#lemme know if it works for you!

[slttygeto]

YOU SAY IT’S BIG, BUT YOU TAKE IT — SUGURU GETO.

જ⁀➴ content warning: pwp, riding, fem!reader, suguru has a big dick<3, reader struggles to ride him at first, he’s sweet and patient, big dick suguru once again<3, hint of a size kink, spanking, very light nipple play.

જ⁀➴ note: consider this an apology for the gut wrenching angst i posted yesterday. it’s 2am rn and i should be asleep but instead im feeding u guys this v self indulgent smut. enjoy<3

suguru loves when you suggest to ride him. you look eager as you straddle his lap, the love bites he littered all over your thighs giving him a sense of pride as he brushes his thumb over them. his free hand reaches for your ass cheek and kneads the skin before slapping it, and there’s a smile on his face when he sees you jolt in surprise.

taking suguru’s dick was a challenge in itself, he always prepped you with his thick fingers and made sure you were a weeping mess before getting to fuck your brains out. but tonight, you were feeling especially confident. despite his cock sitting on his stomach heavy and leaking pre-cum, the sheer size of it didn’t intimidate you. you can take it.

“think you can take it?” his voice sounds playful, and the grin plastered on his face makes your cheeks flush. the way he was staring at you made your heart skip a beat. so full of love and adoration, as though he wasn’t splitting you open on his cock a few moments ago.

but his loving stare doesn’t last long. both of his hands rest on your ass, and they deliver a harsh smack to the skin which makes you jolt forward. suguru captures one of your breasts in his mouth, and you sigh out when his tongue glides over your hardened nipple. he pulls away with a hum, a string of saliva attached to his lips and your thumb wipes it off.

“c’mon pretty girl, show me what you can do.” the praise is enough to make your pussy flutter. your hand reaches down to grab his cock, and your thighs shake a little as you stand up straight to position the tip of him against your folds.

you quietly hiss when the tip goes past your folds, the intrusion a little painful. suguru takes notice of your struggle and presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder, removing a hand from your ass to gently thumb at your clit.

“there you go—easy, eaaasy,” he whispers, his eyes locked on your face while you’re busy staring down at where your pussy and his cock meet. you don’t notice how his eyes are blown out with lust at the sight of you trying to take his cock, his heart fluttering in his chest because fuck—his dick was big for you, but you were giving it your whole mainly for his pleasure.

and when you finally manage to get the rest of him inside you, suguru is almost sure he just saw heaven. his head is thrown back and his eyes roll to the back of his head. you gasp at the same time, your pussy clenching hard around his cock that he hisses and grips your ass.

“shit— baby, you gotta move.” he sounds out of breath, his forehead is sweaty and the dark strands of his hair are sticking to the flushed skin of his face. he looks absolutely mesmerizing, that your pussy flutters again at the sight.

“fuck—“ you listen to him and lift up your hips, before slamming your ass back down. you repeat the same movement a couple of times, but each time is a little more intense as suguru grabs your face and forces you to keep your eyes on him.

he is manspreading on the couch and you ride him within an inch of your life, the fucked out look on both of your faces looks straight up pornographic. your moans are short but loud, eyebrows furrowed in concentration when you see the way his eyes start to unfocus.

you were fucking geto suguru stupid on your couch.

you lean towards him and wrap your arms around his neck, your pace faltering a little when your lips meet his neck. you think you can bring him to an orgasm first, you’re almost convinced that he was about to let go.

until his hands grip your waist, and you pull away from his neck to stare at him. one of his hands rests on the back of your head and pushes it down so that your foreheads meet, and while you’re a panting mess, suguru still manages to mutter a few words.

“eyes on me, yeah?“ you don’t respond immediately. you can’t, because he plants his feet on the ground and starts to thrust up into you at a brutal pace. you are grateful that his arm was holding you in place, otherwise you would’ve lost complete balance on his lap.

the tip of his cock brushes against that one spot over and over again, and suguru watches as your eyes gloss over with tears and your pretty lips purse—you are so close, suguru felt a sense of pride to be able to make you look this fucked out.

it only takes him a couple of thrusts before you are cumming around him with a loud cry, your body shuddering and shaking against him like a leaf. you moan as you come down from your orgasm, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you completely melt on him. you let him fuck into you for a few more seconds before he’s emptying himself inside you with a loud grunt.

your bodies are sweaty and sticky, but you still manage to kiss each other when you finally catch your breath. the kiss is sweet and you giggle as you pull away.

