#i can put something in the actual tags for once

[blubunz]

YAP SESSION 3

— RE chars in general x gn! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: Sex. Just casual stuff nothing crazy. RE characters includes: Leon , Carlos, Ashley, Jill, Chris, Ada, Luis. Claire is mentioned but I don't write anything horny abt her.

A/N: I have a hunch I'm actually gonna be sick un,, not feeling so great. This is just what j think if it's based on normal stuff like no fucked up messed up situations whatever, just casual lovers making love and what they like.

Consensual.

Ok now that's out of the way, I have some preference in minds, obvi they're purely just my opinions.

Leon is like, the guy who swings with whatever you want. Rough? Yeah. He'll go feral. Gentle? Ok. He'll be so sweet, even moan for you I'd you want to hear them, in which most of the readers in my fic would love. Most of the time it's just you, you, you. Him asking you what you want. Princess treatment or absolutely feral, he doesn't have one in mind, he's just on board with whatever you want and if you don't say anything, he'll ask you what you want anyway while kissing your cheeks so sweetly.

Carlos,, grhfrgrhgrh, he's so bite-able. I think he's the soft type. Like, he can be rough, but most times, he chooses not to if you don't specify anything. He absolutely loves seeing you just getting satisfied and happy, so yes, he'd go rough if that's what you want, just not without you saying. Even when you did something bad, or if you hit him when youre on top, he'd just melt and cradle you in his arms, kissing you, and you two would have some cuddle-fuck session. In my mind, Carlos is very emotional and sentimental in his love life. I can ramble on about the same thing over and over, how he's an absolute king in showering you with too much affection.

Slapping? You're into that, but Carlos is scared of hurting you. Bondage? He doesn't want to see ropes burn into your skin, the only thing should be on your body are his marks and hickies.

So anyways, his biggest turn-on is seeing you getting so, so satisfied. This might make him indulge in overstimulation however, he keeps making you cum and seeing your brain melting after each orgasm. That's right, you don't have to think, just be happy of what Carlos is giving you — pure love and affection.

I don't get much thoughts fron other characters in a sexual way, but I'll think about it like rn. Both Leon and Carlos are hot to me so obvi they're like,, um, long, and,, the first ones I write about.

I think Ashley would be some vanilla stuff, and if you two both try to go into some kinky stuff, things just gets awkward because both of you never really know how to do it professionally, and then you two would just laugh and watch a movie.

Jill is like,, ohmygod,, she's so ourhrorhrirug. The Jill in my mind is like, into the casual stuff, but she prefers handling you as well. She mainly wants to see every once of your reaction so mind you usually sex with Jill will never be a quickie, she doesn't do it slow, but rather she just does a lot of things to finally let you go.

For Claire. No, idk, I never think of her in that way and when i think about it now,nothing comes to mind. I love her character! I just don't associate her with these horny stuff so no.

Chris, big beef guy, I like him too! I think he'd enjoy handling you like Jill. Ok, so he's be like, usually, dominant and rough, hed praise you though, but hes very rough, and he enjoys using his strength to let you know who's in charge. but like, you can put him down no matter how strong you are. One word, one pleading look and you got him all soften up and asking you if you needed anything. Usually, he's never the one to initiate too, he respects you and only fucks you when you want to. If he's horny and you're not then he's holding it in, not even letting you know. If he's not and you are, then, obviously he has the need to satisfy you in every way he could.

Ada is like, I think with how she is in the games, she'd know what you're into by now. You're an open book to her and she can read you. You didn't even have to ask, it's like she knows. It creeps you out honestly, sometimes, at how every time she knows what you need. Maybe she keeps track every month? She knows your kinks too, and when you talk to her, she's like,, "I know,," sometimes she surprises you during sex, turning the usual sex into one imof your kinks. She enjoys seeing you surprised following with the high amount of pleasure that follows suit.

Luis. A bottom.

[kittynugg]

hi i wrote some stangst

forgst

words: 1,737

p.s: REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!! credit to my pal @empressofsamoyeds (soorry for the tag) for the idea! ALSO DO NOT TAG THIS AS SHIP CONTENT. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU SHIP THEM.

Stan stepped out of the shower, shuddering as the cold air hit his skin. Like every other time he showered he was quick to towel himself off and get dressed in the first clothes he could get his hands on. So.. the clothes he’d been wearing for the past month, now? They smelled. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later.

The mirror was fogged up as he tied up his damp hair, but he could still see just enough of what he was doing to get it done. 

He stared at his blurry reflection. When he reached to wipe the condensation off of the surface he hesitated, his expression somehow going more blank than that numbness he’d been used to for years. That was.. Funny. He kinda looked like Ford with his hair up like that and the mirror all foggy.

