#i might still edit it idk

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

To see myself reflected in your eyes- Chapter 3/3

[paperclipperie]

i made some little freebie siffrin stickers to hand out at cons to bribe people into talking about in stars and time with me. a very normal and sane thing to do

[welcometoteyvat]

"Come on. Everyone's waiting for you."

[locria-writes]

can u believe i did all this in a week?

very bad no good terrible thing

actually not that bad looking pretty peachy by my standards

yes they're both nsfw first one is spicier second one is just like yikes you guys do not know how to fuck like at all

[elderwisp]

speaking of rowrow, would u guys like to see him as a peanut?

[maxedes]

german terms of endearment for your fanfics

i‘ve recently stumbled across some fanfics about german drivers (mainly nico & seb if we‘re being honest) and quite a few liked to use german terms of endearment. thing is, that they mainly use words that aren‘t really used in germany & sound a little strange. like „liebchen“ which i have never heard anyone say irl & which frankly just sounds like bad german from an american n*zi movie. or „mädchen“ which just means girl & can be used as „mein mädchen“ (my girl) but does kinda sound like something your weird toxic first bf would say. so to make everyones lifes a little easier: some german pet names that actually get used with a little context:

Schatz (treasure)

probably the most commonly used term in german. everyone & their mom uses it for romantic partners. can be used in any situations. i think there are people who forget their partners name because they just call them Schatz. to make it even cuter you can say „Schatzi“ but use carefully since that could easily sound condescending. same goes for „Schätzchen“ which in theory makes it cuter but actually mainly sounds like a guy talking down on you.

mein Herz (my heart)

emphasis on the „mein“ just calling someone a heart is a strange thing to do. you can also say „Herzchen“ but same problem as „Schätzchen“

Liebling (my beloved, my dearest)

this is what everyone thinks liebchen is. from personal experience i‘d say it‘s a word more often used by older people but could work.

Engel/chen (angel)

actually alright. maybe also use „mein“ in front of it. „mein kleiner engel“ → my little angel

Baby / Babe (same as english lol)

gets used rather frequently. same implications as in english

Hase / Hasi (bunny)

not inherently romantic/sexual. a cute one.

Maus/i (mouse/little mouse)

has been vERY popularized by the kids™️ and i mean that in the sense that quite literally everyone & everything gets called „maussss“. maybe to the point where it‘s been a little overused.

Schnecke / Schnecki (snail)

or schnegge. but with that your easily in a little creepy territory. schnecki is kinda cute though. i think my mom used to call me that so it doesn‘t have to be romantic. also no, i don‘t know why you would call someone snail as a cute little nickname and no it doesn‘t have to relate to their general speed (walking, driving or thinking)

Spatz / Spätzchen / Spazl (sparrow)

i don‘t know what germans have with this bird but it is popular. the last version „spatzl“ is mainly used in southern germany. it‘s what my parents call each other so if someone tried to call me that my toenails would curl up and not in a good way.

Dicker (fatty)

not to be confused with digger/digga which comes from the word but is more used like „bro“ (yeas i know what it looks like a first glace, pinky promise thats not what it is). only fun if used endearingly.

Sonnenschein (sunshine)

for my seb girlies (gn). it‘s a pretty long word though so probably not something to call someone on a regular basis

in conclusion: most of them are still bad and maybe even a little icky. i think the real way to go would be an inside joke or just a shorter or cute version of their name. german really isn‘t the language to be romantic in, in spite of what goethe might what you to think. i literally couldn‘t think of any more so i googeled & saw some of the most disturbing pet names imaginable.

[bardicbird]

Working on my own Disco Elysium skills! Individual art pieces and descriptions (in the style of the game) below the cut :]

DIALECTICS

Examine verbal landscapes. Get to the truth of the matter.

Cool for: Logicians, Philosophers, Asshole Devil’s Advocates

Dialetics urges you to look beyond the basics of conversation. It encourages you to discuss theories, truths and falsehoods, until you exhaust everyone around you with your sheer affinity for taking the most convoluted routes to your deductions—but, hey, it works! Those people are only *really* annoyed because you very accurately psychoanalyzed them.

At high levels, Dialectics will help you reason with even the most convoluted of situations. You will be an unstoppable detective, who may occasionally suffer from some unintended side effects such as: your brain and mouth moving too fast, overcomplicating little things, becoming an insufferable jerk, and joining your local debate team. With low levels of Dialectics, you’re going to have a difficult time seeing through both worldly and interpersonal deceptions. You may find yourself being taken advantage of. 