“that was good.” you say, wiggling a little on suguru’s lap until he hisses and lightly smacks your ass.

“behave.” his tone is playful, and his rubs soothing circles on the skin of your bottom. “but yeah, it was so good.”

↴⤷✮ i am so normal about him.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[kettlefire]

Maybe a Bit High (DpxDC)

Edit: A part 2, Bruce's side of things, is in the reblogs

Really, Danny shouldn't have been there. He had so many other things he should be doing. He wasn't even supposed to in Gotham!

Danny wished he could be safely tucked in bed right now. Or having another fight with his mom. Or dealing with another one of Sam and Tucker's squabbles.

Truly, anything was better than this. Then, being on the run, in a completely different state. Not recognizing anything anywhere and having to somehow find his dad somewhere in this city.

So yes, with Danny's luck, he had assumed the commotion by the docks had something to do with his search.

And of course, with Danny's luck, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Maybe things got a little out of hand. Really, Danny wasn't equipped to deal with a drug bust. His experience with crime tends to be of the ghostly nature.

Really, how do people even do these without getting a little bit high?

Was he even high? Could halfas get high? Was the powder he accidentally ingested the drugs? The one he got a giant mouthful of? Or was it the strange purplish liquid that coated like half his body?

Really, Danny wasn't in the frame of mind to try and figure all that out. It sounded more like a Jazz and Sam question.

God, Sam was going to be so bummed out for missing out on Danny's first trip. Not that Danny could even tell her what drugs these were...

Maybe he should go to a hospital?

Or maybe he should mess with this crane. Like, it looks fun! Wait, but people aren't supposed to use heavy machinery when high...

It's fine... probably. It's not like Danny was that high. Right?

Yea, he's fine. Besides, he's a halfa! He's like ninety percent sure he couldn't even get high. And Tucker would be so on board with his idea.

Hold on, the storage units look more fun. Danny couldn't help wanting to find out what was hiding behind all those walls.

Oh, but the sky looks so pretty from here! Even with the city lights and the light smog, Danny could make out the twinkling stars.

Maybe he should go for a fly. Even if he was high, technically, that would be fine, right? Flying is like walking for him. And it's not illegal to walk high! Just to be high...

Okay, okay, a flight it is. It'll atleast keep him away from civilians, and then he'll find his dad. Yes, Danny still needed to do that.

He couldn't lose his objective. He just needed to take a breather, and then track down his dad. Track him down somewhere in this large, bustling city.

It'll be fine, totally fine. Danny was totally not panicking. His current trip was truly not going downhill.

Was he forgetting to breathe? Wait, no, Danny was still Phantom. He didn't need to breathe, he's fine. It's fine...

Unless it wasn't. What if it was all in Danny's head? What if all this halfa stuff was all just a part of his really weird trip? What if he tries to fly and just ends up drowning in the river?

Okay, okay. Focus Danny, focus. He just needed to find his dad. That's it. His dad would know what to do. His dad could fix this.

Oh, and there he is! It was a little hard for Danny to focus his vision, but he knew the silhouette anywhere! It had to be his dad! Jack has such a distinct shadow!

Danny wasn't sure if he called out Dad or not. He also wasn't sure when he had decided to move. Did he fly or did he run?

It didn't matter. His dad knew, anyways. All Danny was focused on was the feeling of hugging his dad again...

And the strange armor his dad was wearing? It must have been something Jack rigged up to protect himself during these dire times...

But god, Danny couldn't tear his focus away from the texture of it under his fingers. Zeroing in on that alone.

It's fine. Even if he was high, Danny could just explain it to Jack. His dad would understand! Danny was just trying to be a good hero. It's not like he was doing drugs for fun!