No, he really looked like him.

That familiar empty feeling washed over him as he looked into the mirror, his brain filling in the blanks made by the distorted surface. A pair of glasses. A coat. The haunted look of a guy who’d seen things that shouldn’t even be possible in his eyes.

It took him a while to tear his attention away, maybe a couple of minutes, but once he did he rubbed the sting out of his eyes and left the bathroom. His “walk” had become more of a trudge in the past few weeks. He did whatever that was down the hall. Something about almost seeing his face made his feet even heavier, made the decision to get up that morning even more regrettable.

But it also gave him this weird resolve to keep going.

Maybe if he didn’t kill himself he could actually see that face. Alive, safe, maybe even happy. 

He kicked open the door to the office or study he was staying in, announcing in a sitcom-y voice, “honey, I’m home!” Then he put his hands on his hips with a distant grin. “Oh, wait! I don’t have a wife! Or a husband! I’m all alone and nobody fuckin’ loves me because the only person who ever did is god-knows-where!” An unhinged laugh bubbled up in his chest.

“..Anyway,” he flattened after finishing his manic display, then collapsed face-first into the couch he’d been ‘sleeping’ on. Nice couch. Felt like the only thing in the world that actually supported him. “But it’s an inanimate object,” Ford would say, not getting the joke. 

And then he’d say something like.. “You’re an inanimate object, nerd.” Then Ford would tell him that was wrong and that he wasn’t making any sense. Stan would just laugh at him.

Back in the real world, he shifted on the cushions to make himself comfortable. He knew just how bad the idea was. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get up. Right now, he just couldn’t force himself to care. Whenever he was up, he’d be up. Wasn’t like anything was waiting for him. Ford actually wasn’t on the other side of that portal, facing whatever it was that had him terrified enough to speak to him again. 

Everything was fine. Great, even! So great that he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He heaved a muffled sigh into the couch, knowing that if he pulled his face away from it now it’d be stained with tears. Now he was fucking crying.

Pa would tell him to man up and do something about it. When he tried, his arms wouldn’t move to push him up and his legs only shifted into a more comfortable position. The couch was warm. The basement was so, so cold.

Get up.

He tried again. This time he was too lazy to move at all.

Repeating the command didn’t work. Get up.

Just get up. You need to get up so you can work on the portal so you can get Ford back so you won’t have a reason to cry anymore. Come on, this is the first step. The first step is always the hardest. Up up up. Please.

Instead of listening, his body just sighed again. Then he folded his arms under his forehead to put some space between his face and the couch and shut his eyes.

----

Eventually, he found himself blearily waking up with half of his body hanging on the couch and the rest on the floor. The very first thing that caught his eye was the light from the window glinting against Ford’s glasses, abandoned on the table where he could be reminded of why he was still kicking every time he woke up.

He peeled himself off the hardwood floor with a grunt and stood there for a moment as his shitty excuse for a brain sputtered and revved like his car when he tried to start it. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later.

…

Ford. Right.

A hesitant hand reached toward the glasses, and he turned them in his hand. The lenses were smudged. Ford never let his glasses get smudged. Always crystal clear or it was like he didn’t have them at all, they had to be perfect. He wondered if Ford still carried a spare on him. If he didn’t.. Shit, Stan couldn’t even imagine that. Not just being sucked into whatever nightmare he was so worried about but having to deal with it blind.

The thought of Ford, his brother, of all the people on this Earth (or.. outside of it), going through that made him sick. Maybe he should eat sometime today. Slice of toast might settle his stomach down for a bit. 

He stared down at the spectacles in his hand and shook his head, then wiped them on his shirt. Lifting them up to the window shone enough light through the lenses for him to see that they were still smudged, just.. Spread around. His shirt was dirty.

Typical, he just made it worse. A look was cast around the room, nearly untouched in the month he’d been there.  “Just fuckin’ poetic,” he whispered to himself if only to test if he even had it in him to talk. “It’s just like my life.” His eyes narrowed at the glasses. “..In a way.”

Barely resisting the urge to throw the damn thing, he set the glasses back on the table and looked toward the door. He should get to work.

He picked up the glasses again, leaving the room with the gait of someone wading in cement. 

It was the same autopilot he’d been on for ages that led him back into the bathroom. When he slipped the glasses onto his face, his vision actually cleared a little. Maybe he should look into getting an eye test sometime. 

He put up a finger and spoke in his best Ford impression, “I may be a little bookworm, but I know what I’m talking about!” The sheer accuracy of the voice made him chuckle. He sounded just like him!

