#might start writing soon

[hornydilfsinyourarea]

guys, I watched a horror movie because I was bored and saw Men (2022), and thought it looked interesting...WHY THE FUCK DID i WITNESS 4 BIRTHS BACK TO BACK, HOW DID THE MAN SUDDENLY GET A VAGINA, A MAN BABY CRAWLING OUT, THEN GIVING BIRTH THROUGH HIS FUCKING BELLY BUTTON... AND THEN THE MAN WHO CAME OUT GAVE FUCKING BIRTH THROUGH HIS BACK, A VAGINA SUDDENLY THERE TOO AND THEN THE MAN WHO CAME OUT THERE GAVE BIRTH TROUGH HIS MOUTH, I AM NOT OKAY Also, off topic... the vicar (priest) was kinda bad ngl... the way he got on his knees and groaned and panted like that... jesus christ...making me think unspeakable things

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

Why does my brain only make me think of significant character moment while I’m at work—

Anyway, remember how Gideon had the fae love curse towards Kremy? Well, idk if anyone else caught it, but Gideon said “I love you” towards Kremy while under the curse (twice, I think? Counting Bumbo as well?). And I’m not talking about “oh, I loved your original form, but I love this form as well” or “I’m so glad we’re married”. I mean Gideon said, and I fucking quote; “Man, I love you.” While Kremy was distracted with something else.

And what really gets me is that they then did the fucking “what?” (From Kremy, probably realizing that Gid just said something) “what?” (From Gideon, who I think had a big dopey innocent smile as if he didn’t just fucking verbally say that he loves his best friend and ironic husband)

And then, after the curses wore off and before they met the king of Downfall, Gideon was quiet. Like really quiet. Frosty even pointed out that Gideon hadn’t said anything in a while, so it wasn’t just a meta “Mace letting everyone else talk” thing. And for the next few episodes afterward, he started acting kinda awkward around Kremy

Idk I think I might be overanalyzing literally every little thing. I mean, I know they’re basically end game at this point (god I hope they are), so it’s not like I’m looking for every scrap of evidence I can for a rarepair (*cough* frostbek *cough*). Im just. Hnngh they make me unwell.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Something I Can Turn To

And now for something different again! I took the AU in 'Domestic AU' and I ran with it! So this is your classic sort of everyone's alive alternate universe, set some nebulous time in the current-ish era, wherein Charles and Edwin attended school together and both survived (slash saved each other from) their canon deaths. It's just a sweet and slightly sad little thing that doesn't go into a huge amount of detail, but I got very attached to it so who knows, maybe in future I'll expand on the backstory! Warnings for references to their pasts and the bullying, child abuse etc. that went on there, as well as to injuries, scars and trauma that resulted from it. But we're not getting into super nitty-gritty detail and hopefully the overall vibe is one of love and safety! Still, tread carefully if those topics are at all triggering for you 💛 2.3k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Charles!" Edwin called — bravely poking his face out from the warm duvet to be heard. "The advertisements are over!"

"Coming, coming!"

Charles scurried into the room moments later, two cups of tea in his hands. He huffed and puffed as he padded along the floorboards in hole-riddled socks. "Cold, cold, cold," he muttered, thrusting the cups towards Edwin in a sloshy, mildly dangerous manner. "Grab these a sec!"

Edwin did so, wincing as his arms breached the bounds of the duvet nest to the frigid air beyond. Once Charles had his hands free he wasted no time diving into bed, burrowing into the pocket of warmth.

"Mate, it's fucking cold," he said, reclaiming his mug. "Freezing my bollocks off out there."

"Perhaps we should have prioritised buying that space heater, after all," Edwin mused.

"Oi. 'Nuff of that. That kettle's a bloody essential bit of kit."

Edwin sipped his tea. Scalding hot, just as he liked it. "Hmm. Agreed."

Charles squirmed around getting comfortable, taking care not to spill his tea. He almost succeeded. "Ow. So! What'd I miss?"

"Nothing whatsoever — you made it back just in time." Edwin settled in as well, against the headboard — though by headboard, he of course meant the bare magnolia wall. "I must say, I'm intrigued by this one. I wonder how Detective Columbo's going to get this villain dead to rights."

"Always fakes you out, don't he?" Charles grinned, finally finding his space — pressed up against Edwin, hip to shoulder. "Mm — pass us the biccies."

Edwin handed him the somewhat depleted packet of ginger snaps. "Do be careful of the crumbs — we've only one fitted sheet to our name."

One sheet, one duvet. Two pillows. No bed frame. It was a modest sleeping arrangement. Particularly for two grown men, squeezed onto a mattress that was only a double by the barest technicality. But on these cold winter nights, that closeness had its benefits. Several benefits, in fact.

As though reading his mind, Charles grinned. "What?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Never messed about on a bed of biscuit crumbs?"

Edwin groaned and, lightly, pressed his palm to Charles' face and pushed it away. "You're revolting," he said.

Charles just laughed. "What? It's just like sex on the beach, really." He bit down on a biscuit. Loudly. "Bit crunchier."

"You will never persuade me that sex on a beach is a good idea," said Edwin, with a shudder. "The sand..."