Besides, being curled up on his dad's shoulders feels too good right now. Whatever that pointy thing on Jack's head was wasn't a big deal. It was something a little intangiblity could fix!

[aerospectrum]

starter for @rpwiththelilflower

Dean focused on matter at hand, getting the lid on this guys to go cup of flat sprite and making sure he had a ride home from the bar-- a safe ride. He watched the guys friends collect him and turned his attention back to the girl at the far end of the counter still nursing a half full glass of water. "You know, I could doctor that up for you.. throw a few lemons in, a lime, hell even a cherry if it gets that sour look off your face." he teases, leaning forward on the bar counter. "What brings you in here, huh, bad breakup?"

[niccolites]

green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter one

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw attempted sexual assault. read on ao3 here

On the same patch of land that you once took your first step, you are dragged out of your home by your hair.

There are things of little consequence: the blinding beam of the sun, how its heat doesn't reach you, snatched up by the snapping wind. The peeling paint of your broken fence, the pitchfork that has been abandoned in a bale of hay instead of with the rest of the tools in the barn.

You focus on this, the bite of the cold on your cheeks instead of the nails that are digging into your scalp. Easier to try and distance yourself from the fear that is gaping in your stomach, instead wondering if it was you or your brother who left that pitchfork out like that. You decide that it must have been your brother, he had been the one in the rush to get to the river to catch the ‘better’ fish this morning.

There are three strange men around you. You don’t know any of their names. You had seen them in the distance, the stark red of their coats along a distant hill, barely even a day prior. Your village had seemed to suck in a breath, air stilling with their approach. Now, the wind howls, the noisy exhale after that tense beat.

Trouble, your brother had warned you. Told you to stay in the house as much as you could. Tend the crops, feed the animals and keep your eyes down. He would go out, speak with your neighbours to get information on who these men were and what they wanted.

And you had done what you were told, had darted across to the barn, to the coop. Like a horse jumping at the sight of a snake before it even coils to snap.

It didn’t matter anyway. A spooked horse gathers more attention than a calm one. Your brother is sitting by still waters somewhere else, and you are here, gritting your teeth at the sting of your hair being ripped out by clumsy fingers.

Seemingly bored of dragging you, you are shoved to the ground, collapsing in a pile of skirts in the dirt. The men guffaw at you. They’ve clearly been drinking, the stench of whiskey is foul, and one of them still holds a bottle of it. Swings it around and you feel some of it catch the end of your dress. The laughs have a bitter edge to it. They’re angry, you realise, a new spike of fear shooting up your spine. You have just met these men, but they are treating you like you have wronged them in the past. Here to exact their revenge.

Soldiers, likely. One of them is still holding their bayonet, the other with a pistol slung around their waist. You don’t know how high-ranking these soldiers are, you don’t know if that would make a difference in how they are going to treat you. Worse, likely. Not even a month past and one of your neighbours had been strung up to the post, back bloodied with a whip until he collapsed. The punishment for not welcoming God’s own into your home, apparently.

Usually the English presence in your village is more official. A battalion, passing through and making sure that everyone is minding their own. There had been another Jacobite uprising, somewhere to the west of your village. Scottish men gathering to try and overthrow King George, reinstate the Catholic Stuarts. It had failed, but English law recently had become a lot more permanent, tangible in light of this rebellion.

These may be soldiers on your land, but they were operating as men. English law placed to the side, it’s overseeing eye shut for just long enough for what they were planning for you.

You are pulled up, arms yanked behind your back. Held in place by the first soldier while the other two prowl around your home.

“You know, I'm sick of you stuck-up cunts,” the first soldier hisses in your ear. There’s a twist in the muscle of your shoulder which makes you whimper. “You'd bend over for your sheep before you would us. I bet you have as well.” You can see his dark hair in the corner of your eye, smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Oh, come on, Grahams,” the second interjects, reaching over to catch your chin in his clammy hand. “She looks like a good girl. I bet you haven’t even been touched. Am I right?” His thumb pushes on your lower lip, his own mouth parting beneath the heavy curl of his pale moustache. Salivating, the way a rabid dog does before you put it down.