When he found himself staring at his reflection again, his other hand reached for the shower. The knob creaked as he turned it to the highest temperature and he watched absently as the mirror fogged up again.

Hair was up. Glasses were on.

They really were twins..

His shoulders drooped, and after a few seconds of careful consideration he spoke up. “Hey, Poindexter.” No, that wasn’t right. Say his name. “..Ford.” 

Another pause. Then he folded his arms behind his back and spoke in that impression again. “Stanley,” he greeted himself under his breath. Something about it, something about hearing Ford’s voice and– and almost seeing his face was..

It hurt.

But it felt good. The kind of hurt that he couldn’t help but reach for, like the burn of alcohol or a cigarette. Speaking of which, he was running out. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later. Not now. He was busy right now.

“I’m, uh..” his fingertips tapped together in a subconscious tic. “Still trying to get you back, Ford.” A smile spread across his face and he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’ve been reading your textbooks, yanno, it’s actually startin’ to make sense. It’s not as fancy and sophisticated as you had it but it’s something to show for all the work I’ve been puttin’ in..”

Arms made their way behind his back again and he straightened his posture a little. “My idiot brother, learning physics..” A wistful sigh from “Ford”. “And it only took the worst tragedy of your life to finally kickstart it.” His expression softened, and he moved to place his hand on a shoulder that wasn’t there. His fingers twitched. “You know I’m proud of you, right? Not everyone would go through this much effort for.. Anyone, really.”

He needed to hear that. From the real Ford. This was good enough for now.

“I know, yeah.. I just– I hope you’re still out there. If you’re dead, or.. worse, I don’t know what I’d do with myself, Ford. I don’t know what I’d fucking do, and–” he took in a sharp breath, running a hand down the side of his face. His nails dug into the skin. “And I’m really scared to think about it.”

Silence.

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “..I’m scared, Ford.” The glasses over his eyes and the fog fading from the mirror left him with nothing. Nothing. A reminder of just how little he had. That was it.

And Ford offered no response.

Tears dirtied the lenses of the glasses even more, so he took them off and swiped at his eyes. He set them on the rim of the sink. This was stupid. All of this was stupid. Why was he still here? Why was he still holding on?

His legs wobbled underneath him and he just.. sat on the floor and gave in. With a shaky breath, he gave his tears a moment to fall and murmured into his knees, “because you’re my brother.”

It took him a few minutes. Maybe half an hour. But eventually, Stan pushed himself up and retrieved Ford’s glasses. He rinsed them in the sink to clean the dried tears off of them and only stopped when they were spotless. Crystal clear. The way Ford liked them.

Turning to leave, he muttered, “Love you, bro.”

“I love you too, Stanley. I’m sorry for everything.”

..He already forgave him.

(note: might be a part two with ford if im feeling brave)

[bisexualbrainrots]

Tonight, We Are Young.

so this idea ended up turning into an actual fic, as it should be, full fic under the cut and a tag list I made for those who showed interest.

Synopsis

Tommy puffs his cig and looks at his watch: 11:45. Great, another year that goes by and once again, he has no one to kiss for the countdown. He thinks it’s pathetic, it’s not like he doesn’t have any choices, it's just… he doesn’t know if he’s ready for them, if he can dive in and allow himself to kiss— The screech of the door opening takes him out of his thoughts. He looks over from his spot on the wall and smiles at the person he sees come out. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” OR, that one time in 2012 where Chimney and Tommy kissed.

Full fic:

“Tonight we are young, so let’s set the world on fire! We can burn brighter than the sun!”

Even from the back of the bar, Tommy can hear the loud crowd of drunks chanting the song, probably tripping over their own feet and spilling their cheap drinks onto the floor as they hold each other. Tommy thinks they’re dumb, and endearing.

Tommy puffs his cig and looks at his watch: 11:45.

Great, another year that goes by and once again, he has no one to kiss for the countdown. He thinks it’s pathetic, it’s not like he doesn’t have any choices, it's just… he doesn’t know if he’s ready for them, if he can dive in and allow himself to kiss—

The screech of the door opening takes him out of his thoughts. He looks over from his spot on the wall and smiles at the person he sees come out.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Howie’s probably just as drunk as he is, given the way he moves. He’s surprised he isn't sprawled on their booth given how much he usually drinks. Tommy’s never gotten used to drinking with Howard Han.

“Just having a smoke. What’s the life of the party doing here though?”

Howie’s one of those people that just attracts everyone, at least according to Tommy. Once he has you in his sight you are forced to become his friend. And you’ll do it gladly because… It's Howie after all.

