between your legs.

“show me, then.” you turn around on him and walk to the bed, sitting, before crossing your legs and leaning back, dangerous, siren eyes inviting corio to crawl to you.

he doesn’t even hesitate before getting on his hands and knees and desperately pawing at the ground, trying to get close to you again. and when he reaches your sat figure, he grabs your ankles, uncrossing them and pulling your high heels off slowly, all before kissing his way up your calf, and up to your mid-thigh, where the slit in your dress begins. he looks up at you pleadingly, expression reading ‘may i?’ and you could praise him for being so polite if he wasn’t enduring punishment.

you nod slightly, raising your hips just enough so corio could hike your dress up, bunching up at your waist.

his eyes stay on yours, watching you intently as he pulls your delicate, lacy, black and pink, panties down your smooth legs, before gently placing them on the floor next to him.

when you part your legs ever so slightly, the eyes boring into yours spark up with excitement and hope. he finally breaks eye contact when he shuts his eyes and lays his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up the ego-boosting amount of arousal that’s drooling from your achy hole.

he’s so perfect for you, timing his transitions between fucking into you with his tongue and sucking on your clit just the way he’s learned you like just right, never lingering too long on one part of you.

at this point, you have your legs wrapped around his head tight, nearly restricting his facility to breathe, shamelessly moaning and praising his ministrations. “fuck, yes corio! oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum? yeah? so fucking pathetic,” you spit at him in between borderline moans so pornographic that you’re apprehensive that somebody outside of the four walls you’re in may hear you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you that much, considering the lack of you lowering your own volume.

and the sounds, the sounds are vile, fucking disgusting. his salivated muscle messily dragging all over your labia, his perfectly pouted lips making out with your pussy like he’s in love with it (he is). all of the insanely erotic factors of this moment don’t do anything to hold off your impending release, and with a weak cry of the boy beneath you’s name, sweet syrup leaks out from your tight hole lands onto corio’s anticipating tongue, and you can feel him smile against you at the taste of it.

he drinks it all down in no time and when he continues to lather his tongue all over your clit, not seeming to want to be done, you have to physically pull his head away from you as a result of overstimulation.

he frowns but when he sees the look on your face, your exhausted, satisfied, fucked-out, face, he has to bite his lip to contain his smile.

“i did good?” there’s a special twinkle to his eye, and you find it all-enamoring.

“so good,”

“you forgive me?”

“yes, but next time you pull some shit like that, i’ll jerk you off under the dinner table, you hear me?”

[daiwild]

Saw the Broadway Gatsby musical yesterday. Drew a scene from my favorite song.

The set for this part in the show was amazing—so many flowers! Sadly I cannot draw flowers

[kyurochurro]

WOAH!! 4 of them 🤔✨🌷🎸🎶🇬🇧

been watching A Hard Day’s Night a lot during these finals weeks!! have some Beatles :D

extra B&W version!!

[bythepen98]

Doodles || Tomarry || Childhood friends/Growing Up Together au

(Ignore the not-so-time-period-accurate outfits)

Think of this as a timetravel au where Harry accidentally gets sent back to the past in Wool's orphanage at a young enough age where he barely notices the changes caused by the time displacement and thus grows up nonethewiser to his destiny as the Chosen One. Even when, objectively, his life at the orphanage could be considered worse considering the growing lack of food, his environment's state of decay and overall unrest happening outside the orphanage's walls, something about his situation felt right(?).

He'd always felt disconnected and out of place based on the few memories he still had from living with the Dursleys but now, it felt like he was home in a way. Like something finally clicked in his brain, his soul.

His instant connection to Tom helped cement that fact. It wasn't easy at first because the pull they felt when they first met was so strong that it scared Harry shtless and Tom, already half-full of resentment by this point, was horrified feeling anything to anyone that wasn't disgust. In the end, it didn't take long for them to meet halfway since they were still children and curiosity at the connection lured them in like candy; Harry wanted a special friend of his own and Tom convinced himself that Harry was worth his time because there was no way anyone ordinary could elicit such a soul deep response from him.

Tom has a mean streak and is more bloodthirsty than his charming facade would show but is honest about it with Harry. Although he doesn't have much to his name, Tom is serious about his self-imposed role as Harry's provider, giving him gifts (from the money he steals) during his birthdays and keeping him as warm and well fed as possible (by bullying the other kids into surrendering their share).

Sometimes, Tom....worries.....that his methods would eventually drive Harry - who has such an inherent goodness in him, so often kind to people who don't deserve it - away but what he fails to understand is that Harry's love and loyalty to the first friend he's ever made trumps any kindness he has for others. He'll never like needless violence and won't react if he was being targeted but all bets are off if he even a catches a whiff of plots against Tom. If he has to help hide a body or two in the future so that they won't be separated by something as inconvenient as jail or the law, then that's nobody's business but his own.