You stay silent. Feel his skin on yours, how he pulls your lip down. The parting of where you were and where he drags you down. Feel that ugly gap of space, an inch but it feels like a mile.

“Alone in that house?” the third asks, not even sparing you a glance. He’s pouring his drink over the edge of your field, just outside the second fence. The border between your yard and the crop you and your brother had laid down, scarcely a few weeks before. The third soldier has small eyes, and a pig nose, turns to give you a horrible, hating look. “Bet she’s had the entire village between her legs,” he sneers.

The first soldier distracts you, breath polluting you as he huffs a laugh. Tightens his arms around the lock of yours and ignores you as you grunt in pain. "Well, I’m sure that she wouldn’t mind the King’s own men from taking what they are owed, yes?”

The third man, apparently done with talking, throws the rest of his bottle over your fence and strikes a match. The catch of fire always surprises you. The match is suspended in the air for a flicker of a moment before it connects to the pool of liquor. A blink, and the fire roars, summoned into life and it eats all of the crop that you and your brother had laid on that once tilled field.

The memory of you and your brother, on your hands and knees as you planted that crop. The acceptance of exhaustion that comes with physical activity when you know it must be done and so you do it. Body connected to mind, an idea and then the yield.

Impossible to reconcile what had taken hours to do, lit up within a second. The fire branches across everything, almost licking the third soldier himself. Everything swallowed up, a horrible demon, brought by these men, a senseless cruelty that you can barely comprehend.

You howl, a wounded animal sound, lunging forward and then yanked back immediately. Everything is separate, suffocated by sensation. There is only the connection between the fire and your eyes, the conclusion that your brother is going to have to bow in that dirt again.

You shriek again, when you are stopped from preventing this, arms protesting in the twist that the first soldier forces them into. Told to stop your squealing. The second soldier steps back into your eye-line and grins down at you. Yellow teeth, dark eyes. Another demon on your land, seeking retribution in something that you have not even committed.

His mouth moves, but you barely hear it, blood rushing in your ears. Your face is hot, molten with tears. Brain and body disconnected. The socket of your shoulder is boiling, every yank pulling a tense groan from between your clenched teeth. You know that you are going to hurt yourself if you keep struggling, or maybe one of these men are going to hurt you. But you keep pulling, huffing with fruitless effort.

The second soldier reaches down, fingers digging into the collar of your dress. His fingers cold against the hot flush that has spread across your chest. A tear in the cotton cloth that covers most of your clavicle. Another shriek, ripping up your throat and into his face. He barely flinches. You are a cat with its tail caught, it doesn’t matter how sharp your teeth are anymore.

The first soldier with your hair in his teeth. The second with his hands groping down your chest. The third man, kicking your fence to get it to buckle and catch in the flames as well. Paralysis like a fist around the base of your spine. A yell that starts in the bottom of your lungs, builds until you are almost sick with the force of it.

Another yell, one that does not fully register until the soldiers take notice of it.

"What on -" the first soldier starts to say, before the rest is lost in a strangled noise. The second soldier steps out of your vision and you see what is stopping him.

Your father was no soldier, although he had been when he had to be, god rest his soul. He used to tell you about the true highlanders, the real soldiers and the swords that were as broad as they were, and how they would swing them as if they were an extension of their own arm.

It sounded like folklore. Mythology, until you see the swing of that broadsword, splitting the third soldier at the waist like the crack of an egg.

You barely have time to catch sight of the fourth man before you are thrown to the ground again, dirt catching on your palms and digging in.

It feels generous to call it a fight. There is a brief tussle between the new man and the two soldiers that had been holding you prone, before they are brought to heel. Blood seeping into the dirt. Half of the second soldier’s face thuds to the ground, his moustache halved. He stares sightlessly up at the sky, half an expression stuck and immortalised.

You lie in the dirt, watch as your tormentors are silenced, lives ended and left to pool in the soil that you used to dance across when you were younger. It is entirely unfair, the three men that were able to drag you around like a ragdoll, cut into like slabs of cheese.