He sees him get closer and stand beside him, leaning against the brick wall “Same thing as you apparently. C’mon give me a hit.”

Tommy smirks and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the box with their usual brand. It’s not a habit either of them are proud of, constantly being scolded by Hen and Karen when they visit and even Sal has called them out on it more than once. But what can you do, their line of work pretty much lays the foundation for substance abuse.

They will quit. One day. 

But tonight’s not going to be when that happens.

Howie grabs the box, grinning with all his pearly teeth showing. The bastard’s smile is perfect, with no proof of his smoking habits. “You are a saint, you know that?” He pulls out one of the cigarettes and puts it in his mouth, raising his eyebrows to let Tommy know he’s ready.

Tommy sighs and pulls the lighter, and is forced to put his own cig in his mouth because of the breeze that threatens the flame to extinct. Carefully covering the fire, he lights Howie’s cigarette and goes back to smoking his, putting the box and lighter back in his pocket.

Howie takes one drag and moans at the feeling, looking satisfied with the smoke reaching the confines of his lungs “God this is good. Shame we’ll probably die from this.”

“Don’t tell me, lung cancer, right?”

Howie giggles “Well, not yet, thank goodness,” they both laugh softly at the reference. Superman , 1978.

Hen likes to tease them about it, calls them cinephiles as if it’s a bad thing. So what if they love movies? So what if they know their favorites by heart? That only proves they have a liking for something. Although it is true that they may spend a little too much time watching films than the average person.

But it’s their thing, and that’s what matters.

After a few more smokes Howie looks at him “So, how are we doing tonight?”

Tommy arches an eyebrow “Apart from the fact we didn’t die last week?” Howie’s push on his shoulder makes him laugh, raising his hands as a peace offering, “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Not funny Kinard, not funny. And it wasn’t a bad theory!”

“I told you the basis was all wrong! How can you believe the end of the Mayan calendar is the actual end of the world?” Howie rolls his eyes at the question and takes another hit, showing his middle finger at him. Tommy just chuckles and takes a drag.

“You think Hen and Karen are already asleep?”

Howie blinks at him “Why, you wanna try and call them for new years?”

“I was thinking more like crashing on their couch,” Howie laughs at him and reminds him that they probably wouldn’t like to be bothered by a couple of drunks, especially not on New Years’ Eve. He wiggles his eyebrows at the last sentence, the alcohol letting his inhibitions down.

Tommy isn’t going to admit this out loud, but he’s sort of jealous of Hen. He’s always looked up to her on a personal level, ever since she bravely told everyone at the station off and showed how proud she’s of herself. He wants nothing more than to have even a grain of her confidence. 

He wants to know what is like to love yourself enough to go after what you want.

He takes another hit and looks at the moon, shining over them and serving as the only source of light besides a few neon signs. It's oddly terrifying, to see something that's so far away it seems foreign to you but it actually rules your life, needing it to survive. He feels as if the moon would know all of his secrets if he stood here long enough for her to get deep into his veins. 

He looks back at Howie, changing the topic “So, what are your resolutions this year?”

“Not quitting, that's for sure.”

Tommy chuckles “Amen to that,” and both men clink their cigarettes together, their own version of what they call a nicotine toast.

Howie looks at the night sky for a moment, pensive. “I think I want to find love this year,” he looks at Tommy, a sad expression on his face “Do you think that’s cheesy?”

Tommy smiles warmly and holds his shoulder for a little while. He really hopes for Howie to find someone, he deserves it. Howie has a good heart, and an even better soul.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve Howie as a friend, especially not after the way he treated him his first months as a probie. His heart is filled with shame and regret at the memory, at the way he pushed him away just so that he couldn’t be known and found out. Nowadays he could not imagine ever letting him go, he’s been wrapped around Howard Han’s finger. And he isn’t ready to be unfolded.

“Not for one second Howie. After all, which one of us has a romcom as their favorite movie?”

Love, Actually . That’s his favorite movie, and very few people know about it. Howie was one of them.

The corners of Howie’s mouth twitch upwards, a silent nod that expresses everything words can’t “So, what are your resolutions, Mr June?” Tommy snorted a laugh, shaking his head. Howie has been teasing him about being selected as Mr June for 2013’s calendar ever since it was announced, but he doesn’t mind.

It’s actually kind of fun.

He finishes the cigarette and stomps on it before leaning back against the wall “Well… I think I’d like to take more risks this year, and obviously to amp up to 150 in the gym if I can.” Okay he is definitely trying to make it less serious, and based on Howie’s reaction it did not work.

