#in seven hours
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dallas stars ot in all of their games this season already….
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taking my life into my hands to resurrect this godawful hellpoll and let it run for a week this time
#tumblr polls#my polls#poll#rice v potato#let's see if we can avoid getting weirdly and vehemently racial with it this time!#i am making this choice while sick and brain muddle-y so let's hope i don't regret it#last attempt at this seven months ago managed to get over 6k votes in 24 hours#let's see if this will once again be rip my notifications
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Don’t *wanna* go to work :/
#not for another like. eleven hours but like#I’m working out too#in seven hours#so 😙✌️#not excited#but gotta do it#ok. night#em rambles
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nine persons
#i hope the number shapes are readable. i did try#zero escape#zero escape 999#9 hours 9 persons 9 doors#ace 999#gentarou hongou#snake 999#light field#santa 999#aoi kurashiki#clover 999#clover field#junpei tenmyouji#june 999#akane kurashiki#seven 999#lotus 999#hazuki kashiwabara#teruaki kubota
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throws these at you
#marvel cinematic universe#xmen movies#xmen#xmen apocalypse#charles xavier#erik lehnsherr#do i tag it cherik. of course i do#cherik#snap sketches#i have once again failed to draw erik's plan outfit from dofp cjWALcjkalkc#TOMORROW. or friday. i want to draw it at some point ..#idk how i ended up here. think i just wanted to draw bald charles. and the wheelchair...#thats why i gave up when it came to coloring and shading vklejalkj just a quick thing !!!!! ill make something epic soon. maybe. <-lying#anyway i have to decide if when i draw that outfit it will be another cherik thing or just a solo. might do the latter lest i go mad#for now good night !!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have class in seven hours and i need to sleep !!!!!
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Jason: I am not a zombie.
Danny: Sound like something a zombie would say.
Jason: Zombies can't talk!
Danny: And how would you know that? Huh? How would you know what the undead can and can't do?
Jason: Kid please just leave me alone. You've been following for hours! Where are your parents?
Danny: IF you must know my parents are dead! But that's okay. I'm doing just fine on my own!
Jason: ......oh no, I've become Bruce.
#dcxdpdabbles#dcxdp crossover#from a fic i never wrote#Danny is deaged to a seven year old#and clocks the dead in Jason when he walks by#Hes not a ghost though????#Followed him around for hours accusing him of being a zombie instead#Jason adopts him#Hes become his adoptive father
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I am generally very “live and let live“ about these things on an individual basis, and the furthest thing from anti-femininity. I literally don’t own pants, nor do I ever intend to, for example. I respect that some women prefer to wear make up for whatever reason, and that deciding whether you do it for yourself or because of patriarchal beauty standards is a very case-by-case thing. Some people do the soul-searching and come out the other end with the knowledge that they ARE doing it for themselves!
But… Reading Internet discourse about whether women should have to wear make up at work is making me want to bite and tear and rend
“it makes you look more polished! It makes you look more put together! It looks like you’re taking care of yourself and taking your job seriously!“ WHY. Please explain to me WHY women look like we ~aren’t taking care of ourselves~ if we don’t slap extra goop on our faces every morning. Give me a succinct reason that makes sense and doesn’t rely on the assumption that make up is somehow a natural state of womankind
And then explain why the same thing doesn’t hold true for men
(TERFS get lost)
#makeup#feminism#fuck all of that. Not taking care of yourself? I absolutely take care of myself#even in terms of my face – I cleanse and moisturize and wear sunscreen#all the things that are necessary for actual skin health to avoid discomfort and cancer#I get at least seven hours of sleep most of the time. I drink plenty of water. I eat a fairly balanced diet#but you’re telling me that’s somehow not enough because I don’t want to wear face paint? Fuck all the way off
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look at my son. he has killed several people, but he did it while looking badass, so it’s okay!!
Redraw (one year difference)
#i….dont know if i can be proud of this? like i like how it turned out but knowing me ill hate it soom#it would suck if it did bad though because i spent SEVEN HOURS on this#pjo fanart#nico di angelo#nico di angelo fanart#pjo#pjoverse#percy jackson#pjo fandom#pjo hoo toa tsats#nico di angelo pjo#rrverse#my art#nico pjo#pjo nico di angelo#pjo nico#percy jackon and the olympians#artists on tumblr#digital art
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slippery when wet!
pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader
summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”
—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.
word count: 4.3k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.
author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.
psst! tftw series masterlist!
You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals.
Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.
The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.
You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.
It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.
Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.
Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.
Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?”
He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”
You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”
He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”
There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.
You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”
Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin.
Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”
Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.
Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”
“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”
Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.
A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling.
Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”
You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”
“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy.
It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.
Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.
“You’re a child.”
“You still haven’t answered the question.”
You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry.
It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.
You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”
Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”
“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.”
For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.
You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”
Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr.
Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find.
He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.
“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”
Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you.
It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court.
“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.
“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”
The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.
Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”
He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.
Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.
“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.
The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.
“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”
He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.
The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile.
“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base.
Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.
“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”
You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.
Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.
His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.
“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”
Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.
It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.
“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”
“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you.
“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.
Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.
Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.
He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.
“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.
Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.
You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.
“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.
The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you.
You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.
They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.
You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”
“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.”
Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.
You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”
The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”
“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”
The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“
“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”
You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.
You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.
His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.
Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.
An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.
You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art.