"Sex in the sea, then?"

"Best of luck with your urinary tract infection."

Charles’ laughter rolled pleasantly in Edwin's ears as he nestled in properly, head on Edwin's shoulder.

Edwin chuckled in turn, draping his arm around Charles, fingers sinking into his hair. He played absently with Charles' unruly curls, as Columbo talked circles around his latest hapless ne're-do-well.

It was a strange little life they'd carved out for themselves, here in this sparsely-furnished nest. They had Edwin's scholarship to thank, and the student housing fund he'd received alongside. Though Charles helped as best he could with his meagre earnings from his part-time job at the local gym, they barely scraped by. Charles might've also been able to apply for student loans, once upon a time. But he'd never managed to bounce back after the sharp decline of his grades in year eleven. And what else could anyone have expected? It had taken all of his considerable strength to get back on his feet after what happened to him. Every ounce of his tenacity to return to his life after the incident that had almost ended it.

Edwin would not soon forget those hideous, harrowing weeks. Counting days of silence, of filling the Rowland family's voicemail to no acknowledgement. Of pitying expressions from hospital staff as they turned him away, time after time. Stewing and seething in the fear and the worry. In the rage of being told that he had less of a right to visit his best friend than the man who'd covered his back in belt scars did. Edwin didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he worried himself away night by night, and the boys who did the damage? Oh, they were suspended. For less time than it took for Charles to return to form. Back to school with a slap on the wrist. Any notions Edwin might've still held about there being justice in the world had been quite thoroughly quashed by that ruling.

It was a miracle Charles even found the strength to attend school for his last two years — let alone the same school. The one where he had, to reiterate, nearly lost his life to hypothermia and internal injuries at the hands of his hooligan 'friends'. Edwin had scarcely believed his eyes when he'd spied Charles across assembly that Tuesday morning. A month with no word and suddenly there he was, beaten and battered and more beautiful than Edwin's heart could take.

His parents — or at least his mother — had wished to transfer him, of course. But Charles, in true Charles fashion, dug in his heels and refused to be moved. Edwin had cornered him that very morning, on the stairs after assembly. He must have been angry — because he shouted at Charles when all he truly wanted to do was collapse into his arms.

"I cannot believe you would stay here in this barbaric horror show after what those boys did to you," Edwin had snapped, eyes stinging with the threat of tears to fall. "That is so fucking stupid it's unbelievable!"

"Sorry," Charles had replied — not sounding sorry in the slightest. His stitched-up split lip curled with his weary smile. "No version of this where I don't stick this out with you, is there?"

And that, as far as Charles had been concerned, was the matter closed.

The simple fact was that Edwin had never had a choice in which school he would attend. St. Hilarion's was in the family tradition; his father, grandfather, great grandfather, all honoured alumni. And if Edwin's own incident a year earlier hadn't been enough to convince his father otherwise, then nothing else would. The only way Edwin was leaving that school before graduation was in a body bag. And Charles, the stubborn fool, could only be convinced to leave Edwin in the same manner.

And so for the last two years of hell they had tried, in their own ways, to keep their heads down. 'Tried' being the operative word. Charles could never leave well enough alone, and fights were amassed. But every time he showed up to their hideout in the attic with a black eye or bloody knuckles, it was always the same story. One where he saw someone else being bullied, and threw himself at the situation as a substitute punching bag. Sometimes, the person he was protecting was Edwin. More often than not, it was some boy he'd never exchanged two words with. Made no odds to him.

And no matter how it terrified Edwin, or how he admonished Charles, he could never truly take issue. To resent Charles for being protective would be to resent him for being tragically, quintessentially Charles. In the end there was nothing he could do but patch Charles together with his pilfered first aid kit, and plead with him to be more careful. Maybe, just maybe, it would sink into his thick skull one day.

While Charles spiralled, Edwin studied. And studied, and studied, and studied. During slow lessons, after hours in the library, in the dead of night under the covers — he preferred to catch his sleep in daytime naps, anyway. For obvious reasons, sleeping in the dorm around the other boys had lost its appeal. There were days where he was so exhausted he could do nothing in his lunchtime trysts with Charles but sleep. At times it seemed there was no safe place in the world besides that dusty attic, with Charles' thigh as his pillow.

It was worth it, the sleepless nights, the borderline mania of his studies. With his stellar grades at sixth form, Edwin secured a scholarship on the other side of the country — fully paid. Meaning freedom, at last, from the golden shackles of his father's money. He'd packed everything he could carry into a backpack and his grandfather's old leather travel case. And with the first money he'd ever had to his name and no one else's, he made his first purchase: two train tickets. One way.

It wasn't an entirely seamless escape, of course. When he'd walked to the Rowland house to collect Charles, he'd found him scrambling through the narrow window of his basement bedroom. Nothing on him but the clothes on his back, and a fresh bruise across his jaw. But escape they had — and Charles had slept the entire way to Edinburgh, head on Edwin's shoulder. Safe and sound, at last.

It had felt good to be able to rescue Charles, for a change. He'd been playing the hero for others long enough.

