#please always feel free to request

[presidentbungus]

you wanna do a sniperspy snippet for me...for little ol me......?

always 🥺

ao3

Sniper's not a huge fan of the weather at this new base--they're somewhere in the Northern US, and he wasn't exactly bred for temperatures below twenty-five, but he finds it's worth braving the perpetual moistness for the new base itself.

It's a drab, rickety old building, just like the lot of them, except this time it's built out of rotting wood that someone puts a new hole in just by walking four times a week. But--but, it's an abandoned factory, aged out of utility for that purpose, and old buildings like this are full of nooks and crannies.

Sniper is some kind of burrowing animal at heart and small spaces have always been a favourite of his, so this is an arrangement that works out well for him. It's something besides sitting in his van playing jazz and thinking about his guns, even if it is sitting in a small dusty room in silence thinking about his guns—and no one really cares for exploring so it's usually a safe bet he'll be left alone.

Usually.

The good thing is that the stairs leading up to this particular room, fulla dusty tables with a nice look out into leaves and just about nothing else, act as a built-in intruder alarm with how creaky the stairs are. The bad news is that right now someone is thundering up those bloody stairs and he's in the middle of making great progress knitting himself a scarf.

It's not exactly Scout who he expects to see turn the corner--mostly because he's usually a lot quieter, has this tendency of sneaking up on people, and Sniper coulda sworn he just heard him calling points, or, laps or... is pitches a baseball thing? Somewhere outside.

But the little bugger is fast enough to make that plausible and more importantly looks like he wants something. "Hey... Snipes."

No harm in starting this off with a nice, round, "I'm busy."

"... Sunshine 'n rainbows," Scout mutters. Then he sees the knitting needles in Sniper's hands--a hideous smirk stretches across his face. "You fast-trackin' your grandma career already? Heh."

Scout brought a smell with him into the room. Something dark, and smoky, that settles itself in Sniper's chest. It's so intensely familiar but he can't quite place it. "What do you want?"

“What, is this weird? Something wrong, big guy?” And Scout gets a lot closer, wringing his hands together in a way he distinctly doesn’t do—

Metal flashes in Scout’s hand—Sniper grabs his wrist with unexpected ease and takes out his own blade, and his kukri glides into Scout’s stomach like a nice hot knife through butter. He lets out a high, pinched wheeze, though the lopsided grin keeps spreading across his face--as the shitty cotton crumpled under his fingers ripples into pinstripes, and the hand on his bicep morphs into smooth black leather.

"Maybe it'd do ya some bloody good to stop wearing that cologne," Sniper mutters. He steps away as much as he can with half his weapon sticking outta Spy--the closeness makes him dizzier than he'd like to admit, the smell of smoke and whiskey.

Spy just wordlessly clutches Sniper like any of this still hurts at this point in their jobs, and a thin line of blood starts trailing out between his teeth.

He already knew it, but the confirmation of it annoys him. "You wanted to get caught," Sniper says, grimly—through what would be a carefully-crafted facade of ambivalence to anyone else, but he knows Spy can look straight through him, read him like a bloody book, so he keeps on pushing the knife through his stomach until he can see the tip come out on the other side, glistening crimson.

Spy coughs for a little while before he seems to be able to work up the breath to respond. "You are not a very good host, are you?"

"Figure there's a bit of a difference between a guest and a bloody intruder, mate."

There's blood all over Sniper's shirt. Oh well. "The fact that you are yet to kill me indicates you are unsure where that line lies…” His eyes flick up teasingly. “Mon ami."

And the right thing to do after that, the professional thing to do, is to pull his kukri out and then shove it into Spy's face until he can't tell the difference between brain and gristle, but he still just keeps standing there with their faces way too close for comfort, frozen to his spot.

Spy notices his hesitation, of course he does. And somehow his smile keeps twitching wider, even as the rest of his face knits itself together with the effort of standing. "You seem to have made your decision."

"Do you have anything to do besides..." He doesn't want to find the word. "This?"

"Dinner," Spy says quickly. "Ah, picnics... weekends away..." He glances up at Sniper long enough to imply, and teasingly: "But no, nothing I can do alone."

"What about sitting here and bleeding out while I go find someone better to talk to?"

"But who is better to talk to," Spy gurgles, "than the man you spend all day on the battlefield ogling through your scope?"

He can't stop the blush from crawling across his face. "Not—ogling is a—I'm just doin' my job."

"And I am very much not doing mine. All I ask is one night." Then that hand shifts over to his chest, trails up to his neck.

"You have a motive you’re not giving here." They both know this isn't true. Sniper already knows he's going to leave this room having promised something he's not entirely sure about, but there's no point in dropping the charade just yet.

"Do you want me to beg, monsieur?" He must not respond quick enough, because he follows right away: "You have no perception of how dire the romantic prospects stand on my team, and you are, regrettably… so very handsome.” Smart fingers pass all the way up his cheek, dip just under the collar of his shirt, like there isn’t a knife in his stomach. “And I know there is something about me that attracts you, and you seem to be completely unwilling to cross the distance on your own, and I will refuse to continue standing for it." Spy pauses for a second to spit the blood out of his mouth and then turns back to Sniper and grins. "Kiss me."