P.S. This Harry will probably go to Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin like in other fics. It just feels right. Probably should've drawn him wearing a yellow tie but only just got the idea as I'm typing this. Tom would rather eat slugs than go to the Hufflepuff common room but he's more than willing to entertain Harry at the Slytherin common room at every available chance. They have their own seat there and everything.

P.P.S. They also co adopt a tiny(??) baby snake when they realize they can both speak parseltongue and bring him along to hogwarts. Imagine being parents at the big old age of 10 to a possibly magical snake that may or may not grow past nagini-level size.

P.P.P.S. Future power couple in the making. Didn't think that far ahead whether I wanted Tom to go the political route or Dark Lord Voldemort style minus the horcruxes. Don't ask for me the details, just know that with Harry's help, Tom finds a way to prolong their lives without the consequences that come with using horcruxes. They may or may not discover that Harry is in fact a horcrux of Tom already but will never get the answer as to how it happened. Harry worries but Tom just chocks it up as the universe's way of paying him back for his shtty pre-Harry childhood. Ironically the type to believe in soulmates and destiny while Harry is a bit more skeptical on that front.

Alternatively, they could also decide not to do anything too significant -politically- at all and instead retire to the country side while doing research on as many branches of magic as they can. A bit laughable because of Tom's world altering ambitions and Harry's indulgent, enabling behavior but at the same time, anything's possible.

[sincerely-sofie]

Thinking about @gehtsis’s children and how terrifying it would be to get their team assigned to help you escape from a mystery dungeon.

If these are what my heroes look like I'm 99% certain I'd be screaming and running the other way. Menacing cryptid-looking grim reaper and cursed psychic clay doll. I love them.

[theawesometomboy101]

Adorable Captain Kirk lost in thought

[daemon-in-my-head]

Crazy that durgetash has been rotting my brain for well over a year now. So to celebrate, lemme show you the concept I put down for them over a year ago and what it’s become.

This was me playing around with my durges concept (and brushes don't come for me) a year ago and my desire to give Gortash a big ass hammer manifesting.

Vs how my ‘im sorry I gotta break canon’ creature ended up looking (pre-lobotomy anyway). I kind of wanted to preserve the OG Bhaalists vestments, aka purple robes and red sash (yk, the one DnD lore uses, not the BG3 lore version), but with a bit of a twist, since this fucker was not fully on board with Bhaals bullshit even back then.

Anyway, I wanted to include a piece featuring your dearest tyrant and him originally, but the precise idea I’ve had in mind isn’t done yet and it’s his post bg3 fit anyway. Soooooo, I’ll post it once it’s actually done on its own cuz if it works out how I want it to it deserves it.

[faceeeeee]

I have a few questions about your version of flumbo

1.) would it ever be possible to gain his trust as a human (please my heart hurts/hj)

2.) would cups balance on his horn nubs

3.) I’m not sure if you’ve clarified or not but what is his relationship with Syringeon? Do they hate each other or is it just annoyance or something else entirely

4.) can I marry him/j

1) Technically speaking, you COULD gain his trust but you'd need to be veeeryyy persistent on getting him on your side. That man is stubborn af and will not let the notion "that all humans are the same" go. You'd have to keep following him around and try to become someone he can lean on (aka try and make him know that you understand his problems and what not. Help him get around the facility and promise him a way out of the place). You'd have to prove this a bunch of times till u can get it through his thick skull and just then, when the realization hits him that you're not ,in fact, just another human wanting to hurt him and take advantage of him, he'd be absolutely confused. It'll take time of course but if you're determined you can get him to be your companion.

2) yes. Tho he wouldn't be pleased by it

3) Their relationship is kinda weird and not healthy, like at all. Syringeon has a massive god complex and add the fact that he helped create flumbo, it makes for a pretty unbalanced power hierarchy or whatever u can call it. Flumbo usually tries to mask his problems by acting like a smug mf and so the two clash. I plan to make a lil sketch where syringeon gets fed up with flumbo and threatens him by saying smt like

"Watch your tone with me, boy. Remember that as easily as I created you, I can break you apart and put you back together as I see fit".

Another thing to put on the flumbo trauma list. And the worst part is that flumbo thinks that getting on his side is the only way to get what he wants (basically just escape tho he's not exactly sure). And so, syringeon practically uses him as a pawn to use to achieve his goals and flumbo is stuck with him (and maybe brushista as well but I've not developed more of that side of things).

So in summary it's a little bit of both. Flumbo somewhat resents syringeon for the threats Yadda Yadda and syringeon is somewhat annoyed by his presence tho not as much as he is annoyed by... let's say the player or bittergiggle. Same goes to how he sees uthman (he deems them both as a necessary annoyance)

4) Yes

[yuridotcom]

idk what is more insane. robin instinctively reaching for nancy's hand when she’s nervous or nancy noticing robin's anxiety and reaching for her hand herself

[not-neverland06]

Are there more logan fics in the works?👀

Yes!