Edwin scratched lightly at Charles' scalp as the Columbo credits rolled. He smiled when Charles snuffled and nuzzled into the sensation in the manner of a contented old dog.

"What's on next?" asked Charles, drowsy.

"I believe there's an episode of QI on the next channel." Edwin enjoyed that programme — some of the humour was a bit crass for his tastes, but he almost always learned something interesting.

"Tenner says Alan comes last place."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "Easy money. And I haven't got a tenner."

"Fiver?"

"No."

"One-er?"

Edwin laughed. "I shall wager you... a kiss."

Charles perked up. "I'll take that action!"

"I hope you never take up a gambling habit, Charles," said Edwin, fondly. "Why on Earth would you place bets for something you can have at any time, in abundance?"

"Yeah, but it's not just a kiss, is it? It's a victory kiss. I get to be all smug and that."

"Charming."

"Oh, I'm a charmer." Charles smiled up at him crookedly, eyes hooded. "All the fit lads love me."

Affection bubbled in Edwin's chest as he looked down upon him. It was a flagrant hollow boast — Edwin knew better than anyone how dire Charles' opinion of himself could be. A situation that had only worsened in recent years, as the beatings from home and school grew more frequent and harder to hide under shirts. The scar on his lip had never fully healed. Nor had the proud sweep of his nose recovered from the time it was broken and poorly reset. He was a war-torn thing, and a bit of a hodgepodge. Elegant frame under rugged wounds, topped off with subtly effete highlights of gold earring and smudged eyeliner. Eyes older than his years, and a newly gap-toothed grin that could still light up the room. He was a strange young man, a walking contradiction; and Edwin loved him dearly, fiercely, and oh-so-terribly.

Edwin leaned down, dropping a sweet kiss between Charles' eyes — just above his broken nose. "I should think so. You're very easy to love."

Charles blinked up at him, a flash of vulnerability in his dark eyes. Edwin gathered him close under his arm before he could do something silly like second guess his affection, or shy away.

"Now shush," said Edwin primly, cupping his warm tea to his chest. It was an awful mug, scrounged from a charity shop with a chip in the rim. It declared the holder a certified 'Tired Old Queen', and it was always Edwin's mug without question. "Mister Fry is about to tell us the theme of the week."

And for a little while, that was that. Edwin followed the programme, rapt, humming in interest at new information — and rolling his eyes at the obvious blunders of the panel. Charles did not speak for some time, still warm against Edwin's side. Sometimes, upon being paid a compliment, he needed to sit a while and let it absorb.

It was the ad break, and Edwin was considering braving the arctic chill of the unheated flat for another tea, when Charles spoke again.

"Edwin?"

"Hm?"

Charles wrapped the arm clutching his — now empty — chequered mug around Edwin's waist. "When the Beeb come and drag me away for not paying the telly licence, will you visit me in prison?"

It was so out-of-pocket that Edwin couldn't help but laugh. "Well. Technically, I will be the one going to prison," he said. "It is my name on the apartment lease."

"Would you want me to visit you in prison, then?"

Edwin flicked Charles' earring, playful. "Obviously, Charles."

He could feel Charles' grin against his shoulder. "Brills. You tell me the layout, and I'll bust you out."

"That is not what I agreed to."

"I'll chat to that new girl at the gym, Crystal? Bet she'd help with a prison break. Reckon she's got a wild side."

"Charles," he said, flatly. "I'll not have you imprisoned with me when your madcap scheme goes awry."

"Why not?" said Charles, giving Edwin a warm squeeze. "That's the whole point of doing it."

Edwin scoffed — but his heart was beating ten to the dozen. "Charles —"

"Nope. Sorry." Charles took Edwin's empty mug from his hand — and leaned up to plant a loud, obnoxious kiss on his cheek. "Looks like you're stuck with me. Prison's not getting you out of this relationship, mate."

He made as if to leave the duvet igloo — and immediately hissed at the cold. "Although this bloody apartment might — fucking hell. Going outside; I may be some time."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "Oh, for goodness' sake." He inched over to the edge of the bed and gathered the duvet about both their shoulders like a cape, tucking his arm neatly around Charles' waist. "There. If we make haste, we can be back before the general ignorance round." He met Charles’ eyes, stoic. “No man left behind.”

Charles’ smile was a soft and doting thing; somehow it warmed Edwin deeper than any space heater ever could. He wrapped his arm around Edwin's shoulder. Their feet dangled side by side, toes flexed to avoid premature contact with the chilly floor. "Together on three, then?”

Edwin smiled back, and nodded. "One."

Charles bumped their heels together in companionship. "Two..."

Edwin returned the gesture, in commiseration for the unpleasantness to come. A cold and bitter expedition to the kettle lay ahead; but as in all things, they’d tough it out together.

"Three!"

