#marvins queue

[queer-ragnelle]

The Queen's Knight by Marvin Borowsky | More quotes at Arthuriana Daily

[harrisonarchive]

On the cover of Tan magazine, September 1965. (Featuring a photo of The Beatles with Mary Wells in October 1964.)

“I’d never really heard Marvin Gaye, The Miracles and all that until George played me the records up in their flat [on London’s Green Street] and they absolutely blew me away. I then went on a sort of crusade for Motown!” - Tony Hall, The Beatles: The BBC Archives

Cathy McGowan: “What records do you like, other than your own?” George Harrison: “All the Motown Tamla records, Mary Wells, Miracles, Marvin Gaye, Impressions, all that crowd.” - Ready, Steady, Go!, March 20, 1964

“[The music] that we play at home — like Mary Wells, Miracles and not to mention Marvin Gaye.” - George Harrison, BBC's Public Ear, January 12, 1964

“Tamla Motown artists are our favorites. The Miracles, The Impressions, Marvin Gaye, Mary Wells, The Exciters.” - George Harrison, The Beatles' Detroit press conference, September 6, 1964

“That boy George — he’s very quiet, but he’s cute.” - Mary Wells, Melody Maker, November 7, 1964

“Labeling the various members of the Beatles, Mary [Wells] recalled that Paul McCartney is the ‘real life of any party; Ringo Starr is a complete clown; George Harrison is kind of on the quiet side; and John Lennon is more of a businessman than the other three and he’s the toughest one to get to know.’” - Tan, September 1965

“The Beatles — who were always among Mary’s very early fans — are now her own favorites. She thinks they are very adorable and feels dreadfully sorry for them. ‘You have no idea how surrounded they are. There’s always someone wanting them. Their lives are certainly not their own. You know sometimes Paul or George will come into my dressing room and play a couple of records and then leave again.’” - Disc, October 31, 1964 (x)

[tiny-librarian]

Apart from the Astors, there were at least 6 sets of honeymooners in first class. Daniel Warner Marvin, aged nineteen, son of the owner of the Biograph Cinema Company, was returning to America with his bride, Mary Farquarson, aged eighteen. Lucien P. Smith, aged twenty-four, of Huntington, West Virginia, had recently married eighteen-year-old Mary Eloise Hughes: she bore his posthumous son in December 1912. Victor de Satode Penasco y Castellana, aged eighteen, from Madrid, was going to America with his new wife Maria Josefa Perez de Soto y Valleja, aged seventeen. John P. Snyder, aged twenty-three from Minneapolis, was returning from his European honeymoon with Nelle Stevenson, aged twenty-two. Dickinson Bishop, heir to the Rounf Oak Stove Company, had married in November 1911, and embarked at Cherbourg with his wife Helen after a tour of Mediterranean Europe and Egypt. One newly married couple were both verging on the age of fifty: Dr Henry (or Hyman) Frauenthal, with a high-domed baldness and fulsome black beard, had married in France, as recently as 26 March, Clara Heinsheimer from Cincinnati.

Titanic Lives - Richard Davenport-Hines

[cluery-arc]

⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ open to: anyone ! feel free to assume connection. ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ muse: elizabeth ‘bess’ marvin. twenty-three. cashier at the local ice cream shop scoop. hopeless romantic.

retrieval of her phone is swift, clutches it to her chest like a child would their teddy bear. ❛ i’m not stalking ! i was just… observing him. ❜ and totally wasn’t looking at his instagram photos from two hundred weeks ago. ❛ you just don’t get it. he comes to scoop three times a week, orders a chocolate milkshake with no whipped cream, and then sits at a table closest to the window. and he’s always alone. —- he’s cute and pathetic, just my type ! ❜

[andillwriteyouatragedy]

[flowerbarrel-art]

I’m just about to solve StickPage’s RAM problem.

Solve our RAM problem?

How neighborly!

How are you gonna do it?

I’m going to blow it up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m not angry…just terribly, terribly hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think Man is the most interesting insect in the world, don’t you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At last, after 2000 years of work: the Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sasha-whos-askin-racket]

Okay I haven’t seen the Revival in a hot minute so I’m not inputting my two cents on that, but West End Whizzer has both cat and dog energy, but I think Whizzer is an inherently dog coded character and the only reason UK Whizzer has somewhat cat energy is because Oliver has so much cat energy that it just bleeds across into the character and cancels out.