That's the first thing he's said all day that actually makes sense. The next few seconds is a blur; thankfully there's enough blood in both of their mouths that covers up the fact that Sniper has no idea what he's doing and Spy very much does.

At some point Spy's legs buckle and he hits the floor with a loud thump--Sniper doesn't go with him, really takes him a couple of seconds of standing and blinking to figure out what just happened to him, and finally, finally, the image of Spy laying on the ground and choking on his own blood reminds Sniper that he is currently being paid to do a job.

The sound of him pulling his rifle off his back doesn't seem to perturb Spy at all; in fact, his smile still defies physics and finds room to grow, even as he writhes in the ground out of... what can't really be called pain anymore, but instinct.

With a gun-barrel resting on his forehead all Spy does is raise his hand and say: "I will see you on Friday. Shower."

All Sniper can find to say to that is "I shower," but that's muttered in the middle of the gunshot and at that point it's a losing fight. He knows Spy's just getting on his nerves. That's all the bugger does.

Arsehole didn't even bother to confirm that Sniper had any interest in seeing him, but... Sniper knows, with a heavy dose of shame, he probably implied the answer well enough on his own. Piss.

[starflungwaddledee]

[averlym]

Can you do prompt 34 for araleyn?

no.34, gen: "you look happy" //sometimes i think too much about dlyh

[xiphactinusfish]

Palestine Book List:

Children's and Young Adult:

Baba, What Does My Name Mean?: A Journey to Palestine by Rifk Ebeid, Lamaa Jawhari

Homeland: My Father Dreams of Palestine by Hannah Moushabeck

Olive Harvest in Palestine: A Story of Childhood Memories by Wafa Shami, Shaima Faouki

These Olive Trees by Aya Ghanameh

Farah Rocks series bu Susan Muaddi Darraj, Ruaida Mannaa

Squire by Nadia Shammas, Sara Alfageeh

Young Palestinians Speak: Living Under Occupation by Annemarie Young, Anthony Robinson Jr

The Boy and the Wall by Amahi Bishara

Gaza Writes Back: Short Stories from Young Writers in Gaza, Palestine by Refaat Alareer

Baddawi by Leila Abdelrazaq

Nayra and the Djinn by Iasmin Omar

We Are Palestinian: A Celebration of Culture and Tradition by Reem Kassis, Noah Eilouti

Zain and Mima Stand for Palestine by Eman Kourtam, Sophia Soliman, Darah Rateb

Adults Nonfiction:

Palestinian Walks: Forays into a Vanishing Landscape by Raja Shehadesh

Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire by Jehad Abusalim et al.

Freedom is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement by Angela Davis, Cornel West

The Biggest Prison on Earth: A History of the Occupied Territories by Ilan Pappe

The Hundred Years' War on Palestine: A History of Settler-Colonial Conquest and Resistance, 1917-2017 by Rashid Khalidi

The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine by Ilan Pappe

They Called Me a Lioness: A Palestinian Girl's Fight for Freedom by Ahed Tamimi

Except for Palestine: The Limits of Progressive Politics by Marc Lamont Hill, Mitchell Plitnick

Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique by Sa'ed Atshan

Gaza in Crisis: Reflections on Israel's War Against the Palestinians by Noam Chomsky, Ilan Pappe, Frank Barat

Black Power and Palestine: Transnational Countries of Color by Michael R. Fischbach

Israel/Palestine and the Queer International by Sarah Schulman

Greater than the Sum of Our Parts: Feminism, Inter/Nationalism, and Palestine by Nada Elia

Adult Fiction and Poetry:

Power Born of Dreams: My Story is Palestine by Mohammad Sabaaneh

From Whole Cloth: An Asexual Romance by Sonia Sulaiman

Blood Orange by Yaffa As

The Specimen's Apology by George Abraham

To All the Yellow Flowers by Raya Tuffaha

Shell Houses by Rasha Abdulhadi

Hijra by Hala Alyan

You Exist Too Much by Zaina Arafat

Guapa by Saleem Haddad

[south-sea]

To be something you always were, and somewhere you were always meant to be

Context: Second Chance AU, after the fight, and the fall. Metal takes a long time to come to terms with his new place in this world, and why he chooses to stay. Shadow is, unsurprisingly, a large reason.

~1,806 words

-

In the few hours following his retrieval, repair, and subsequent reactivation, Metal Sonic was an empty shell.

Compared to the temperamental, impatient, and indecisive entity in the reports and firsthand accounts of the Starfall Expedition team, he was calm, impassive, and obedient. When who would be later coined as his new caretaker had removed him from the emergency "care" of engineers acting as doctors (altogether lacking bedside manner and not a clue how to handle a sentient, sapient robot), he stared only blankly forward. When his to-be caretaker took it upon himself to finally have a peek deeper into the mountain of coding and circuitry, he had found Metal's memory data in disarray.