~~

Thanks for reading, this one's very dear to my heart - would love to know what you think 💛 Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the lovely comments you guys have been leaving on my fics - I have SO many to catch up on but I promise I'm gonna reply to them! I love talking to you and really appreciate you talking to me 💛💛💛 Not sure right now whether there'll be a fic for tomorrow (canon divergence/case fic) or the day after (free day). I have nothing written, none of my ideas are really sticking, and I'm still feeling kind of ill. I might end up just posting some ink sketches instead! But whether there's fics tomorrow/Saturday or not, there will defo be a fic Sunday 💛 Thanks so much, my lovelies - I'll be seeing you soon 💛💛💛

[osamusriceballs]

Finding Love

Bokuto x fem reader

Words: ~ 1,8 k

Warnings: NSFW (dry humping, sex against a wall)

About: A one night stand with Bokuto <3

A/n: I'm craving more one night stands with the haikyuu boys. Suna next. PERIOD.

"Y/n-"

The way he holds you sends shivers down your body. You're seated on his lap, his muscular thighs between yours, his lips delivering the messiest, hottest, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. Both of his large hands rest on your back, pulling you close, so close to him.

One of your hands rests on his shoulder, while the other finds its way into his spikey hair—messing it up as you involuntarily grab the strands tighter when he intensifies his actions.

"Koutaro..." His name still feels foreign on your tongue, a hazy memory from the introductions exchanged during passionate kisses in his car. His low groan assures you that you pronounced it correctly, and you're rewarded with a particularly hard suck against your throat.

He's hard. Unmistakably so. You subtly shift your weight, while your hand glides down his chest, tracing the outline of his well-defined muscles. He's not just tall, he exudes strength and fitness, making you feel incredibly safe and cherished in his embrace.

Your heart races in your chest, probably due to your excitement. Every move he makes steals your breath, his groans intensifying the sensation of his lips marking your skin.

"Y/n?" He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, a questioning furrow in his brow. He looks so good that it momentarily takes your breath away.

"Yes?" Your reply, and your hand releases his hair, allowing him to adjust his posture and sit back.

"Could we move this to the bedroom?" His question is filled with hesitation, his cheeks tinted with a pink flush while his teeth dig into his lower lip as soon as he finishes speaking.

Both of you know what he just proposed. Your mind races, and his expression shifts as he waits for your response—his gaze now dropping, an endearing shyness in his posture.

"We don't have to if you're not comfortable. I just thought..."

"No! I mean, yes, let's go to the bedroom." You quickly interrupt, eager to ensure that you want it too. You want to continue this, to explore more of him.

His expression changes once more, an enthusiastic grin playing across his features. His hands wander to your ass, and before you can react, he stands up with you still in his arms. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his arousal pressing against your barely covered core—restrained only by the thin layers of your panties and his dress pants.

"I want so much more. To see you, to feel you," he murmurs, while he's walking towards what you presume is the bedroom. "Please, I want it- I want you so much," you gasp, trying to grind against him, the friction adding fuel to your arousal.

A hard kick of his leg opens door, and suddenly, you're pressed against the wall. He's towering over you, his lips finding yours in a feverish kiss full of hunger and need. His lips against yours are intoxicating, plump and soft, with a sweetness and passion that convinces you that you're the only focus of his desire right now. Pressed against the wall, you're barely able to think, only able to feel.

"Do you... want to continue like this? Against the wall?" His words reach your ears as barely more than a breath, his kiss taking all your thoughts away. His words and his sheer strength make your body tremble even more with excitement.

"Yes, Koutaro," you breathe out, your voice full with anticipation. Your hands dig under the fabric of his shirt, meeting the warm expanse of his bare back. His muscles are tense and firm, a clear sign of his physical strength- he probably hits the gym regularly.

"Fuck me, Koutaro, please." The plea slips from your lips, the words coming out breathy and needy. His response is immediate, his hips grinding against you, his cock pressing hardly against your cunt.

"Koutaro. Please," you rasp the words against his lips again, feeling him trembling with excitement suddenly. Your hands wander between your bodies, finally, a little clumsily reaching the button of his pants and fumbling for a few seconds before you open it and reach into his boxers. He breaks the kiss when your fingertips brush against his cock, feeling him hard and throbbing against you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath heavy and ragged, while you keep palming him and exploring his body. His cock is thick, so thick that you're not sure if you could wrap your hand fully around him. But what makes you tremble in anticipation is how long it actually is. His cock definitely matches his physical appearance—broad and tall.

"Your hand feels good, so good, so good," he suddenly thrusts his hips against your hand, and you quickly move your other hand to the hem of his boxers to pull them down. His cock finally springs free, pressing up against your body, and you simply reach down to push your panties to the side and line his cock up at your entrance.

"Fuck," he groans against your skin, his hot breath meeting the shell of your ear, and he finally, finally pushes into you, the head of his cock disappearing between your legs and making your eyes roll back.

"Kou, fuck, Kou," you groan, your head falling back against the wall, not caring about the thump and the loud sound of your head crashing against the wall echoing through the room, along with your lewd moan and his grunts.

His hips slowly push forward, his cock deliciously stretching you out while he sinks deeper into your cunt. He easily slides through your wetness, his hands gripping your ass even tighter, leaving fingerprints on your backside for sure, and you clench around him when he's fully inside of you.