I don't know if you guys care about this but I do have a list of WIP's:

-Old Man Logan Hc's -I was considering a monster!fucker esque fic but I'm not sure -a couple hurt/comfort requests -Lumberjack!Logan -a handful of X-Men reader requests with varying powers

I am still writing for him, I'm just having a little bit of writer's block because I keep bouncing between too many ideas lol

plus some other miscellaneous Hugh stuff (Van Helsing and some godawful magician movie he was in)

[astarlightmonbebe]

the appeal of yeojeong as a normal guy who’s just a little bit off. not enough that you would notice when talking to him, of course, but it’s just there, under the surface. a disturbance. and i think it’s interesting because typically you have two types of guys somewhat adjacent to this: guy who seems totally normal but is secretly sadistic/a psychopath, and then guy haunted by a traumatic/troubled past, who has that secret layer of torment running beneath the surface of their image. but yeojeong breaks through these archetypes, and i think part of it is because he’s just so...calm. it’s not that he’s living a double life (kind doctor by day, killer by night) or hiding part of his past (everyone he worked with knew about what happened to his father, and watched his downward spiral during his college days). he’s not the typical male character who is, at every attempt, trying to outrun his tragic past (even though he does run once or twice); he’s not haunted by flashbacks, or suffer from PTSD in the way that is usually portrayed in dramas. and i think part of that is because the glory is a story about victims. it’s dongeun’s story, first and foremost, even though it is also yeojeong’s story, and hyeonnam’s story, and sohee’s story. but it’s a story about dongeun’s pain, and when it’s not about her pain, it’s just about the pain of victimhood - unlike other dramas, this isn’t a show where male pain outweighs the rest.

so yeojeong is just a normal guy. he’s handsome. he has a good career. he’s a plastic surgeon, an interesting choice when both his parents were/are hospital directors, and his father seemed to have worked in the er or something of the sort prior to his death (or at the very least wasn’t a plastic surgeon). something could be said here of yeojeong choosing the ‘safe’ path as a doctor, a path where he cures pain and makes people happy without the added risk of being attacked by one of his patients. there’s no proof of that in the show - why he chose to be a plastic surgeon - but it’s an interesting thought path to travel. 

dongeun says he must have lived a good life. that he’s never had to worry about the path that he’s on. and that’s true, to a certain extent. to everyone, including her in the beginning, yeojeong is perfectly friendly. he’s perfect, but not the perfect that people perceive as too perfect (i.e. the guy who’s hiding things); he has his moments where he spazzes out, gets into fights, goes crazy over dongeun texting him back, teases his mom. he’s perfectly well adjusted (a perfect contrast to dongeun’s ‘maladjustment’). he wears flip flops to work and gets the same coffee order daily. he plays go with old men in the park.

he likes to listen to the fizzing of vitamin tablets in water because it calms him down. is this a strange thing? only because he thinks it’s important enough to mention to his therapist. he does it at work too - drops the tablet in, closes his eyes, rests his head. he does it at home - drops the tablet in, opens the drawer, draws a knife. it’s about the noise. bubbles rising to the surface, like bubbles rising from underwater. he stays underwater until the last possible moment, when he has to break the surface in order to breath. dongeun makes him feel like he’s at the eye of a storm - a deceptively calm center, while everything else rages outside. and i think it’s kind of important that he makes that comparison, when he’s someone always seeking that calm. the soothing noise, that makes him feel lonely.

so he’s just a normal guy. a normal guy who receives letters on a regular basis from the prisoner who brutally murdered his father. he doesn’t like letters, he tells dongeun. who knows what he does with the letters - does he keep them? does he throw them away as soon as he sees them? he must have read some of them; maybe you only need to read one to know what is in the rest. maybe he’s still reading them; maybe he keeps them without reading, an invisible torment. it’s not what he does with the letters that matters, but that he receives letters at all. 

can you still call it a haunting if you’ve almost made your peace with it? if you’re living with it? 

he’s just a normal guy, who looks his therapist right in the eyes and tells her that she couldn’t fix him. he diligently attends therapy for years on a regular basis, even though it doesn’t work. he finally abandons it when he moves to semyeong, because he chooses to embrace dongeun’s revenge. he chooses his own revenge, too, in a way. the dark part of him that he can’t escape. the one that makes him pick up the knife, who asks dongeun who to kill before she even tells him she wants any of them dead, even when he’s a doctor from a family of doctors, and doctors don’t kill - they save lives instead. 

you couldn’t fix me, he tells his therapist calmly. so calmly. as if there’s not a bloodied man sitting next to him, a man he dreams of killing. the man is just life to him, just like the letters are life to him to. a dulled numbness. an acceptance of it. 

is your son going through hell? can you even tell it’s hell, if it’s what you’ve become used to? is it hell when you’re a doctor dreaming of murder? is it hell to no longer be tormented by dead men and living murderers who send you letters? is it?