[dcwnrisen-aa]

lifting the glass of champagne to his lips, elliot trails along with salem, careful to avoid guests while they browsed. but his grey gaze slid to his friend then the two men who seemed to be watching over him with a faint smirk. ❝ ━ are you a princess now, salem ? can' leave your castle without protection, ❞ he joked, though he knew the truth. and truly, elliot was just glad someone other than himwas watching out for his fellow phoenix. didn't mean the scolding look through his way didn't humor him. ❝ ━ hey, don't give me that look. you're just missing a crown.❞

❝ ━ it's like you're trying to tick me off tonight.❞ some days, salem was unconcerned about how much they wanted to throttle their friend, it would've provided grate entertainment but then they'd have to deal with elliot's incessant whining. ❝ ━ just because i have someone who cares about my safety, doesn't mean i'm suddenly fragile, dumbass. ❞ at elliot's snort, lithe fingers tip up the end of the flute of his glass, smirking when their friend choked on the excess champagne. ❝ ━ besides, i can't get myself into trouble if marvin has someone watching me. now stop teasing me, it's making me cranky.❞

[chaotixx-stims]

marvin's marvelous mechanical museum by tally hall

[pt: marvin's marvelous mechanical museum by tally hall /end pt]

⚫️/⚪️/🎶

🌈/☆/🌈

🎶/⚪️/⚫️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[artificial-transmutations]

4k! Dropout Dorm 1

Hey guys! And there is even more big news today!

It seems like yesterday I celebrated 3k followers, and now, all of a sudden, I have just reached 4k! Honestly, I'm at a loss for words. I'm really happy (and a bit bewildered) that so many of you want to read my stories!

As a celebration, I will receive one previously exclusive four-part story from my once membership site (now a tip jar) here on tumblr, with new pictures! The writing is more than a year old, but I decided not to adjust it to preserve the original charm, so please don't mind the rough edges here and there. And now, enjoy

Dropout Dorm

The line in front of Marvin was long and Marvin was unhappy with himself. He should have come earlier! Who could have known that it was customary to be that early for dorm room assignment? Well, that was an easy question. Obviously, every student in front of him. 

He wasn't technically the last one to arrive, since there was one other guy that came even later, but the two of them marked the end of the queue. The student behind him, a brown haired young man with a narrow face, studied him carefully, before extending a hand.

"Hi!", he said. "I'm Aiden."

"Marvin", answered Marvin. He wasn't the outgoing type.

"Pleased to meet you, Marvin!", Aiden smiled. "So, we'll be rooming together, I suppose."

"We are?" How did Aiden know?

"I'm pretty sure we are." Aiden nodded. "College rules dictate that rooming is determined by order of appearance on the registration day. Since there are 84 people in the line in front of you, and always two are called into the office at a time, it is only logical that we will be roommates."

That made sense. Marvin didn't bother to count the line yet, but he wasn't entirely unhappy. The person directly in front of him looked like the typical meathead jock type, while the thin man behind him proved that he was capable of logic reasoning.

So, Marvin smiled. "Great. I'm looking forward to it, you seem like a good roommate! I'm majoring in computer sciences, what about you?"

Aiden grinned. "Mathematics. Sorry, that's hard to hide for me."

The grin was genuine, and Marvin and Aiden used the waiting time to get to know each other better. To Marvin's delight, Aiden was quite nerdy himself and wasn't keen on partying or taking girls home - which qualified him as a good rooming choice even more. 

Finally, they were called into the secretary’s office, where a woman with large glasses looked at them.

"You are the last ones?"

Marvin nodded and the woman sighed.

"Good. Well, here is the bad news: You too should look for a room elsewhere, outside the campus."

Marvin was confused. Why was that?

Aiden verbalized his question: "Why? Aren't there any rooms left?"

The woman sighed again. "Technically, there is one room left, and you can have it, but... room 148 has a bit of a bad reputation."

"How can a room have a bad reputation?" Aiden asked quizzically.

"Look, the room is called the 'dropout dorm'. For whatever reason, no student that ever took that room graduated. Most dropped out in the same or the following semester.

Aiden looked at Marvin, who, in turn looked at Aiden. How to put it delicately, Marvin asked himself, but Aiden was quicker again, just being honest:

"So, it's just superstition?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. I can only tell you what happened to students in the years before."

"Did you always offer this room last?" Marvin asked and the woman nodded. He exchanged another look with Aiden and then smiled. "Thank you for your concerns, but I think we'll take the risk."

After the formalities were over, they got their keys and went up to their new room. It was located on the second floor, and when Aiden opened the door, he saw a big window facing the lake and the sun shining brightly through it.

"So, why do you think this is the 'dropout dorm'?" Aiden asked.

