#i'll figure them out someday

[pac1fythehunger]

arc hunter doodle dump (featuring one of @sebbiknees' warlocks)

[zaacoy]

hi tumblr here's a collection of me trying and failing to draw freenoodles kisses thumbss up, good evening and goonight freenoodles nation x]

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[itzzaira]

Uhm, okay, first time trying fanart- fandoodles-? so I hope I'm doing this right- qwq tagging makes me a little nervous so I'm sorry just in case- qwq

After coming across the fanart by craacked-splatters for Displacement by @pezhead I may or may not have binged it all in one go and migosh its been living in my head rent-free since, which is why I started doodling this scene during classes and then decided to make it digital- or tried to qwq jehskqhajq my heart poor babies

This scene. This scene right here. It crushed me</3

I don't wanna give anything away but the story is so good ohmigosh

Its a 2012/rise crossover where Donnie is the one getting trapped in rise! I would highly recommend reading it! ^^

[justanintrovertedweirdo]

Honestly, I absolutely love the idea of the yellow thing from Into The Pit just treating Oswald like his son with no malicious intent. It's also kinda gotten me thinking about something else. What if the yellow thing turned good? Like, due to how it was being treated like it's Oswald's dad by his mom and stuff. What if that made it go soft? Like it actually started to care for Oswald and his mom and maybe even for the other humans??? I know that last part is a bit of a stretch, but still. And imagine it started to care for Oswald and his family so much that it regretted its actions and helped Oswald get his real dad back. I don't know where it would go from there. Maybe it would just return to wherever the hell it came from, idk. It's just a silly little idea that's been sitting in my head ever since the Into The Pit game released.

[ragnarokhound]

👻 trick or treat 🎃

:D Happy Spooky Season!! Have the first few paragraphs of my goofy-ass, smutty tentacle-Jason WIP I started a while back:

Fighting demons always comes with risks. Magical bullshit risks. Such as wedging a fiery exorcism stone into place atop a ritual pillar, and the risk of burning your hands so badly holding it there that you get benched in the middle of the apocalypse. Risks, like a self-sacrificing dumbass making himself into a shield for you, fighting off imps and withstanding the infernal storms of hell long enough for the exorcism to be performed— and the risk of maybe-sort-of-temporarily getting himself transformed into a demon as a result.  “Just a little,” or so the self-sacrificing dumbass claims.  The All Caste is involved, and it goes over Tim’s head (only because someone won’t spill their mystical-holy-order secrets to him), but at least Jason hasn't been permanently scarred by the darkness or whatever. Reportedly.  Tim remains skeptical. 

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[bobmckenzie]

fancy bf x casual gf 🩵 (I FINALLY DREW IT LOL)

[ghoulsaint]

[thegoldenavenger]

[POV the mean girls are being 'nice' to you]

[originallymarysue]

If I had a penny for how many times I've paralleled a Avatar Peach AU character unintentionally with a SMG4 character that they aren't originally based on, I'd have two pennys, which isn't a lot but it's weird it's happened twice.

[redbootsindoriath]

I’ve finished the third Fëanorian Week drawing.  Only four more to go....  In the meantime, here’s another Star Trek post for you because 1. it’s April Fool’s Day which makes me want to post something funny, and 2. I just recently finished the third TOS season and am in denial about having run out of new episodes.  But now it’s on to the movies!

I’m sure this joke has been made before, but I can’t believe this was literally a plot point in an episode.

Transcription:

[Garth as Kirk:] “Shoot him, he’s the clone!” [Spock:] “The real Kirk would never pass up an opportunity to die!”

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

surprise, bet you weren't expecting THIS

ok but real this is technically just a test. wasn't actually aiming to really make this lmao, but things lined up and i realized this sounded good actually so i was "hmm maybe i should post that." idk if i'll make a video for this so for now just take the audio ig.

VSQx by Hatsune Dan, distributed by Yumeko. Some minor tuning edits by me. Mixing also by me. Original song by wowaka.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

“mulder holding scully's jacket for her after a rough day. scully bringing mulder lunch when he's spending all of his time staking out a case. him bringing her a VHS tape when she wakes up from her coma. and later when she is hospitalized in wetwired, how he turns off the TV when he enters the room. the hand holding in pusher. each "stay right where you are and let me come get you" when the other is in danger. each time they carry the other's body to safety. falling asleep around each other.”

Just make me cry, why don’t you?

God they’re so intense and I love it.

Also this is a good fic concept!

i'm very late to answer this, but!!! thanks so much :D

i was trying to figure out what it is that makes their dynamic so hard to describe when i wrote that, and i realized it is because so little of it is actually spoken! writing them has to be SO challenging, somehow mastering the way they rarely say anything at all and yet wordlessly communicate in this synchronized and intrinsic way. i've thought about giving it a go, but i've been scared off at the delicate nature of the whole thing.

because it's very rarely ever a case of them just saying how they feel. it's acts of service, or turning the real feelings into something to laugh at, or entirely unspoken, whole conversations in touch. it feels impossible to describe!!

how do fic writers do it??? drop the tips!!! it's like trying to put a color into words! how do you explain what green is?? it feels impossible!!

[kakyogay]

me for the past few days: maaan I've had nothing in my brain to draw or think of it's all been just blank during my long ahh break whatever will I do without posting art for eons and eons!!!

literally out of no where: what if um what if suns become slug (small slug not on purpose not meant to be small) to go to pebble and shenanigans ensue with overprotective wanderer um finally being able to pick up and show the world to what she has considered a pup of hers for hella long and a very confused spearmaster which happens to be the main defense and um guide or whateva that'd be cool I think

[iamthecomet]

Someday, I'm going to torment all of you by talking about my non-ghost OCs/stories.

[gothamcityneedsme]

i can't believe i never posted any of my snk fic. like. i have MULTIPLE NOTEBOOKS of handwritten stuff, and a LOT on my phone but like. i was into snk when i didn't have access to a computer. so almost none of this is typed and so thus also none of it was ever posted.