“Tommy…” his tutting makes him roll his eyes, “That’s a good resolution, you shouldn’t try to make it more… digestible. I mean, at least yours is more doable.”

Tommy frowned, a little confused, “And why wouldn’t yours be doable?”

He didn’t think finding love in a year could be that hard, at least not for a guy like Howie. He had so much to offer, so much devotion and care that it would be crazy to think nobody would accept it. Plus, Howie's like super hot.

When a guy looked like Howie; soft raven hair, nice smile, dark eyes and crazy abs; it was hard not admire him.

Howie scoffs and gives one last drag to his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping his foot on it “I can’t even get a new years kiss Tommy. I don’t think finding love would be realistic.”

Tommy blinks at him “Realistic? C’mon Howie. You,” he points his finger at him “You out of anyone here could get a kiss. Like, you could just go back in there and find any girl, easily.”

And he means it. He’s seen the way some women look at his friend, they want to talk to him, to get to know him. It’s odd to him how Howie just doesn't try to be himself around them sometimes, when he could charm them easily that way.

Howie rolls his eyes, but the rest of his demeanor shows sadness “Says the man who looks like a Greek god.”

Tommy could be taken aback, but he isn’t. Howie could be an ass whenever he was irritated or angry about something, which is why he lets this slide. He gives him that look, that ‘stop that now’ look, and ducks his head, kicking his feet against the dirty alleyway floor.

He notices Howie looks for him, leans closer to make him look at him in the eye “Hey, sorry dude I didn’t… I didn’t mean to sound that shallow. Are you okay?”

He bites his lip and raises his head, “It’s fine Howie, it’s just… you’re not the only one who isn’t kissing anybody tonight.”

Howie’s eyes widen, he looks genuinely taken back by his statement “But… W-why? How?”

Tommy hadn’t kissed anyone in so long, it was making him insane. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t just go to a club and find himself anybody, it’s just… he wanted to kiss someone who actually liked him back. Someone who would look at him as something more than just a pretty face or a good time. He yearns for that.

And it kills him inside.

He laughs bitterly “Look, Howie… I haven’t had a New Years’ kiss in like over three years. Even when I’ve dated it never lasts up to this,” he closes his eyes for a few seconds and opens them to find Howie’s eyebrows pulled together in a concerned expression “I don’t want to bother if it isn’t with someone who likes me, or that I like back.”

Howie’s lips form a soft smile, and he titles his head “There’s no one right now?”

Don’t—

“It’s not like they know I exist,” his lips tight into a fine line, preventing himself from saying too much.

Howie puts his hands in his jean pockets, his thumbs curl around the belt hoops, “Didn’t you say you wanted to take more risks this year?”

And fuck, that’s Howie poking right where it’ll hit the most. The worst is that he knows he’s right. He knows it’s cowardly to sit around and mope about what you can’t have when you could try for it. When you have the chance for it. When you could actually make a move for it.

He sighs “The year hasn’t even started yet. And it’s not like I want to kiss a stranger tonight.”

“Well that’s unfortunate, ‘cause I saw a pretty blonde out there who looked at you all night. Maybe you could try with her.”

Tommy laughs from his belly and shakes his head, if only he knew .

“Okay you don’t want a stranger, go try with someone from the B shift then, or the 133! We know some of them” And that’s the clearest sign that Howie’s drunk, because it was one of the most ridiculous ideas he’s ever had.

“I don’t think I should be kissing a coworker, Howie.”

Howie rolls his eyes “Listen man, it’s not going to be the end of the world to kiss someone tonight, regardless if they like you or not” he gets a little closer and pats him on the shoulder “You just have to enjoy it, Tommy.”

Ten, nine, eight! The countdown has started.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, feels like a lifetime has gone by and his hazy eyes meet Howie’s. He moves closer, shifting his body so that he’s in front of him.

Seven, six, five! 

He bites his lip as he sees the world in them. Sees that person that showed him he didn’t have to close himself off to new people and possibilities. And he sees the moonlight shower his face. There’s a softness that’s not easy to find in men like them, in men whose image has always been associated with roughness, where being soft means that you love.

And that made you weak.

Four, three, two!

He stays looking at those eyes. Those eyes that care for him, that love him in a way he has never been loved, that want the best for him. Those are the eyes of his dearest friend, one of the few people he thinks he’ll ever be able to trust. Those are the eyes of Howard Han.

And that… that was his mouth.

“Howie…”

‘One!’ he hears.

Fuck it , he thinks. And dives in.

He holds his jaw with one hand, curling the fingertips on his neck. It’s soft, it’s tender, it’s lips on lips that don’t kiss back. He doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet, because if he does… he fears Howie’s wouldn’t even be closed.

