#keep rolling
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5 new songs (Keep Rolling, Love and Devotion, Some Guitar, Why So Cold & Can We Talk?) were registered on ISWC with Louis as a composer - 25.08
#keep rolling#love and devotion#some guitar#why so cold#can we talk?#registered songs#composer louis
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Whereabouts do you live, roughly speaking, and what drew you to that place in particular?
I'm in Michigan, and that's as specifically as I will answer that question! We have really lethal lakes.
#i think a lake should be willing and able to kill you and if not#then that is a pond actually#and she should sing you songs of endless summer and bring you the cold rolling fog of fall#and howl the vast empty spaces in winter#and break like a bone in spring.#swim out drink deeply the water is cold and clear#and she should keep the souls she takes and hold them in the old towers of flint and granite where the memory of glaciers sleep because#michigan is hers and hers and hers and hers
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Keep rolling is about lime bikes I don't make the rules.
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How Bill was defeated and captured by Ford in my Gf AU! He basically just tricked Bill into accepting a deal that trapped him within Ford's mind and under his control :]
He may have gotten a little out of hand though....
>:)
Next post :]
#i am on a ROLL these days so have one last comic before I peace out for like another month or so#I KNOW I keep forgetting to draw Ford's sixth finger and I am SORRY alr#something something toxic relationships can lead you to adopt some negative attributes#and behaviors both as a shield to the abuser but also as a sword#Bill pushed Ford too far and Ford pushed back- what can I say?#my art#gravity falls#gravity falls fanart#gravity falls au#stanford pines#ford pines#grunkle ford#bill cipher#gravity falls bill#billford#<-kinda?? not really??#tw eyestrain#tw scopophobia#tw eye contact#tw graphic violence#HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU
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Real funny thing about me is that I will block a tag and then when a post comes up saying oh no this one has *tag* I still click show anyway and immediately regret it
#star wars#keep rolling#keep scrolling#tumblr features#you can block#both people#and tags#awesome right
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Ghost going to masseuse!reader because his back is beyond destroyed from years of manual labour, and not bothering to muffle his groans and grunts at all during the massage. full on groaning like he's balls deep in pussy. like even reader, who's used to people making involuntary sounds when they've never gotten a massage before, is uncomfortable not even twenty minutes into their session. and god forbid she try to move on after finding a spot that really makes him light up, he'll snatch her wrist and glare up at her until she gets back to it.
#her poor little massage table just barely keeping from collapsing under his weight#she is DREADING asking him to roll over#ceil writing#ghost x reader#ghost/reader
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my sister finished her first bg3 run, here's evil gang reunion photo <333 (withers invented polaroid for the occasion idc)
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#shadowheart#minthara#astarion#tav#oc: viivi @artharakka#he keeps the photo in his wallet too lol<3#they're everything to me your honor i lov them severely#i stg gang so good#not Morally lmao#but so delicious n ride and die...#it truly felt like survival simulator#and lemme tell u.. these bitches Lived💯‼️#(and yes selûnite shadowheart in evil gang it's how we roll babey🙏)#they all said fuck everyone else in their own way
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"karasu search how 2 cheer human up"
"karasu search difference between sad human and zoning out human"
"karasu search how long is it safe for humans to zone out for?"
(+ a longer look at each scene:)
#art#gif#obey me#this was meant to be a quick test. it was not quick. i think this is was the longest i've spent on drawing something since rolling ik#for some reason procreate keeps fucking up the colours on export and i'm too tired to figure out how to make it stop#can you tell that satan and lucifer were animated first?#funnily enough satan showing ik his book was pretty simple but lucifer walking was like. impossible. he kept turning out fucked up#i was so worn out by the end of it that everyone else's animations are way simpler#(the walk still doesn't look right but i've made peace with that.... i should've done some tutorials or smth first)#(such is my hubris: when i try to do new art things it's mainly by brute-forcing my way through it and hoping it works)#jtta ik#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#anyway i'd like to experiment more with trying to animate things in future so!! look forward to that?