EVOCATION

Recall emotions and imagery. Paint complete pictures of the past. 

Cool for: Visualizers, Chronic Observers, Witnesses Of Crimes

Evocation allows you to call forth memories that may otherwise be lost in the recesses of your mind. Previous instances of sound, touch, taste, feeling, sight—all of these are at your beck and call: able to be summoned within and around you in a great miasma of experience. You will be able to relive important events, even those that were only mere seconds, and examine them closer to reveal what you couldn’t comprehend in the moment. 

At high levels, Evocation will help you reimagine scenes that may have happened years ago, lasted the length of a blink—or, perhaps, even allow you to picture memories that you were not present for. You will find yourself constantly transported to the past: a single whiff of a familiar perfume enough to completely derail your senses. With low levels of Evocation, you’re going to have a hard time remembering simple conversations and potentially important visual details. You will have to rely on others in such scenarios. 

BODY OF LAWS

Know your rights. Remember fun courtroom trivia. 

Cool for: Lawyers, Law-Evaders, Stick-In-The-Muds

Body Of Laws is responsible for your ability to follow the law at any given time—or don’t! Just because you know the rules doesn’t mean you have to play by them. Regardless, it certainly allows you to recall a, frankly, embarrassing amount of your government’s regulations, and may encourage you to ‘stay in your lane’, so to speak, regarding them. Governments aren’t the only entities that enact rules, though: you will also find yourself privy to understanding unspoken boundaries set by people, nature, and even your subconscious self.

At high levels, Body Of Laws will either make you an *extremely* insufferable goody-two-shoes, or a *wildly* effective cheat-of-the-system. You may end up feeling suffocated by all these restrictions you can so clearly see, causing you to become complicit with the movings of the machine—or potentially apathetic to why we need some of these restrictions in the first place. With low levels of Body Of Laws, you may find yourself accidentally violating boundaries you didn’t know existed—whether they be legal, personal, or cultural. 

[writtenbyplato]

this is what i bring to the table at 6am until i actually answer these individually at a later time. triple yuri

tap for quality

[0ann3]

I would like to ask for malleus x leona short comic of them in the gardens sitting under a tree with leona sleeping in malleus's lap as malleus is reading a book and gently and lovingly petting leona who is smiling in his sleep if that is okay sorry if too much

Hope the slight alteration with the pose and story is fine, Anon ٩(｡•́���•̀｡)۶ my reading comprehension really went all time low when I drew this, because I was re-reading the ask one last time just to make sure I got most parts down, and it was literally on my 3rd re-read did I understood the assignment KJLAHDKAJSDH (I even had the ask open on the side when i was sketching this and all, so idk what happened (╥ ᴗ ╥))

Anyway, I suppose this is one of the reasons why I'm also scared to open art requests because i have the tendency to misread ToT

no text ver below the cut:

[escapizm]

🐈‍⬛ 🐈‍⬛ 🐈‍⬛

[keekity]

fashion designer & her freelance programmer gf

[girzapata6]

x'd

I just saw some cool Human Designs of the Krew, I wanted to give it a shot too lol

---------SPAM----------

BTW!! DON'T FORGET MY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!! PLEASE, CONSIDER BUYING ME A COMMISSION (Or at least share the post!), I NEED TO FIND ANOTHER PLACE TO STAY AND I NEED THE MONEY!!;;;;;

↓↓PLEASE READ THIS POST FOR MORE INFO!!;;;↓↓

[roscoehamiltons]

happy 35th birthday valtteri! 🍑🎂

[theloveinc]

kirishima x reader - kiri really, really, REALLY wants a third child.

(warnings: afab + fem reader who is a mom with two bio babies, breeding, slight sense of dubcon but it really is con, slight voyeurism, heavy on the pregnancy, mention of sick baby + baby coming early (all is well tho), son = mister, daughter = missy, abrupt end)

1.5k+ words. enjoy!!

-

The conversation comes up on a sunny day in Denki’s backyard. His wife and their newest daughter in her lap sunbathing next to you, the baby reaching out for your sleeve every so often as the three of you watch Denki, Kiri and the older children—save for the oldest who claims she’s too big for such things—play in the sprinklers, screaming. 

“Have you thought about a third?” Denki’s wife asks, tipping down her sunglasses to send you an inquisitive stare.

“Oh, god, no. Ei and I are done.” 

“Really?” she seems surprised. “He’s such a good father, you’d think…”

You shrug, taking a sip of the mango slush that was provided to you when you first arrived. “We were considering it, but mister came so early that the stress of another seemed too much.”