But then he feels movement. He feels his friend, practically his best friend , kiss him back. And that’s what truly scares him. So he pulls back.

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol that makes him feel like Howie was kissing back, but he can’t take it back, not now. Not when his eyes flutter open and he sees that darkness locked in on him. He’s embarrassed, so fucking embarrassed he doesn’t even think he can look at Howie.

“I-I… Howie, I’m so—” and it’s like his brain is short-circuiting.

Because Howard Han takes him by the neck and pulls him back to him, crashing their lips together. And he can’t believe it, not even when Howie’s going at it headstrong: their noses are smashing, his hand is traveling to his hair pulling it and he’s pretty much sucking his upper lip.

It’s kind of ironic that this happens with fireworks as background noise.

Tommy can’t help it but kiss him back with the same force, and one of his hands looks for stability in the wall  while the other looks for grounding in Howie’s waist. Howie’s free hand travels to his hip, keeping him there. As if Tommy was ever going to pull away from this.

He never thought his lips would feel like this, soft even when he’s trying to devour him with them. And speaking of devouring, a moan escapes him when Howie bites his lip and deepens the kiss, feeling their tongues meet sloppily for the first time. The taste of alcohol intoxicates him more than the one that courses through his veins.

Their bodies flush together, neither of them wanting to stay away for even a second. Howie’s back meets the brick wall and he groans, both from the sudden hit and the fact that their hips were closer than ever, grinding against each other.

This is something Tommy had never expected. He never thought he’d ever get to know how Howie’s dick felt like, even through his jeans. And the worst (or best?) is that it wasn’t bad.

It was glorious.

But nothing good lasts. And their stupid lungs need stupid air to breathe so they pull away, very much reluctantly if you ask them. It's in that moment where both men realize their necks hurt like a bitch, but that's not the most important thing. 

It's how they look.

Tommy's lips are crimson red and there's tiny bite marks in his cupid's bow. His cheeks have a blush that's not far off from the tone of his lips. You can't even see the blue in his eyes thanks to the way his pupils have dilated. And his hair is a mess, all ruffled and electric spikes jumping all over the place. It was going to be impossible to make himself look presentable.

Howie's not much better. Just like Tommy his lips are a burning shade of red, all plump and angry in a way that itches. There’s another, bigger kind of darkness in his eyes, the dark brown of his eyes overpowered by the black. The skin of his chin is raw thanks to Tommy’s stubble, and will probably become a problem for him in the next hours. All the signs of kissing were laid out on his face.

They were wrecked. A mess. Absolutely ruined by that kiss.

Their eyes meet, completely dazed from what just happened. It takes a while for both of them to process what they’ve done, but when it does they start laughing.

More like, burst out laughing.

Tommy hides his face in the crook of Howie’s neck, his shoulders shaking as the cackle turns into a wave of giggles. His hands hold Howie’s biceps and the other man holds his back, caressing it softly. “Holy shit, Howie.”

He can’t believe this even happened, even when he still has the lingering feeling of Howie’s lips on his. Even when his jeans feel so tight it’s a little painful. Even when he still has his body plastered against Howie’s. He still can’t believe they kissed.

And he can’t believe it doesn’t even feel weird.

Howie chuckles “That… wasn’t so bad. Not at all.” Tommy lifts his head to ask if he’s sure and that he shouldn’t lie if it wasn’t good. Howie simply arches his eyebrow and looks down at… his boner. Tommy gave Howie a boner. And that makes him laugh softly.

“Well, he also thought it was good,” it should make Tommy feel embarrassed to talk about his dick in third person, but all the shame seems to have been thrown out of the window. 

Especially since Howie also laughs about it, making the air feel much lighter.

“Did you… I mean, was it really okay? Because I was afraid you were gonna punch me or something,” it makes him wince to hear himself say that. He knows Howie would never do that and it is a wild assumption to make, but that kind of fear was always lingering inside of him. And he feels like Howie catches on to it, based on the way his face softens and the hug he receives over it, arms wrapped around him for a little longer than he was used to.

“I don’t regret this Tommy, and I hope you don’t either. I also hope you don’t become a stranger any time soon over this, I like having you in my life,” the hug ends and Howie holds him by the shoulders “Besides, now you can take some pointers from me if you want to kiss someone.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad you little shit.”

And they’re laughing.

And it’s fine.

Howie sighs “Just… promise me that you’ll take a risk every once in a while. Make a move, it won’t kill you.”

Tommy smiles at him. A genuine smile. “I will, Howie. In the meantime, I think we should get going, don't you? Traffic’s already a nightmare and I’m definitely crashing at your place tonight.”