Your lips part as you breathe heavily, your muscles tensing at the sudden feeling of being overwhelmed with emotions. His hips suddenly move back and slam forward, his cock barely leaving your pussy, but the sudden thrust makes you gasp for air. "Oh, please-" you whine, not even sure what you're begging for, but he has you, he thrusts his hips again, and again, harder with every thrust, his movements suddenly even more unrestricted. "Tell me when you want me to stop," he whispers against your ear, and you only moan in response before he starts to thrust faster.

"Oh my god, fuck-" curses and prayers leave your lips endlessly, until you only manage to moan his name when he thrusts his cock into you, again and again. Your mind is hazy, your whole body electrified by his touch, your pussy deliciously clenching around him at every particularly sharp thrust.

"Touch yourself," he groans into your ear, your whole body shuddering at his raspy needy voice. You quickly bring one hand to your chest and start palming yourself, squeezing your tit through your shirt with your hand. A gasp leaves your lips, and suddenly Bokuto's face is right in front of you, his lips connecting with yours hungrily, firmly, with an intensity that makes your whole body burn. Your hand wanders further down while you keep on kissing him, your fingers quickly finding your clit and starting to rub against it feverishly.

"You're so hot, so damn hot," his words make you flush even further, and you reciprocate the kiss with more intensity, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Please, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, Kou," you whine, your hips rutting against him and grinding against his broad body. "Can't stop, baby, feels too good, you feel so good," he sounds almost desperate while he's grinding your body against him, the feeling making you see stars, you're so close, so close-

He presses his face against your neck, the sounds of his grunts and moans muffled against your skin, and when his hands grab your thighs almost painfully hard and he thrusts hard again—that's when you finally feel yourself cum, your muscles contracting and your body arching in his hold, your head falling back and your eyes rolling back in your head. "Kou, fuck-" you moan his name, your voice sounding so lewd that you'd be embarrassed, but your name leaves his lips at the same time, his body tensing and you feel a sudden warmth between your legs, his cum filling you up and making your high even more intense.

Your breath comes out erratically from your lips, your chest heaving heavily while your fingers comb through his hair. Most of his hairspray is already on your hands, the strands turning surprisingly soft, and you slightly tug on them after a while, to make him lift his face.

He quickly raises his head at the feeling, and your breath stops for a second when you see his face. He looks so cheerful and happy, his features even softer than you've ever seen before. He presses a quick peck to your lips, the gesture so soft and surprising that you can only stare at him with your jaw slightly dropped.

He finally stumbles back, his arms shaking, but his grip around your thighs still firm, and only two steps later he simply falls back onto the bed, your body resting on top of him. His cock is still half inside of you, slowly turning from hard to soft, but still so warm and welcome.

His hands find your bare back under your shirt, caressing your skin and drawing you closer. Bokuto exudes a soothing warmth, his body like a heater beneath you, and your fingers roam around his chest and play with the hem of his shirt. You did all this, and yet you're both still almost fully clothed- you can't even imagine how much more intense it would be if you're both naked.

"My friend Akaashi—you've seen him before, remember the guy with glasses? That's my best friend," he suddenly breaks the silence, prompting you to lift your gaze to meet his. His sweet smile causes your lips to curl upwards too. "Yes, I remember him. He was very polite." Bokuto's grin widens, and he nods with enthusiasm. "That's him. Akaashi told me that I'm not cut out for one-night stands. That they are all 'devoid of love'. But I believe that love can also start physically like this, don't you think? Because this did feel like the beginning of love." His sincere tone catches you off-guard, your eyebrows arching in surprise.

"I... yes, I think so too." Your response makes him smile even more- and the butterflies won't stop in your stomach.

"So... do you think we could see each other again?"

You feel his cum trickling between your legs, but both of you only focus on each other, not caring about the slowly growing stains on his dark pants. Your eyes are focused on him, his eyes shining with brightness and hope, his focus entirely on you. A comforting warmth washes over you, and you smile widely when you reply and lean closer to press a kiss to his lips.

"Yes. Yes, I think so."

[youchangedmedestiel]

Destiel AU idea (again)

Dean is searching for a flat because he recently divorced Lisa. He wants one that is big and comfortable enough to welcome his children, Ben and Emma. It's been months since he started searching for one. Fortunately, Lisa is understanding enough to let him stay in their old house until he finds something.

They actually aren't in a hard and conflicted relationship right now, their marriage stopped because there wasn't love between them anymore. They still care about each other.

Dean knew he wasn't in love with Lisa anymore and he suspected the same for Lisa, but he was fine with it. Lisa though thought otherwise. She asked for divorce because she said that they both deserved to find love and be loved.

So, Dean is doing his umpteenth visit for a flat that he spotted on Internet. This one seems really nice and clean, his children will be able to have their own rooms. And the kitchen looks awesome with enough place for him to cook.

The real estate agent who give him the tour of the flat isn't bad either. He has blue eyes, which looks surreal, long and dark eyelashes that match his hair and his growing beard. Dean listens to him attentively and can't help but look right into his eyes when he speaks. Dean wants to confide in him and he does that naturally actually.

He tells him that he is sick to search for a home for his family. It's been months, and he's exhausted to be disappointed each time he thinks he found something. But at the same time, he wants his children to feel good in that new home so he is demanding.