“Ah, I know how that goes all too well. Has Kiri gotten, you know…?” She makes a snipping motion with her fingers.

You snort, the thought almost as implausible as Denki with a son. Doctors have recommended that most heroes remain unaltered, at least to reduce the chances of hormone levels fluctuating unexpectedly and causing changes in prowess… and though that didn’t stop Bakugo five years ago and nothing’s changed about his aggression or fighting style, your husband still uses the warning as an excuse to stay hesitant. 

“Oh, hell no. Have you tried talking to him about it? He goes nuts, and the man is stubborn as a bull.” 

“Are you guys using condoms, then?”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. Protected sex after what? Nearly ten years of marriage? Kirishima was far from the type even when you first met, if you tried bringing up latex contraception now, he’d practically consider it offensive, or a threat to his masculinity at the very least. 

“Pills for now. Surprisingly the side effects have been manageable.” 

“Aren’t you worried those might fail?” 

Her persistent concern touches you, and how could it not when she and her husband have to wrangle five, blonde, Kaminari daughters from sunset to sundown on the daily… but it’s nothing you don’t think you and Ei couldn’t navigate together if need be. 

The youngest starts squirming for you and you offer to take her in your arms, trading your slush to plop her on the warmth of your lap which immediately ceases her cooing. 

“Well,” you tickle her baby plump belly, the delighted squeal you get in response making you grin, “I guess an accident wouldn’t be so bad if they turned out like this one.” 

-

Little did you know, Kirishima overheard your little, half-joking declaration. It’s a wonder, given that you’d assumed if the water hadn’t drowned out your voices, the seven screaming children (and Denki) would’ve.

But he catches you the next morning, fresh out of the shower as you stand in the bathroom prepping your skin for the rest of the day.

“I heard,” he leans in behind you, his damp and loose hair reflected in the mirror, “you said you wanted another baby?”

You chuckle, the steamy warmth of his belly pressing into your back almost overwhelming, “I said, accidents happen, my love. I’m perfectly content with the three babies I have now.” 

Kirishima pouts, the hands on your hips tightening as they slowly turn you around to face him. 

“What if we…?” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” you yawn, picking a stray piece of thread off of the damp towel hanging around his shoulders, your other hand running down his bare chest. “I thought we agreed two was enough?” 

“I was just thinking, you know, it doesn’t sound so bad now that mister is older and all.”

You wave him off, nudging your way out from between the sink counter and his hips before pressing one quick peck to his cheek. 

“Shoo. You’re going to be late for work,” Kirishima doesn’t let you go so easily, his hands lingering and only falling when you’re finally out of reach. “There’s a lunch in the fridge. Don’t get hung up on it, yeah?”

-

But Kirishima is hung up on it.

He loves being a dad more than anything, feels as though it's one of the many reasons he was placed on this earth, and though he loves you now more than any other time in his life and would love you no matter what happened to your body, he can’t say he wasn’t extremely delighted when you were pregnant... nor that he doesn’t want to see another rounded belly on you again.

Besides, your daughter was so curious about it, so precious and clingy, but she was almost too little to understand what was happening in your belly when you were swollen with your son… that Kirishima really only has a handful of memories of you all together before one baby became two and two babies became children.

And when he spent their babyhood was spent half in a hospital and half with you out of commission, he just can't help but imagine that doing it over with a third would make his whole life complete.

It just makes perfect sense. 

-

It’s couple’s hot yoga the next time it gets brought up, Kirishima helping you hold the warm-up stretches as he ponders the questions out loud.

“Have you thought about it at all?” He whispers, hands pulling your thigh away from your face and into a stretch meant to straighten your hamstrings. 

“Thought about what?”

“Baby number three,” he lowers your leg and helps switch you to the other side. 

You laugh, disturbing the calm of the heated studio, apologizing to the other couples there softly after. “You seem pretty committed.”

Kirishima nods like a desperate puppy, knowing how he must look in his loose tank top and sweatband, his hair pushed back from his forehead revealing a flush that isn’t yet due to the steam in the room. 

“What’s so good about a third, anyway?” you as say as he repositions your leg from straight to bent at the instructors command. “You know how sick mister was. I can’t go through that again.”

“What if you didn’t have to?

You glare, straining your neck to make sure Kiri can get a peak at your angry eyes. “You say that like you know what would happen.”

"I just…” he shrugs, thumb rubbing your ankle. “We missed missy’s toddler years taking care of mister, and by the time he was walking, missy was using full on sentences and demanded that we start treating her like an adult.” 

The instructor commands you turn on your side and begin the same stretches that way. 