Howie laughs and shakes his head “Fine. But not before we get a few shots, let’s celebrate a little!”

And Tommy nods, and they go back to the bar and get so drunk they can’t remember anything about that night for the next week. But that’s okay. Because Tommy’s always going to agree with any of Howie’s plans, no matter how crazy they can get.

He just hopes his liver can survive them.

Taglist! @cjlouwho @rubydaiquiri

[thornheartfelt]

Sometimes you just need to sprinkle a bit of angst in your selfship, for enrichment

[nyxi-pixie]

fake ass queers you dont even WANT to rearrange the traditional understanding of relationships

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

re: the last post i reblogged bc i am realizing just how much i yapped in the tags and i do not wish to subject the wider tumblr public to that rant LMAO

[cuteniaarts]

2 hour rough drawing of Ehuang, my precious Green Opal child who I don’t draw nearly enough <3

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Sunday doodles

[necrotic-nephilim]

I’m here to bother you again!!!

You don’t have to if you don’t want to but maybe dark ship bingo with timjay or brudick????

hELLO i love being bothered by you this is delightful omg thank you, i would love to

Here is JayTim, I can't believe I only got one bingo for them. Ironically I genuinely don't view Jason and Tim as family, even when I'm not shipping them, I think they're tentative allies at best and you can only brother-ify them if you're doing very generously OOC fluff, a la WFA-style. They're absolutely toxic and codependent on each other's existence, Tim wouldn't exist without Jason and Jason is Undeniably Weird about Tim, but not brothers so I can't check off the familial squares. Also, I have no idea if I've been blocked by 10+ people, but it'd be funny if I am. And funnily enough, I don't think Tim or Jason are vanilla in any capacity even when they're not fucking. Especially not Tim, that boy is Certified Weird.

and ofc BruDick I nearly blacked out the whole board because they absolutely are weird and unwell. Some of these only apply to certain AUs of BruDick (like an idea I have rattling in my skull rn with Talon!Dick) but most of it applies to them all the time. I really need to write some fucked up BruDick, it's tragic I haven't yet. Right now the two fics I'm working on are a weird JayDick and a more fluffy DamiDick, but I have Plans™ for BruDick too. They are the OG and deserve their flowers for being the most toxic mess you've ever seen.

[thedevotionaltour]

I HAVE TO GET BACK TO DAREDEVIL PANEL POSTING THESE SCREENSHOTS CANNOT LIVE UNTOUCHED IN MY FOLDERS FOREVER. NOT WHEN I PUT IN SOME CRAZY EDITING EFFORTS FOR SOME OF THEM TOO

[blindedguilt-archived]

Drakengard Cut Content Found - Leonard's intro scene

//So not too long ago, some cut Drakengard content was found and posted to the Drakengard subreddit by u/drakengarded (Their profile is linked under their user), it was a short cut clip from Leonard's intro scene! I immediately knew I had to share it with everyone here, so I asked them and they gave me permission to share the clip they made! They said they might be able to get back to me with a better clip, but as I see it, this is perfect as it is.

//In the original, when Leonard brings the knife up to his throat, the screen quickly cuts back to him collapsing to his hands and knees, unable to take his own life. But in the cut version, the tip of the knife is seen barely entering his throat before he falls, providing a clearer look into just how close he was before caving into his fear of death!! The aspect ratio is slightly changed to show the difference of the original scene from the cut content.

//Waaaaaa I'm really thankful to u/Drakengarded for sharing this huge discovery!! If anything, thankful wouldn't even begin to describe how I feel <3 I've been watching this nonstop, and have picked work back up on several projects specifically because of the inspiration this has given me!! I hope everyone else has found it as interesting as I have, and thanks so much to u/Drakengarded again for allowing me to share this with everyone here!! I'm so happy <3

[icewindandboringhorror]

Misc. photos from the past year or so ~

[thatone-churro]

okay. i know it’s a very bad idea to seek mental health advice from the internet, especially tumblr of all places, but i have a genuine question about this.

actually, before i get too far, i guess i should add some context about myself:

i’m fairly talkative in a certain sense. i like talking. if i start talking about something i like, or if i get excited while talking, i can talk a lot. when i’m alone, i tend to talk to myself a lot. just verbalizing thoughts, mostly; talking myself through a strategy, just voicing my thoughts as i play through a video game, or sometimes just babbling as though i’m talking to someone else. this is a frequent thing and not the root of my concern.