That real estate agent, Castiel, is compassionate and doesn't understand why Dean doesn't find one with his solid, complete application. Castiel tells Dean that maybe it's because others real estate agents are struggling right now. There's a lot of people searching for a new home at this time of the year, so a lot of work. Castiel admits that he, himself, is buried in work all day long.

He works 6 days a week constantly. Since Dean is really attentive to what the man in front of him says, he notices that Castiel doesn't seem to have someone in his life to get back to. So, he goes for it. He asks Castiel if he wants to go and get a drink with him once they have finished the tour.

Castiel seems surprised by the offer and looks away. He fumbles with his pen and papers and puts them on the kitchen counter. He takes a deep breath. So, Dean fears his answer.

"Are you asking me on a d-" Castiel starts asking hesitantly.

"Yes." Dean cuts him, because he somehow fears that word. It sounds too official and he's still living with his ex. Plus, it's been a while for him.

"O - okay. Yeah." Castiel agrees, and neither of them is able to look at the other.

[spadeprincesss]

I've noticed that Green uses a sword different from the Four Sword, do they not use it anymore? If so, does Blue also have his own special sword as another sword user, or does he use the same one as Green? Are they just generic knight swords? I'm also curious about Blue's axe and hammer... Forgive my curious yapping

Omg I’m so glad to see people are noticing little details in my art! For those who didn’t see this is the sword Green has in one of my recent pieces.

It’s a simplified version of BOTWs royal knight’s sword, and this means exactly what you think it means: the colors don’t use the Four Sword anymore.

It was placed back on its pedestal to keep Ganon sealed away (I have to reread the manga but they seal him away right?) but given that throughout their adventure they changed so much and became their own people the Four Sword is not able to truly make them one again. Because of this they decide to live their lives separately, and at some point the Four Sword’s hold on them breaks entirely, which is what allows them to look so different from one another (difference in height, eye color, etc.) despite at one point being one person.

I want to clarify that although the piece of them all standing together to fight does indeed happen in my story it doesn’t look exactly like that. There are a lot of details that are different that i changed just so there are some surprises left when i actually write the damn fanfic lmao.

But yes, Green and Blue as sword users do have special swords that they use. They’re both decorated heroes so it’s not hard to find a blacksmith willing to make you a custom sword. What bigger honor than making a sword for a hero after all?

In all actuality Red is really the only one that still uses the same exact weapon as in the manga, and that’s because they’re a magical weapons, though they have had a few upgrades. Blue and Vio both have their original weapons stored for sentimental reasons, but as they grew in strength they needed upgrades to match it.

As for Blue’s ax and hammer… well I’ll definitely be drawing those soon.

And never apologize! I adore these questions! Let’s me know people want to play in my silly little world I made inside my head lmao!

[tblsomedoodles]

MIF VIDEO's DONE!! FINALLY! AFTER ALL THIS TIME!!!

It gets posted tomorrow!! (technically it get's posted in 9 hours. I scheduled it b/c i'm excited, and impatent, and will be busy tomorrow regardless.)

as always, i'll post a link when it's officially up.

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie 💖

a little more from alive shannon! I think I finished chapter 3 and I hate most of the last 500 words but that's for future/editing me to fix, so good luck to her, I'm moving on 🤣

prev snippet

___

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he hears his phone ring. It sounds too loud in the quiet of the waiting room, everyone’s eyes turn to him. He quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket and sees Shannon’s name on the screen. He picks up, gets up and goes a little further away for some semblance of privacy.

“Hi, listen, now’s not really-” he starts, whispering, but is interrupted.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

“I-” he sighs, leaning against the wall. He’s not. He won’t be until he gets his best friend back. That’s not what she’s asking, though. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“How’s Buck? Is he gonna be- I’m so sorry.” she says, pity in her voice. “I just saw the news, god, that was…” she trails off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. Yeah, Eddie gets that. He doesn’t know what that was, either.

“He’s in surgery now.” Eddie says, throat tight. “He should be okay. Though I don’t know about his leg.” 

“If you need anything-” she starts, and he thinks about Chris, currently staying with Carla – Eddie’s supposed to be home already. “You know I’m here.”

“I know. Uh, actually, Shan, could you maybe- could you stay with Chris tonight? I don’t want to have to ask Carla to stay too long, and I wanna stick around here. Wait for news.” he says tiredly. He knows there’s no point in being here. Buck’s in surgery, and after they’ll probably won’t be able to see him anyway, he’ll still be under anesthesia, and maybe they’ll let Maddie in. He could ask her to call him with news. Still, he wants to be here. He can’t leave, he just- he can’t. He knows everyone will leave soon, they’re all tired after the day they’ve had, and there’s no use to sit around at the hospital and wait. But he can’t leave.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @nmcggg @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @exhuastedpigeon @jesuisici33 @theotherbuckley @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck

[uranium235s]

another day another chester template + the portrait bigger because I wanted to try out a brush. scratchy texture .