“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”
“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.
You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”
Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy.
He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear.
You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.
You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”
Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain.
You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.
He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”
“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
#— 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ♡#natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words#okay this might actually be the filthiest thing i've ever written#i really went for it#and i had so much fun#i literally cannot believe this is my third fic posted this week#that is so crazy to me#and i actually posted this at a reasonable hour!#not at seven in the morning after staying away all night!#i'm like a professional now#okay bye!#love you!#challengers x reader#challengers x you#challengers smut#challengers imagine#challengers fanfic#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig smut#patrick zweig imagine#patrick zweig fanfic
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dalien over here saving me from art block
line art + my lovely collection of references
@danielhowell @amazingphil
#danandphil#a collection of some of my favorite moments from the new video#i may have finished it and then immediately spent the next FOUR HOURS drawing this#whoops#it is three 'o seven of the AM as i'm writing this#anyway#this is fine#dalien howlter#danandphilgames#daniel howell#amazingphil#skribbles
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more krew scribbles: therapy edition
#kremy FULLY believes himself to be the only sane person in the party#gricko is going in to be a contrarian and prove frost that he doesn’t need therapy#he walks out with seven new diagnoses#twig gets in the office and immediately goes on a tangent rambling for said 3 hours and occasionally / unintentionally traumadumping#all that to answer “how are you?”#torbek walks in and the therapist becomes the flash#once upon a witchlight#kremy lecroux#legends of avantris#gideon coal#gricko grimgrin#torbek#twig toadspring#morning frost
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orca statue sketch painting!! drew a thumbnail of it in class like two weeks ago then i was like :O i have to try to render this!! gemstone hard to draw d:
#wings of fire#wings of fire seawing#seawing#wof seawing#this took like seven hours#was messing around with a bunch of stuff#tumblr did not let me post the big picture :(#said i had to compress it rip
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wait, you're a lawyer? for real?
I got an associates in stage tech, a double BFA in Graphic Design and 3D Design, and then went to law school on full academic scholarship, booked twelve classes, fell asleep during the Bar Exam three times (but passed with flying colors before the curve), and the motion for my admission to practice (put forward by my brother, also a lawyer), started, "My sister has many issues, but the one before the Court today is that of her admission to the State Bar of Michigan."
And somehow yes, they do let me practice law.
#i try to to brag about myself because that is a midwestern seven deadly sin#but i will be honest: i am excellent at school. I could get a degree in anything#even things i would be genuinely terrible at#because im just really good at school.#it is not a useful skillset post graduation.#anyway my brother and i were in law school with an overlap of about a year and a half and our peers fucking hated it#because he went through and booked a ton of classes#breaking the curve kind of a lot#and just when they thought they were rid of him and the curve could go back to normal: here i come with the same bullshit#also to be clear the Bar is two full days . i didn't fall asleep three times in like a one hour test.#.... although i have also done that.
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oh smg4 fixation how far ive fallen for you ............ hhi smg4 fandom waving nervously
#GOING INSANE THEY ROTATE IN MY HEAD TWENTY FOUR SEVEN.....MARIO IS NEXT(SLASH THREATENING)#smg4 fanart#smg4#smg3#smg4 smg3#smg4 eggdog#smg4 beeg smg4#birdyfy art#i cant believe tjis. coming back from my (short) art hiatus and i bring forth MEN to my blog. shaking my head/huge jay/pos#smg34#smg3 fanart#edited#<- i forgot something crucial which i will NOT say because it had me hiding in embarrassment for HOURS
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We've reached 'severely missing the animated portions of Rite Here Rite Now' hours so I started my own bare-bones animation inspired by that scene 🫡
If it's too hard to tell, I've got Nihil disguised as a "preppy Chad" character so he can spook Sister Imperator and then do a classic Scooby Doo reveal as himself haha. As for the music, I wasn't planning on backing it with anything but I realized Kiss the Go-Goat already sort of matched up so I think I'm gonna finish it with the song in mind (I slapped the audio onto this in imovie so if it's poorly balanced my bad lol)
#I cannot keep doing animations it's such a bad habit. this is 6 hours of drawing. and it's missing so much detail LOL#why do I do this to myself#the band ghost#papa nihil#sister imperator#kiss the go goat#seven inches of satanic panic#animation#rite here rite now#my art#my band ghost
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I'm old-school, Mulder. Pre-Google.
Happy 60th Birthday Dana Katherine Scully!
google search overlay by @cal-kestis, spotify overlay by @danesdehaan following scrolling tutorial by @eddiediaaz [insp: ☆ ★ ☆ ]
#hi so remember how at 2am i said it was 2am so whilst i wanted to make gifs i probably wouldn't?#yeah it's now quarter past nine im really dehydrated and i've just spent seven hours making this gifset that i honestly have no idea why it#took me so long#actually some of the reason it took me so long is cause i bumped into a childhood friend today for the first time in a decade and so we#spent the evening messaging and catching up and i kept getting distracted#txf#x files#msr#the x files#txfedit#my gifs#xf gifs#GA gifs#cinematv#filmtvcentral#chewieblog#smallscreensource#usercreate#userthing#dana scully#dailytvwomen#popcultureds#mediagifs#usertvfilm#tvedit#tvcentric#tvfilmsource#televisiongifs#gillian anderson#imma go grab some water and fall asleep now i think
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