course, sometimes i talk a little less in public or in certain social situations if i’m not “invited” to speak too (more than just being spoken to first, but that’s another explanation i don’t want to go into right now), but i’ve always been like that; something, something, i know it’s more about social anxiety or something that i know i inherited and is a different discussion for a different day.

so, every now and then i have these days where, for lack of a better description, talking feels like it takes too much energy. even that doesn’t feel like it explains it properly but. like the same struggle to get out of bed on a rough day. like somehow speaking, the act of opening my mouth and forcing words out of my throat, takes too many spoons. the same way it feels like taking a shower or brushing your teeth has too many steps despite it being a simple process when your depression’s acting up (we’ll get back to this comparison in a minute).

i can tell when these days come on before i even have to speak to someone; it feels like my words are stuck in my throat. i mean that physically; there’s not actually something in my throat, but there’s a weight of some sort.

i’ve taken to calling these days “quiet days,” since this feeling affects just about everything associated with talking; making myself talk is a struggle; i can’t even talk to myself and all those monologues and discussions happen inside my head instead, but i can’t verbalize them; i don’t want people to talk to me on these days, as in there’s a deliberate, subconscious feeling already there on those days, not that i’m not wanting to talk because of the other feelings; actively listening to and comprehending things people say is also an effort to do, and i tend to tune out my music or whatever background noise i set for myself more than usual; i’ve recently discovered that this same feeling is applied to singing, much to my dismay, because i found this out on a day i kinda wanted to sing.

it’s not that i can’t speak on these days, i can physically make myself if i have to, it just takes more conscious effort sometimes than something like speaking should.

now, i used to chalk this up to being standard nonverbal bouts. i’d heard those were common among neurodivergents, and while i’m not officially diagnosed with anything (classic “everyone does that”/“that’s just something you got from me” type childhood), a lot of symptoms for both ADHD and autism (that i’ve heard of/looked into) match up pretty sharply with me.

however, no accounts from actually autistic people that i’ve read who go nonverbal at times really match up with my experiences. for me, it’s never a response to stress, anxiety, or overstimulation; it’s just something that happens on any given day and sometimes ebbs and flows throughout the day (as in sometimes it’s easier in some parts of the day, but not others, without any particular cue), and it’s never me going absolutely nonverbal, just a preference not to speak from it feeling like it’s too much to do sometimes.

remember that comparison i made to having to speak on “quiet days” feeling like trying to do basic things on bad depression days? yeah, i noticed on a day it hit that it felt very much like that, because i did feel it earlier that day; i found trying to make myself sing or even talk to myself out loud somehow felt like a process with too many steps and i didn’t have enough energy, just like trying to get out of bed that morning (to the point that i didn’t “get up” until that afternoon).

so, all that text and explanation leads to my one question: are these bouts and “quiet days” more from “going nonverbal” as a “symptom” of autism, or simply a symptom of my depression? or can it be chalked up to anything else at all? i’ve never seen or read anything about this on either side, and if it’s something from my depression, then that’s gonna make me take it much more seriously than i have been in the past. or like, is it just me and not anything at all?

any advice appreciated 🙏

[glambots]

how do you think moon would react to a drawing though? like we know he's just as feral but he probably wouldn't put it in a shredder. maybe he'd eat it.

Honestly, I think it's like...programmed into them, that they're supposed to put the art into the shredder as a like "copyright" protection thing. So, I could see him doing the same thing that Sun did, while spouting the same: "all works created in the Daycare are property of Fazbear Entertainment blah blah blah..." but while giggling maniacally and staring you straight in the eyes. Kind of rubbing salt in the wound there.

[crossbackpoke-check]

re last answer: please don't stop, being very unhinged about these two pretty white boys is helping distract me from the sharks losing streak rn so bring it on

https://www.tumblr.com/bondedpairs/764566430180147200?source=share

(sideblog woes but there's the link for you) anyway in the vid they talk about going over to each other's houses to have dinner and things and while that is a delicious example of their codependence i love it bc through an rpf lens there is definitely some old man ******* going on. they can have the dilfs and each other.

(someone else mentioned kept boys which i could write an essay on but i fear being Perceived™️)

anyway if you have anything to add to this please do, if not ignore me and i will hide under a rock until the stress-related insanity has worn off and i am a functioning member of society once more 😂

- @bondedpairs

ty for the video!!! and please, WRITE THE KEPT BOYS ESSAYYYY i promise i will read it with my hands over my eyes if you don’t want to be perceived. do it scared!! do it anyway!! we’ll all love you for it!!!

[sheliesshattered]

my 7 yards of silk-rayon burgundy velvet has been handwashed, dried, and properly hung up so it won't get creased before I get around to cutting out my pattern pieces