It’s breathtaking, watching this man save you like it is the easiest thing in the world. He finally stills, the first soldier lying limp on his knees before he is kicked aside. You hysterically wonder if that is what would have been done to you, if these three Englishmen had gotten their way. A passage of time interrupted, snipped like the threads of fate. Time redirected.

You stare up at him, barely able to connect that your arms are your own now, even though you had been wrestling for them to be this entire time.

Your saviour, a bloody mess on his kilt and three dead men around him.

"Thank you," you manage. Voice crackling as you form full words now. The stench of gore is another presence in the yard with you. Thick, you resist the urge to gag as it seems to catch in your teeth as you inhale noisily through your mouth.

The man who saves you is silent, breath heaving out of him. He is massive, with dark hair that is pushed back out of his face. A light beard and red in his kilt. Red everywhere, actually. Staining the white of his cotton shirt beneath the crossover of his kilt, staining his skin. His broadsword is almost the same height as him, almost as wide. Metal catching the sun, glowing red as it drips blood.

It takes the man to stumble back to force you into action. You force yourself up, staggering towards him. You reach the centre of his chest, his breadth suffocating you, encompassing. You catch his bicep to right him, the equivalent of smacking your hand against stone. Now that you are standing chest to chest with him, you realise if he were to fall, you would not be able to catch him.

"Are you alright?" You ask, staring up at him. The blood on his face doesn't seem to be his, for the most part. There is a cut across his brow, leaking a lazy trail of blood down his temple and you almost reach up to touch it without thinking, before you catch yourself.

His eyes are blue. The sky brought down to you.

You almost laugh, delirious. Self-conscious under his rapt gaze. You tilt your head and catch sight of the fire again. As if other sensations had been halted under this man’s gaze, you are brought back to the present with the crackle of fire. You curse under your breath, stepping out of the pull surrounding this man, darting away to get a bucket to extinguish the flames.

You feel the ghost of a hand across your back before you are gone, furiously pumping the handle of the well and tossing the water across to the fire. It takes a few journeys, something that has your hands fumbling as you try to work faster.

The man is there, pulling the bucket away from you even as you try to stop him. He is able to swing the water further, catching more of the flames. His gait is longer than yours, but you notice that he seems to be stumbling as he is putting weight on his right leg.

After you pass him two more full buckets of water, the fire is finally put out. You take stock of the blackened field. All of it razed, deader than the men who are still sinking into the dirt a few feet away from you. You swallow harshly, angry tears pricking at your eyes. It will take a month, longer even, to fix this. You can imagine the devastation on your brother’s face when he sees this. Resist the urge to turn to the corpses and give them a few good kicks.

You want to give into the lump in your throat and cry over this, but the man fills you with purpose. You roughly swipe at your face before you face him, catching him already watching you. “Your leg - is it alright?” You ask, trying to keep the burned field out of sight. Better to focus on what can immediately be fixed.

The man stares at you for a beat too long. Almost as if waiting for you to speak again before he does. "One of the bastards caught me in the leg," he says. His accent is thick, deep in a way that has you flushing. He tilts his leg, lifting his kilt enough for you to see the gash on the back of his calf. The flesh looks torn open, which makes you wince.

"I can patch that up," you offer, grateful at the opportunity to take your mind off of the events of the past hour. You step closer, hands hovering, unsure if he should be walking. "My brother cut his arm on a scythe once, wrist to elbow, and I managed to stitch that up,” you add, even though the man doesn’t seem to care about your past experience with wound tending.

"You the village nurse then?" the man asks, reaching over to drape his arm over your shoulder. There is a moment of his weight pressed into you that almost makes your knees buckle before it is lifted. His hand stays though, warm on your opposite shoulder. He seems to be guiding you into your home more than you are. He is a hot line along your side, hip to hip. The sway as you acclimate to his walk, sturdier on your right leg as if to compensate for his.

“Hardly,” you manage to respond, kicking the door open for him to get inside. “My brother is just clumsy.”

You set him on the chair in your kitchen, bustling around for some cloth and a needle and thread. Your kitchen is like a picture in a book, just how it was when you woke up this morning. Time has not moved here, your mug is still by the sink. Your brother’s boots by the door where he had forgotten them this morning. Life before the fallout, perfectly preserved.