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guess who finally watched the suckening
#jrwi#jrwishow#jrwi fanart#jrwi the suckening#just roll with it#heirmyst art#obsession so good it pulled me out of burnout#these fuckers changed my life#i keep rewatching it help me
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pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive, husband!katsuki, katsuki implied as being taller than reader, implied age (~late 20's, early 30s~), light-hearted bickering, an excuse to write more domestic!kats, 1.8k | cw: cursing, suggestive
-your husband comes home late, soaking wet and a little bit handsy-
Katsuki is late; you hope traffic isn't too bad. Outside your window the sky is overcast, steely shades of grey over a slate canvas. The roads are dyed an inky charcoal, pooling at the surface where rain drip-drip-pours in endless streams.
You've taken up residence in the foyer, between the linen closet at the end of the hall, and the umbrella Katsuki left by the front door this morning. The very same one you reminded him to take with him at breakfast, and twice again before he left in the evening. If you loved him a little bit less, he might listen to you one day.
But you do—love him—right down to his bad habits and stubborn disposition.
So you wait for him the same way you have for years; perched at the breakfast nook in the corner with a warm cup of tea and a paperback that's been gathering dust for half-a-year now at least. The bar table is worn at the edges, legs wobble if you lean too far forward—frankly, you should have gotten rid of it years ago—but it was the first belonging that wasn't yours, or Katsuki's, but ours; a piece you thrifted when you were both still twenty-something and broke.
The years have changed a lot—our table, our bed, our house, our life. Your Katsuki.
—His wife.
The band around your finger is white gold; it clinks when you put the mug to your lips. Honey, ginger. Sweet. Rain hits the window and falls; two trails meet at the middle, and stick to each other like glue. Katsuki would laugh if he found you right now, smiling into your tea like a lovestruck fool.
You let the ceramic rest, turn to page thirty-or-something of a book that you totally-intend-to-finish. An hour passes before you hear the telltale rumble of an engine.
You spot his headlights first, misty pools of sunlight spilling onto the pavement when he pulls into the driveway. It's well past midnight now; Katsuki is a shadow against the porchlight, long strides and a hand over his crown. You have half a mind to bring the umbrella to him, but he's quicker, ascends the four steps to the veranda in two big leaps; you barely register the rustle of keys before he's stepping into the house, pooling rainwater at the welcome mat.
He's soaked at the shoulders, a grumble in his throat when he kneels to unlace his shoes—black leather, designer and sharp, same as the suit jacket around his shoulders. Tailored to fit him just right.
Katsuki's always been handsome, even as a hero in training renting hand-me-down suits from the little mom-and-pop shop down the street. But it really strikes you just how beautiful he is when you look at him now, dressed to the nines. All the years of hard work paying off in more ways than one.
You go a little fuzzy when he lifts his head to catch you staring; red eyes kindling the air and making it hard to breathe. He's the spitting image of a number two hero, just returned from a long night at some fancy-pants gala; sometimes you forget that's exactly what he is. Even more dumbfounded that, somehow, he's yours.
"I know," he grumbles, moving his shoes to the cabinet and meticulously hanging his jacket over the chair to dry. He briefly eyes the umbrella. "I f'rgot, kay?"
So have you, suddenly.
There's a pause and—"I didn't say anything."
He meets you at the table, one hand at the surface and the other at the knot of his tie. "Y've got that look."
You tip you chin to glare at him playfully. "And what 'look' is that, Bakugou Katsuki?"
"Like y'r about t'chew me up." He pulls the fabric strip from around his neck in one fell swoop, pops the first button of his dress shirt with his thumb. Your eyes fall for only a moment—barely a second—but Katsuki grins with the self-awareness of a man who's known you half his life. "Or about t'jump my bones, hah?"