Marvin smiled. "Because it is the 'dropout dorm'. You see, there had probably been one or two dropouts in this room. Then, someone decided that the room was bad luck or something like that, and they started to offer it to the last students. Now, usually, the last ones in line are those students who care about their studies the least."

"Except in this year" Aiden added.

"Exactly. So, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. They gave the 'dropout dorm' to the students with the worst starting conditions, and they dropped out, fueling the myth of the 'dropout dorm'."

"Flawless reasoning", Aiden congratulated. "Now, do you have a preference on which side of the room you want?"

Both young men settled in quickly and moved their stuff to their dorm room over the course of the day. It wasn't a bad room at all: It had a small bathroom with a shower, and a nice view from the window. Most importantly, though, it had two nice, big desks, which were quickly filled with books on Aiden's side of the room, and a powerful PC on Marvin's side. The day passed quickly, and it became time for bed. 

Aiden was slightly amused, as Marvin went into the bathroom to get changed and emerged in pajamas. He certainly didn't judge Marvin for being an introvert, but Aiden had given up pajamas a few years ago and slept in boxers since then. Still, that was nothing of his business.

Both their dreams were restless and although Aiden couldn't remember what exactly he had dreamed off, when he woke up the next morning to the sound of the shower running, he found himself with a bad case of morning wood. It was rare for Aiden to be aroused, but right now, he felt outright horny. His dick throbbed against his boxers and the outline was clearly visible since he had untangled himself from his blanked in his sleep. He just hoped that Marvin hadn't noticed.

When Aiden accidentally brushed against his erection, that was already forming a wet patch in his boxers from precum, he would have almost moaned out load. Damn, was this thing sensitive today. He looked at the bathroom. Marvin had left the door open, probably by accident. He could see the naked body of the other man moving under the stream of water and quickly drew back his head.

It looked like Marvin would still be busy for a while, so this was his chance! Aiden quickly disposed of his boxers and wrapped his right hand around his member, careful not to make noise. It was really difficult since he wanted to moan loudly so bad, but he could control himself. 

He quickly moved his hand up and down, rolling back his eyes. This felt just so good! Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through him and he was already close when he heard the water stop. It took an awful lot of willpower to pry his hand from his prick for a moment, to peek at the bathroom door. Marvin was drying up. If he hurried up, he still had time to finish. His hand went back to his erection, and he pumped on. He threw his head back as he came - in complete silence, but with wide spurts all over his chest.

Aiden had no time to recover though, as only a split second later, Marvin stepped out of the bathroom. Lightning-fast, Aiden covered himself with the blanket, soiling it with his cum in the process. Marvin hadn't seen anything, right?

"Good morning!" Marvin said, the towel around his hips, but stopped in the middle of the room. "Does it smell weird here?"

Stay tuned for the rest of the short series, following Marvin and Aiden on their inevitable journey, posted soon.

Read the next part here

[nic-coughlan]

i love this fandom...

proposal scene?

aw how lovely

sexy scene?

ooo let's marvin gaye and get it on...

colin looking sad with a teacup?

YESSSSS!!! here's my 5000 word essay on why this has happened, alexa queue up my heart will go on by celine dion

[ephiesoul]

❤️ Queue Check

Here’s what’s currently on my desk, hope this helps for anyone curious 💛

This isn’t including all the requests I’ve received, this just includes what I’ve actually started working out

Black font means being finished

Green font means Done and waiting to be uploaded

Crossed means recently uploaded

Last updated: 07/13

Regular

Remus meds reminder

Lixian Summer

Damien in a box

Octavia & Loona

Dr. Iplier Guard

Remus love you

Bing Ramen

Marvin Summer

Misc Saint Peter

Requests

Beetle juice with a plush (for Twitter)

Dark with plush (for Twitter)

Hermit Prisoner

Hermit Star

Abe, Damien, Actor do it for me

Gerard Way

Ethan heart hands

*This isn’t including commissions or requests through Patreon 💛

[rainbowrocketquotes]

random little post to spruce up the posting on here because I live and die by the queue function and by god have I been forgetting to add to it

presenting: what music I think the villains listen to

//note : this is based mostly off of people I associate with the villains because everyone I hang out with is a music freak. if you think an 50 hour playlist is bad, wait until you get a hold of my best friend's 600 hour one

Giovanni

No way in hell this man isn't a swing fan. His playlist is exclusively 50's—70's and there is no coherent genre. If you listen to music with him you could be vibing to Marvin Gaye and then Elvis could come on.

Maxie

Pry Roar and The Front Bottoms from his cold, dead hands. Just BIG Folk Punk vibes from him. Also, a good amount of Alt-Rock. His guilty pleasure, though? Country music. He's probably the one that listens to the most music, just because he feels like the kind of guy that can't work without background noise.