“You were also still recovering from the pregnancy, I had to go back to work… and I want to do it again but with just one this time. Savor the baby years the way we should’ve savored theirs.” 

Kirishima lets his palm brush the intersection between your thighs as he keeps your let from falling. Damp and warm with sweat, he can’t help but press his fingers into where your loins hide under your leggings and—

You stick your foot in his face, the other couples amongst the room already shifting. “Up. It’s your turn for stretches.”

-

“Shit.” 

“Ooh, mommy cussed!”

“You didn’t hear that, baby. I’m just—“ you squint at the notification on your device.

“What?” Kirishima asks, holding your daughter in his arms. The tops of her feet are pressing into his belly while they pass a large slice of dripping, red watermelon back and forth. Your son is preoccupied at the coloring table set up in the living room, drawing pictures of semi-naked heroes with enormous hairdos. 

“Pharmacy’s out of my birth control. Won’t be in for a few weeks.”

You don’t miss the way Kiri’s eyebrows immediately raise, though you glance back down at your phone to panic-click more buttons in the hopes that he gets the hint. 

“What’s that mean, babe?” he asks, feigning innocence about a subject you very well know he’s versed in. 

“What do you mean, what’s that mean?” 

“I mean, what are we gonna do about that? You know—“

You groan. 

“Hush. We’re just gonna pretend I didn’t say that and move on,” you turn on your feet to rush out of the room, calling over your shoulder. “And share the watermelon with mister. I’m calling the doctor.” 

“Ooh,” your daughter says again, her sticky hands going to Kiri’s cheeks which are pinched in a funny expression she doesn’t clock, “Daddy’s in trouble!” 

-

But honestly, Kirishima can’t pretend he hadn’t heard what you said… and truly doesn’t know what you were thinking when you suggested that he try. Birth control aside, on it or off it, you were bound to have sex eventually… that was never even the issue. 

Though when you bring up condoms to the whiney redhead barely a few days later, he barely manages to open one before accidentally flinging it across the room in trying to see how well it stretches. 

“I can’t do this,” Kirishima frowns, sitting back down on the bed after pulling his briefs back on to throw away the slimy piece of latex. He curls an arm back around you to pull you in between his legs, hands moving to grip your waist while he admires the cute black, mom panties you’re wearing that sit over the handles of your hips. “I don’t wanna wear a condom.”  

You sigh, your own hands scratching the tops of his shoulders. “You’re not planning on pulling out, either. Are you?”

“No,” he doesn’t even say it shamefully, “I’m not planning on pulling out.” 

“And you’re gonna hope that it sticks?” 

“Yes,” his eyelids flutter looking up at you. You’re so cute frowning like you’re not gonna let him have his way and then pretend it’s all his fault. An accident. “I’m gonna hope it gets you pregnant.” 

That makes you roll your eyes, though it also has you squeezing your legs together. 

“You’re such a dog.”

Kirishima nods, but you don’t stop him from slowing pulling your panties down. 

“Only for you.”

[to-rise-above-monsters]

dear bertholdt.

Summary: Reiner left his overcoat in preparation for a meeting and asked Annie to get it from his room. Begrudgingly, she agreed. Though she immediately regrets it when a box of letters falls from the top shelf. Maybe regret isn’t all there is. She found something more.

-

CW: angst, canon compliant (so major characters death,, Bertholdt is dead<3), rba centric, can be read as romantic or platonic reibert but reibert nonetheless

Takes place post-timeskip (the second one, post-war), a few years into settling into ambassador life.

Apologies for any ooc, I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic in Annie’s perspective/focus,, I also haven’t written on her before and also haven’t written and posted in general for forever

(This was meant to be a comic and is so clear in my mind but I don’t have the time nor talent to execute it 😔)

Happy Birthday Bertholdt can’t believe ur dead ♥️

-

Reiner told her to get his coat. What that asshole didn’t tell her was how ridiculously high his coat hangers were. It shouldn’t have loomed over her the way it did. It was almost taunting, mocking her with its impossible height. They had probably raised Reiner’s closet bar for his big, hulking self and possibly lowered hers as some sort of unspoken courtesy. Annie sighed deeply, already regretting being here. Sure, tell the short girl to get your big ass coat from your tall ass closet. Embarrassingly, she jumped; she jumped a few times. If a glare could kill, there'd be holes burnt into the pockets.

Fuck off.

The stupid coat was simply out of reach. She could usually manage by grabbing the shoulder and lifting it from there but even then she couldn’t manage. She kicked the closet door in frustration, hard enough to make it rattle, and looked around for reinforcements. Somewhere nearby had to be a stool or something, anything, to make this easier. 