“It’ll look ugly, but it’ll do the job,” you warn, tossing a cushion on the floor to kneel on, gesturing for him to elevate his foot on the other chair.

“I trust you to make my leg as handsome as it was before,” he says, a smile that slips from his mouth when you come back to his side. You kneel down, a wet flannel in your hand that you cover the wound with, wanting to the extent of the damage beneath the aftermath that covers it.

You glance up at him, finding him watching you. Eyes dark now, water before a storm. You give him your name, suddenly realising that you haven't yet. Admonish yourself for being rude.

He breathes it back, like he wants to hold it in his mouth for a moment. “John,” he replies after another pause. “I get called Johnny.”

“Am I allowed to call you Johnny?” You ask, turning back to his leg. You catch sight of his chest stuttering over a breath. You tuck your hair behind your ear, frowning to yourself. You know if your brother were here, then you would not be speaking to this man so casually. That knowledge makes you feel like you are doing something inappropriate. Something to be ‘caught’ doing. Extra dash of sugar before the whip of the belt across your backside.

“Absolutely, angel. Well, dependent on the work you make of my leg,” he adds, tone musing. He seems amused by you, mouth smiling even as his eyes stay that dark colour. Trouble, your brother had described the soldiers. You aren’t so certain he wouldn’t describe Johnny in the same way.

You resolve yourself to your work. It’s not a bad gash, when most of the blood is wiped away. One of the soldiers must’ve stabbed it in, and then pulled it to the side, splitting the flesh. You wonder how he was able to stand on it, nevermind help you with the fire. You murmur a warning before you stab the needle in, threading the wound closed. A thin layer of poultice along the loose white cloth you have, an attempt to prevent any swelling before you wrap this around the wound. Tie the ends. The beginning of a thank you for what Johnny has done for you. His blood stains your hands, sticky into the crevices of your palms.

You squeeze the red out of the flannel and stand, roles reversed. He looks up at you, gaze reverent in a way that makes you faintly embarrassed. “The cut on your brow doesn't seem as bad,” you murmur, half-excusing yourself. You’re not doing anything untoward, but you feel the need to pre-emptively explain yourself. 

You wipe the blood on his face away, other hand hovering uncertainly, before you cup his chin. Hold him in place as you clean him up. It's something that you think would be normal, but feels outrageously intimate with how hot his gaze is on your face. Swallow and watch as his eyes drop to observe your throat move.

You avoid his eye, difficult when you can see that flash of blue darting around. You feel swallowed up by it. His attention feels like the sun has finally reached you, reaching through the wind to land on your skin. Scalding where his eyes land. You’re suddenly aware of the rip in your bodice, how it looks like you are bending over to show him the view down your chest. You snap up straight when you realise that he is looking.

You’re being ridiculous, you decide. This is the man who saved you from those horrible soldiers. A fate worse than death, most likely. Raped, murdered and burned most likely.

The cut on Johnny’s brow as stopped bleeding. “I think you’ll live,” you pronounce, voice falling flat at the end.

Another gap of quiet. Standing over a man who saved you, his blood on your hands. Three dead men in your yard. The burned crops, that smell wafting in, ruin and death.

“You live here alone?” He asks, accent catching on the ‘o’ sounds.

“No, my brother…he's away, fishing,” you explain.

Johnny barely seems to hear you, hand on your wrist. Thumb on your pulse, like he's listening to more than your words. “There may be more soldiers,” he says, gaze dragging away from you to the window. Darting back again as if he can barely stand to not be looking at you. “We have to go.”

You stammer, something in your spine locking at the idea of leaving your home. “I can't, no, this is my home - my brother - Ian - he’ll be -”

Johnny stands, a wall of muscle in front of you. The size of him silencing you. “There are English men dead on your land,” Johnny tells you, fierce suddenly. The snap of teeth. “Now, they may not believe that a sweet thing like you could do this, but they’ll make an example of you anyway.” His words blow the air out of your lungs, a shudder in the shape of a breath. You think about what he’s saying. You, on that post with your back whipped until everyone can see beneath your skin. Saved from the lawless and delivered to the law, the punishment eerily similar.