He looks entirely impish in his revelation, ego flaring to rest in his cheeks; you have half a mind to nip at them like candy floss, instead you reach for the cuffs of his button-up, tidy the sleeves one fold over the other until the rainwater and well-kept muscles catch at the seams. You feign a sigh when his stare becomes too insistent to ignore, hand falling to rest at the peaks of his knuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah." A spark of firelight flashes in his eyes, deep carmine and coy; teasing him was so much easier a decade ago. "I'd let'cha."
You roll your eyes. "You're so unsexy, y'know that?"
"Hah," he barks with all the disbelief in the world. "What? Want me t'do that dirty talkin' shit instead? Jump y'r bones right here at the table? D'n think she'll hold up, baby."
He lets a fraction of his weight fall against the corner and the old wood immediately cries out, splintering oak and creaking hinges and the real, immediate threat that the poor thing might actually collapse at your feet.
You spring up defensively. "Katsuki!"
A once neatly-folded towel tumbles from your lap to land at your toes. His gaze falls; grin widens.
"Said y're gonna make me 'deal with it' next time I forgot the stinkin' umbrella, didn't'cha?" His fingers pinch the fat of your cheeks teasingly. "Love me that much, hah?" Your eyes narrow, fingers dive with intent for the space beneath his ribcage. He's quicker, wraps five fingers around your wrist and pulls you in with a hand at the back of your neck. He breathes, warm against the top of your head—"Missed y'tonight."
You hum against his chest, damp fabric sticking to your cheeks, flush and warm with surprise. You can count the number of times he's been this blunt with his affection on one hand; at least twice being in the presence of an empty champagne glass, or five. "Did you drink?" He gruffs at that—the only indication that he heard you at all. "Katsuki?"
"Come with me next time."
You tilt your chin, brow creasing. His head dips at the sight of the first wrinkle, the way it always does when he's trying to change the subject, or sweeten you up, or get his way in any way, really—a habit you must have taught him because you let him get away with it every single time. It's probably why he looks so offended when you pull back suddenly with a click of your tongue.
"That's not an answer."
"Not a drop," he finally says—huffs—with an almost boyish scowl.
You find yourself stifling a laugh, hand over mouth, and he glares, even as you step away to rustle through the linen closet. His eyes are red hot, brow downturned, downright grumpy, only cooling to a simmer when you're toe to toe once more, fresh towel in hand and lightly waving him down to your level. His spine bows, head dips until you're massaging the soft cotton through his hair; you would have had to fight him on this once—years ago—before time weathered his sharp edges, doused the wildfire raging in his heart until he became the man he is now—irritable, arrogant, stubborn, still, but willing—to make amends for who he was before, to extend a hand where he's able, to let you offer him one in return.
"Chose this one on purpose, didn't'cha?" Katsuki's voice is lukewarm, a tepid grumble at the back of his throat, an almost purr when you dip your fingertips against his nape.
"No idea what you're talking about."—but you do. The towel in question, he means, is from the left side of the closet, your side, all soft cotton and fluff; the same ones he refuses to use, for those very same reasons. "Said they 'd'n dry a damn thing' but-" you drape the supposed 'overrated, overpriced pile'a'fluff' around his shoulders to ruffle his bangs, more wily than usual, and barely damp. "Would y'look at that?"
He snorts, hand falling to the small of your back. "Don't get smart."
"Or what?" you keen up at him, at the balls of your feet, tip toes and still barely nose to nose; they bump once on accident, and twice on purpose. "Huh?"
Warm, exasperated breath fans across your cheeks. "Tryna start somethin' t'night, are ya?"
You bat your lashes, head tilting and fingers splaying across the 'v' of his neckline. "Me? Start something?" Your grin betrays your facade. "And what if I am?"
He pulls you in at the waist, holds you steady with one, strong arm, warm lips at your jaw and low, deep voice in your ear. "Better be ready t'finish it, then."