things in the favorites category are things that I believe would be his in-universe favorites, not necessarily what I think represents him since I already have a post detailing chesters symbolism anyway . n then for characters that inspired him I'll be so honest this guy came right from my brain when i was like 16 or 17 so instead I tried to find characters that remind me of him in retrospect but could only think of 3. sorry

[bootyful-seventeen]

Oh gosh okay so I went back to marinating more on long haired Jihoon, but specifically long haired Jihoon getting pegged has me chewing on the bars of my enclosure to get out

Like just think of how pretty he'd look when he's on all fours and your fucking into him!! His chest blushed and heaving from how needy he is for you and the way your touch just feels so good and electric running along your skin! Your fingers then threading through his hair to pull his head up to see his thoroughly fucked out and flushed face in the mirror you placed in front of the bed. His eyes rolling back into his skull as cute little whimpers and cries slip from his lips when you brush your lips along his shoulder and licking up his neck before nibbling on his earlobe. Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh and even the louder moans he'd make if you gripped his cheeks in your hands and pounded him into the mattress, his back arching so nicely that you can't help but run a hand up his spine and wrap his long hair around your fist while he trembled underneath you whimpering about how he's gonna cum. Your eyes dropping down to watch his slick hole swallowing your strap on with ease from being played with for so long before getting bent over. Jihoon's whines getting louder from hand slipping between his thighs to jerk off his leaky cock until he's releasing spurts onto the sheets under him. Tears springing from his eyes as you fuck him at a harder and faster pace until he was left gasping for air, his thighs shaking from keeping his ass up when your strap slips out of his trembling hole and a relieved smile on his face as you cooed about how good he was for you, and how he looks so pretty all fucked out like this between kisses along his spine

[moomeecore]

i found a book abt the anti lawn movement at the library & decided to sit out in my yard & read it. but ironically there was a neverending barage of power tool noises making it difficult to focus. so i walked to a nature park near me in order to escape the dreaded sounds. almost stopped at the mowed picnic table area bc i hate walking but fortunately pushed forward and made myself walk up an annoying hill to an area that is a preservation of a native oak savanna & sat down against a tree near the edge of the path & did my reading there. and honest to god that was a 100/10 experience. there was something so powerful abt being in a preserve for a locally native habitat while reading abt the impacts homeowners can have on native plant preservation! it powered up my energy towards my life mission (evangelize abt enviormentally sustainable gardening to every single person who comes within a 10 ft radius of me) by like. 15 points. also a deer walked up to me and that was super cool

[bromcommie]

I AIN'T MARCHING ANYMORE a steve rogers playlist, start to finish

Listen on YouTube (click on images for full resolution!)

sam | nat | bucky

[deoidesign]

I was scrolling and saw your art and it made me really happy because I realized you made time and time again!!!

It’s literally one of my favorite things I’ve ever read, so cool!!!

This is so sweet, thank you for sharing!

It's sort of "illusion breaking" so to speak, to think of my art being both out there in a way that someone could happen upon it, and then further that someone may happen upon it twice, and finally that on doing so they find it recognizable...

I always think of myself and my work as something that sort of sits behind the curtain. The idea that it might take up space in this way is unreal!

This is the kind of thing that means more than you could imagine.

So thank you!

[serenescribe]

had a really rough day. wanted to get out my feelings through writing. easier by the crane wives is a lilia song. enjoy c:

“I’ll be back soon, Silver,” Lilia whispers, kneeling down to press a kiss against his son’s forehead, one hand cupping his cheek. “Be good, alright? Remember your chores, and your—”

“And my exercises, I know,” Silver answers, smiling brightly at him. And oh, it makes Lilia’s chest ache so deeply, like a hand has grasped around his beating heart, fingers curling tighter and squeezing until his breath chokes in his throat.

Everything about the boy, the child he has taken in as his own, makes him feel so strongly — especially the silver strands of silken locks that frame his face, causing the aurora glint of his pupils to shine even brighter. It is a feeling that Lilia dubbed as a negative years ago, when he had picked up that wooden cradle in the woods and watched the baby tucked within it open its eyes — a reflection of a foe long since slaughtered, an enemy that makes Lilia’s blood boil with rippling rage.

But lately, he cannot help but feel as though the feeling, the emotion he keeps cradled within his heart, is shifting. When Silver was younger, Lilia had to leave the house over and over, taking a breather for himself as he quelled his roaring rage, the impetuous youthful general of his mind screaming for him to take the boy out. But now, when he ruffles the young boy’s hair, or opens his arms when he clings to him for a hug, all Lilia feels is a candlelight swell of something warmth — so small and delicate, as though a single breath can blow it out.

And so, with confusion misting his mind and emotions tangling into his chest, Lilia leaves, again and again.

He leaves, travels far and wide, under the guise of missions and quests, or, when he has no further excuse, for his own private purposes. Lilia steps away from the cottage he has slowly begun to consider a home, wraps his heart with powerful armour, tucks away those muddled feelings for later, preferably never. Lilia stays away long enough, feeling the wind against his face, smelling the salt of the seas, feeling the heat of the sun he’s never truly loved beating down on his skin.

And when his tasks are done, or when he cannot stay away any longer, he returns.