You shiver, fear worming through you. The scowl on his face smooths out, and he reaches up and cups your face. Sticky with gore, you can feel the print of hands left on your cheeks. “We have to go,” he repeats, firm. The full force of his will is something to bow to.

Your shoulder twinges, familiar with that sensation of being caught and forced into position. You twist your mouth, that ignored lump in your throat making itself known again. You blink up at Johnny, blood in the light beard across his face. The blood of the men who hurt you. Offering to save you. Again.

Your saviour is a stranger in your kitchen, and when you murmur your assent, he smiles like a wolf.

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

[house-of-naga]

Fellas….

Is it gay to move in with ur bandmate, call yourself his boyfriend, and also constantly mention that you’re generally happier, healthier, and sleeping better since you did?

[moeblob]

Sorry I forgot Hanneman suggested Byleth undress after they show up with a different hair color. And I miss Hanneman. And also while swapping between Houses and Hopes and seeing Hanneman pop up to help in a Hopes paralogue is just devastating since he doesn't ever actually join you at all and I am denied my old man rights.

So I had to draw this. Thank you for understanding.

[sluckythewizard]

I LOVE QUEEN SOO MUCH I THINK THEYRE JUST SO SO NEAT AND SILLY... the best thing about a cute character is that u get to draw them all scared and bloody and crying and shaking and upset and you can also put a spider on them

[ursachaotic]

BILLTOBER 2024 DAY 8: WEIRDMAGEDDON 👁

i'm not late haha what no 😬😭 anyway i like the color palettes in the weirdmageddon episodes a lot and i hope i did a good job with capturing the vibe lmao

[hannahhasafact]

Hey hi hello I didn’t take any good pictures of it but please appreciate my Imelda Pulse cosplay that I spent a lot of time on okay thanks

[otaku553]

would you be willing to make something like spades pirate au merch ? i think spadesbros stickers or charms would be really cute !!

of course!!!!

[royaltea000]

Guys here’s a link list of that old Hetalia Nordics cosplay series that I was reminiscing about a while back ago - a classic from my time… 🚬_(TwT ) original cosplays by FabrorEstersPojkar - we salute our soldiers o7

It’s my favorite cosplay series ever and you can really feel the passion and care put into this project - they got translators so every country spoke their own language throughout and everythin dude, that’s effort! If you do check it out lemme know how you liked it! :)

Intro/world meeting parody- 【[APH] [COS] Hetalia 北 區欠 1-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/jkOFrN3

Starts getting into history- 【 [APH][COS]Hetalia的北區欠2維/京/海/盜時代 part 1-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/jpuNeTR

【[APH][COS]Hetalia的北區欠維/京/海/盜時代2-part 2-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/Yc1CDMd

【 [APH][COS] Hetalia北區欠3 -卡/爾/馬/聯/盟part 1-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/IBytvwu

【[APH][COS] Hetalia北區欠3 -卡/爾/馬/聯/盟part 2-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/TgREPxM

【 [APH][COS]Hetalia北區欠4波/羅/的/海/戰/役part 1-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/5F5EK3n

【[APH][COS]Hetalia北區欠4波/羅/的/海/戰/役part 2-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/wU84HYl

Bloopers/BTS:

【 [APH][COS] Hetalia北區欠系列作品的花絮-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/Ie1HBr4

(Bloopers 1,2,3 included in a row in description)

[doccywhomst]

☀️ Peri Brown and Jamie McCrimmon 🗡️

classic companions! original art by Wanghe Li

[moralesmilesanhour]

Idk how many other spiderverse writers other than mutuals follow me but do any of y'all wanna like idk. Share any WIPs you're excited about or ideas you have? The vibes have been kinda off lately lets do sumn positive 😭✋🏾

[sinigangrobot]

Artemis Fowl - Alex Rider Crossover #39

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ARCHIVE 🔖

[somegrumpynerd]

Time for a new toy!

Basket just barely pulled snatched the win this time, so tomorrow there will be a basket in the garden!

So, now that the polls are finally back to normal,

(Nothing option will still attract a cat)