His right hand comes to rest at the back of your thigh, teases the skin right where your skirt ends; gooseflesh blooms all the way up your spine and you shiver. "Who's jumping bones now, huh?" you bark—yap, like a scaredy-pup with it's tail between it's legs—bite lost somewhere between the callouses on Katuski's fingertips and the press of his hips against your own.
You straighten your shoulders to get a good look at the ego washing over his face like miles of trumpet vine. All consuming, a force to be reckoned with. And devastatingly pretty.
"That'd be me, pretty lady," he says, all kinds of smug and annoying.
You hold him with your stare for an entire second—two, just so you can get a real good look at his stupid, handsome face—and then you're pulling him in by the collar, wrinkling the shirt he'll spend too much on dry-cleaning tomorrow. Not that he seems to mind when your tongue meets his, honey mingling with the mint on his breath and making his head swim, all but forgotten when a hand comes to rest at your waist, heated fingertips beneath your sweater, licking softly at your skin.
He walks you back 'til your thighs hit the table—(it rocks, precariously); one of your hands fall against the surface, the other to his heart that thump-thump-jumps when thunder rumbles through the house, and stills. You smile, soft against his lips, thumb tracing the precipice of his collarbone until your fingers can curl around his spine. The next kiss against his mouth is featherlight, barely there; you sigh, contentedly—"I love you."
Katsuki goes a little hazy, eyes the color of early Autumn; the blazing summer sun reduced to a tealight candle, flickering in the palms of your hands. "Yeah," he chokes. And you know just what he means.
You kiss him then, once more, a little more playful this time; mischievous and coy with a cheeky, "—even though you're totally unsexy."
"So help me, y/n, I will howitzer this table."
#bakugou#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bnha#mha#x reader#x you#one day you find out he keeps an umbrella tucked under the driver's seat#he stops at a red light or smth and it rolls out like a goddamn bit and you just turn to him like 👁👄👁#the car ride is silent all the way home and if you so much as mention an umbrella ever again he turns beet red and gets soooo defensive#needless to say he never ~forgets~ his umbrella again djdjhfjfh
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This sport is so unserious and I love it 😭
#i hope this joke never dies#and i just love how everyone keeps rolling with it#the leclercs >>>#f1#formula 1#formula one#charles leclerc#arthur leclerc#oscar piastri#cl16#op81#scuderia ferrari#mclaren
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NONE OF THESE MFS CAN DRIVE
#i lied about not making comics#i was possessed#im going to keep making comics about characters not a lot of my followers even know#i want a fic so bad#sephiroths life would be easier if he put his hair up#zack doesnt get car sick so he gets the map#angeal would roll the jeep going too fast and break everything#genesis's attitude is spicy enough to roast food over when they get more lost#ff7#ff7 crisis core#ff7 zack#ff7 angeal#ff7 genesis#ff7 sephiroth
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Watching Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron again as an adult is so great because not only do you appreciate the nostalgia and joy of it, the stunning 2D animation mixed with early 3D techonology and well written tight story with a main character that never speaks.
But also you appreciate that the plot relies on horses, despite not being typical talking horses in cartoons, being extremely intelligent to the point that they are aware of their captivity and exploitation. And it involves a hyper intelligent horse dismantling (or, at the very least significantly delaying) American colonialism's expansion into the west.
This horse also very likely killed many colonialists when they were either launched at high speeds from his back, kicked in the head or blown up in a train explosion.
Good for him.
#I also love how the humans continue to severely underestimate just how much damage this horse can do#imagine the Colonel rocking up to the train camp with the whole place on fire#so many men killed#all the horses gone with some probably getting stuck along the way because they're dragging literal chains#and he sees that goddamn buckskin mustang that wrecked his whole shit#and that he last saw jumping into a raging river#what a day he'd be having#that horse? played dead so he could kick off the chains on the horses and then sent a whole train rolling down a hill into another train#set the whole forest on fire - killed so many bystanders and probably woodland animals#this horse is a liability he just keeps wrecking our whole shit every time we capture him#seriously don't go near that horse I think he might be a god or something
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