Archie

Very well rounded, says he doesn't have a preference, but has a slight one for rock music. Specifically he enjoys 80s & 90s metal. He feels like the kind of guy to be really into Megadeth. Maybe sprinkle some Tech N9ne in there for flavor.

Cyrus

Realistically he's definitely a full Alternative fan. I think he's super into Weirdcore (See: Lemon Demon, Will Wood) but would never admit it. He also listens to Emo Rap and Russian Rap on occasion but doesn't really consider them favourites. He pretends he doesn't like music, though, so he only really gets to listen to what other people force him to.

Ghetsis

Screamo, next question—

Kidding, but he really does like screamo, metal, and hard rock. He'll pretend he only likes vague classical music to seem more mysterious and then you look at his history and it's all Slaughter to Prevail and Korn.

Colress

I like to think he doesn't really listen to music in his free time. He usually listens to whatever is on, which is usually Ghetsis's screamo. He keeps him from ruining speakers. He does enjoy Green Day, though, and some Olivia Rodrigo.

Lysandre

He really likes single instrument covers, especially violin. Absolute Lindsey Stirling fanboy. Also enjoys Lana Del Rey and MARINA a lot. Those kinds of pop artists, you know?

Guzma

He's definitely the most well-rounded with his tastes, mostly because he listens to a lot of it. He listens to a lot of pre-2010s hip-hop & rnb. He loves dance music and electronica as well, and generally just a lot of old school stuff. Anything from 2pac to Gewn Stefani, baby. Mood/genre-switched covers are also a thing, and just covers in general. Catch him in his room at 2am listening to egg on repeat (then back away awkwardly and shut the door because he gets too into it and starts crying).

Lusamine

Listens to a lot of what Lysandre does. Lorde, Billie Eilish, anything hard pop that can pass as alternative. Nobody will ever trust her with the aux/bluetooth/radio/etc. because she always plays music nobody likes. She once got into a fight with Cyrus on what is and isn't alternative music and he didn't speak to her for a month after.

Bonuses, villains I don't include on the blog

Rose

Classical music. Bach & Chopin always playing from his office. More for ominous ambiance than anything, but he does genuinely enjoy it.

Oleana

She doesn't really listen to music, but she likes rap. She won't go out of her way to listen to anything, though.

Volo

Echoey latin chants with ambient noises in the background /hj. If he was in the modern day, I think he'd like NF and Panic! At the Disco.

[fuckablerobotbracket]

Round 2 matchups!

High(er) res: [Side A] [Side B] [Side C]

Gonna get started on queueing these bad boys tonight. My goal is for Side A to drop on Friday. This is still a TON of polls so I'm going to stick to one side per day. Each poll will be 24 hours, same as last time. As a reminder, there will eventually be a losers' bracket, so no worries if your character was eliminated in the first round.

Text under cut.

Side A

Genos/The Sorcerer

2B/BT-7274

R.O.B./Revenant

SR-71/Genji

Victor/Xcelerator

Nemesis/Disaster Transport

Balin/Voyager

Toyota 8FGCU20/Canadarm

Lacey/Six

Shodan/K2SO

Mettaton/GLaDOS

Zenyatta/Evac

General Grievous/Roxanne Wolf

Soundwave/Shockwave

Springtrap/Starscream

C3PO/Sun/Moon

Side B

Bubs/T.O.M. 3

Swordsmachine/P03

Von Roll 101/Momo

Inspector Gadget/HAL 9000

Perseverance/Marvin

Edgar/Viktor

Xbot 4000/Roberta

ART/Perihelion/Fey

Legion/AM

Fisto/Nick Valentine

James Webb Space Telescope/Ash

Tasque Manager/Stabby the Roomba

Queen/The Smiler

Bender/Calculester

TARS/Aunt Fanny

Belisarius Cawl/Karen

Side C

Robot/Light Hope

T800/Machinedramon

Fl4K/Lady Parsec

Ramattra/CCaldarius

The Starship Aurora/Synergy

Bastion/Emperor Nefarious

Data/V1

Sundry Sidney/Batou

Phineas T. Ratchet/Seven Red Suns

Curie/Bigweld

EVE (Wall-E)/Queen Vexus

AUTO/Atlas

Frank/L0U13

Robotman/Robo Ky

Aigis/Hera

K_K/Samuel Hayden

[couldtransitionsaveher]

was marvin falsettos accepted into the queue sorry to bother <:3

May 19th, 4:00 PM EST