Each and every time he comes home, Silver greets him with a smile, arms outstretched for a hug. “I missed you, Papa,” he says so shyly as Lilia lifts him up, mirth trickling into each new reunion, casting the memories in sunny hues. “I’m happy you’re home.”

And what is Lilia to do, then, when his heart seizes at those words? The armour breaks apart, a burst of something strong and hot sweeping through him; he coos in response, praises how good Silver has been, taking care of the house, looking after himself, my, what a mature child he is! But Lilia has never returned the words that Silver always whispers to him whenever he gets sleepy and Lilia tucks him into bed; he turns his head to the side, light locks of hair splayed out over his scratchy pillow, lips parting to murmur, “I love you, Papa.”

Everytime he hears those words—

(And it is never only during their reunions, for Silver always tells him that, brimming with such love that it makes some younger part of him freeze up, locking in place, bile rising through his throat.)

—Lilia has to leave again.

Silver is seven now. He has grown so much in such a short time — thus is the fragility of humankind, Lilia muses to himself. He used to think of it as a blessing when Silver was but a baby, for it would cut short the number of years they had to spend together. But now?

Lilia isn’t sure what to think now.

(Or perhaps it is more like he refuses to admit the truth to himself.)

He swallows down the lump in his throat, sucking in a deep breath. “I trust you to take care of yourself, dear,” he says as brightly as he can manage, fingers pulling away as he reaches for the swinging clasp of his travelling cloak. Lilia adjusts it, ensuring the hood can cover his face — the sunlight has always been a blasted enemy of his, after all — but as he turns to leave…

A tug.

He pauses. Turning his head to glance over his shoulder, Lilia’s eyes meet auroral pupils, wide eyes that gaze up at him as though he hung the stars.

“I love you, Papa,” Silver reminds him, shining so splendidly that it hurts. “Take care, okay?”

His ribs press in against his lungs, digging in tight, each breath shallow and raw.

“I will,” Lilia promises, voice shaky, forcing a smile that does not fit onto his face. “Thank you, Silver.”

And when he leaves again, walks the familiar path away from their home — and when has he begun to truly think of it that way? Lilia does not remember — Lilia’s steps grow faster and faster, breath catching in his throat until he’s running, practically flying, getting away as quickly as he can.

(For what reason does he run?

Is it because he cannot stand the sight of Silver, the boy who resembles the Dawn Knight to such an eerie extent?

Or is it because he’s unable to comprehend the possibility that he is getting attached?)

It is better to leave, again and again.

Until he can wrangle his feelings, until he can pick apart every flicker of doting warmth and every icy shard of contempt, until he can decide for himself that yes, he will leave or no, he will stay, permanently, irreversibly—

Lilia will wander the earth and hide the love that he feels, pushing it away until it becomes bearable enough for him to go home.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

hiii may I request a Noctyx and what you call them ? just like the one you did with Luxiem, I found it to be very adorable and would love a Noctyx one as well, thank you so much!!

- 🌱

noctyx and what you call them

thank you very much for the compliment. even more importantly thank you very much for the noctyx request! i have a few noctyx x reader ideas bc i am dead set on filling up this noctyx x reader tag when i can but i love seeing others just as interested in them as i am

ah, but it's funny, revisiting my first-ever post on this blog and comparing it to how i format my posts now, i can't believe i typed the actual entries all in lowercase, that's the first time i've done that! how strange

...though i will say it was hard thinking of other words for "partner"

tags: established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🎭 Alban Knox: Darling

The night is tempting and harsh at once, and he plays both sides with fervor, a thief attracted to all that glitters. He takes what he wants, and he's so used to taking what he wants that he doesn't know how to manage how kind you are to your darling. A warm home and hot food, a place to sleep with love, safe. He's never experienced any of this easiness before, and he certainty hasn't been called darling before. He doesn't know how you do it. He wants to get used to it.

🐑 Fulgur Ovid: Other Half

He starts it first. Better half, he introduces you, his Reader, and casts aside his own worth for the sake of uplifting yours. That’s what he does best. You never walk alone because he never lets you go, and you reach the heights you do because he’s your foundation. There is so much care and passion in all he does and it stuns you how easily he ignores it. When will he realize he's equal to you as your other half? You are two puzzle pieces, half of a locket together into a pendant. You complete each other.

🔗 Sonny Brisko: Hero

Like a hero he's always there, and like a hero he deflects. Affection goes unsaid, but simply felt, and very much unlike one he tries to avoid it. He doesn't have the courage to ask. He holds tight around you, nonetheless, and whispers comfort in your ear while you ball your hands around his jacket. Simply felt, as he smooths your hair out of your face and lets you exhale, and when you say his name like that, full of adoration and all he never thought he could be, my hero, he forgets how to breathe himself.

🔮 Uki Violeta: Soulmate

You’ve never known color in feeling until you met him, and now that he's in your life, you see him in the sunlight as naturally as the shadows and shines that come through. He breathes life into art with the quirk of his lips at song and in just a moment you see all there is to say about it. But he speaks anyways, and his voice is silk, and when you respond he curls a hand around you while the other holds his head up, lost in your words, the only one for you, your soulmate.