She found a tall chair and dragged it over with a bit more force than necessary. The legs scraped against the floor and that sound annoyed her even more. 

Finally, she lined it up, climbed up with a huff, and snatched the coat off the hanger in one triumphant, final fuck you. But as she jumped off the chair with her prize, she heard something else fall. A clatter, a shuffle, the distinct sound of things spilling. She grumbled and turned around.

If I have to do one more thing, I’m killing someone.

She cringed when her eyes fell onto the mess. Her jumping and kicking and overall exasperation now had a bunch of shit spilled on the floor from the top shelf of the tall closet. An old box, the size and look of a shoe box, had lost its lid and scattered papers everywhere. She at first started to snatch them up without discretion, just trying to stuff them back in. But a name caught her eyes.

Bertholdt.

Her fingers froze. She didn’t want to snoop. She would have killed anyone who went through her stuff like this. She tried to cast out the memory of seeing the name. She quickly tried to collect them all and put the box, along with this moment, far back into the closet. But there it was again, unmistakable.

Bertholdt.

Something came over her. An overwhelming wave, pulling her under before she could even name it. It felt so sudden, so heavy, all-consuming. She held the pages in her hands, her grip tightening unconsciously. 

The small, trembling pool she had collected seemed insignificant against the sheer ocean of papers spilled out before her. They spread across the floor like a map of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to navigate. And each one… each one bore the same familiar name.

Dear Bertholdt,

Her chest tightened, an ache spreading in places she thought she’d long since numbed. With a breath, she carefully placed them in the box one by one. It blurred past her, the same line repeated over and over. Her eyes couldn’t help but snag on the same arrangement of letters, the same handwriting. There were a hundred, maybe even more, all addressed… and dated. She paused.  

They had an order. 

Written at the top of each of them was a date. Everything was spilled all over the floor and each one was supposed to be neatly tucked away in order. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

Forgive me.

Dates flashed by. She tried to put them in order without reading any of its contents. It felt impossible, especially when there were letters that seemed to be multiple pages long. She tried to group them to the best of her abilities, organizing them by date and putting them in piles face down when she found the correct order. But words blurred past, recognizable phrases, handwriting that got shakier, years and years and years, consistent dating on every one.

“I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “If I could go back…” “I wish you were here.” “I can’t forgive myself.” “You deserved better.”

Her breath hitched, the edges of the pages almost cutting into her fingers as she clutched them tighter. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, but it only grew heavier with every second she spent kneeling there, surrounded by years of unspoken… emotions; emotions she never knew she had.

When did I start crying?

A tear fell from her cheek and nearly hit the precious paper. An aching feeling had creeped into her body. Emotions she never really thought were there seemed to spill. She couldn’t name it. It felt like a sudden burn in her nose, the need to swallow a bitter taste, eyes blurring. She was drowning. 

30.12.854

The letter she held was dated shakily at the top. She’d seen that same date come up again and again. For a moment, she tried to remember if maybe New Years or any holiday around that time meant something to them; as warriors, they didn’t really celebrate holidays, let alone religion. 

She took a breath and put it in the 854 pile. She looked at the stack. 854. That would have been… that would have been the year of the rumbling. It would have been the year everything changed. 

And he never got to see it.

She looked at all of the piles she’d now made, how each represented a year. She tried to push any judgements or perceptions away from her mind. But some years piled higher than others. Three piles in particular. She gathered the final loose letters. 

Her mind drifted to her time in the crystal. The silence had been maddening, a suffocating void she couldn’t escape. She had been awake in that void, terrifyingly, agonizingly awake. The only light that had ever pierced through the endless dark had been Armin’s voice, Hitch’s chatter. Their persistence had saved her, kept her tethered to something beyond the emptiness. But it always puzzled her why they did it in the first place.

I know.

She placed the final letter. The paper felt different; crinkled and messy, rough and smeared. 30.12.850; old, the oldest one. She finally gathered all of them, stacking them neatly away in the box.  She stared at the box in front of her, now neatly packed, the letters arranged in quiet, solemn order. The shoebox felt heavier than it had any right to be. There was only paper within it. Something else weighed it down. 

I know.

She exited the room quietly, holding the coat tenderly in her hands. She gave it to him when they met in town without a single complaint. She never spoke about what she had found to Reiner or anyone else for that matter. 

Their now shared secret lay in a small box that once held shoes for a warrior.

[egberts]

with less than 10 hours left in my free trial and plans for the rest of the day, i managed to get a good-enough version of song 4 done!