On a surface level, everything recent had been there: he remembered waking up on a steel table (par for the course), being brought into the waiting room of an unfamiliar facility (unusual), and the faces of those he could not quite place (mysterious).

He should have remembered the face of his to-be caretaker from the expedition prior to this. He did not. He should have remembered the faces of the two others who had been on the expedition, and the few scraps of sign language they had taught him. He did not. He did not remember the name Sonic in a singular context, did not remember what had dented his chassis or what had sent him hurtling toward the ground as if from space itself.

For a few bleak, empty hours after his revival, Metal Sonic had known peace.

When his to-be caretaker had brought him to his own workshop, the rest of the unfamiliar faces had followed. When his to-be caretaker had interfaced with his systems and managed to untangle the half-backed-up memory from its corruption, he remembered everything. The frustration, the fights, the desperation, the reality of what "home" was like.

He was in no hurry to go back. "Home" had a persistent child—a "little sister", and the source of his jealousy and desperation. "Home" had a father who chose to love her but not him, who chose to wield him like a knife and never hold him like he would hold her, who chose to never look at him or acknowledge his occasional feats while fawning over and praising her for even the most mundane tasks.

This place, this new home, had a safety net. It had his caretaker, his new mentor, a potential second chance.

It had a neighbor he knew but also did not know.

The Shadow he knows stands at three feet, three inches tall, and has three bullet scars peppered across the front of his chest. He is solitary with an edge of restlessness and a hair-trigger attitude, and a mystifying sense of empathy.

The Shadow in front of him now is almost none of those things. He lacks the scars and the height, and there is a roundness about his face that Metal does not recognize. He is not identifiably restless that Metal has so far seen, he is not virulent—but he is solitary, and he looks at him with the same bewildering empathy.

Metal remembers some point in the deep past being paired on a mission with "his" Shadow. The taller one with the scars and the habit of mumbling and the concerned look in his eyes, the one who had startled and pleaded when Metal had pried open his own frame for a stashed-away Chaos Emerald to save them both.

He remembers how it felt to be worried after for a change, for a reason outside of simple utility and expectation; for the simple fact that he is a person, too, maybe, and "his" Shadow had seen him as such. He likes to think he still remembers it, anyway. The data is the only that exists in this specific context, and has never been replicated. The sensation has long since faded, and revisiting the recordings does little to remind him what it was like, for just a few brief moments, to be regarded as a person.

Some part of him is still coded, or perhaps it's simply his own choice, to regard Shadow, at any capacity, as his responsibility. He follows this new, shorter, unscarred Shadow, without much reason beyond a vague sense of familiarity and obligation. This new, calmer, somehow even quieter Shadow, never argues. He allows Metal into his home like he had always belonged there, takes him along to new places, looks at him with that same care and illogical empathy.

For days following his repair and reactivation, Metal Sonic is an observer.

He observes his caretaker tinkering away at tiny inventions or his own mechanics. He observes "this" Shadow's nuances in comparison to "his" Shadow. He does not exist with them, from his own perspective, as a person. They acknowledge him, and he does not acknowledge them. He is too busy sorting and defragging and recording and coming to terms with his new existence.

He is free, and yet he is rooted in place.

Unless they move him, he is stationary.

Unless they ask him to, he does not exist.

Lacking the capacity to wonder what if, he does not think about whether or not it would have been better had he never recovered his backup memory. It exists now: that is all he knows. Reality is all that matters. Logically, the present is all that is relevant. And yet illogically, frustratingly emotionally, the past still threads through his coding like a ghost wanders a graveyard.

He will observe, and record, and sort, and pick apart, and observe again as long as it takes for him to make sense and come to terms with it all.

"You know that you don't have to stay all the way over there, right?"

Metal can barely hear this somehow-even-quieter Shadow sometimes. This smaller, softer, rounder-faced version of his old charge speaks by default at a volume barely above a whisper, stands in the marginally more lit section of the den of his (their) home, and is acknowledged only with a silent, set gaze of pixelated red.

Metal knows, in a way that he can only perceive as logical, many things. He knows he is a weapon. He knows he is an item, a thing, anything but a person, because he was never treated as one. He knows not to get underfoot, knows not to be seen when he does not want to be seen—which is always, unless he has succeeded at something recently. He has not succeeded in anything in the last several months. He knows his feelings do not count. They do not matter. They, like him, are not real.

And so he does not "feel" left out any more than he "feels" he is doing the right thing by sitting in this dark, empty corner of a room in a place that does not belong to him, that he has, on a logical level, been trespassing in, but for some reason has been allowed to stay in.

"Metal?" This too-quiet not-his-Shadow tries again. "Are you feeling alright?"

What a stupid, illogical question.

How infuriatingly, dreadfully, warmly pained it makes him feel.

Some old file, some old fragment of data, the memory of being a person, stirs to the forefront of his processors.

Metal does not need company. Shadow pads toward him anyway. Metal does not need to be checked up on. Shadow crouches before him anyway with a worried tilt of his brow and a frown to match. Metal does not...

"Need anything?" This Shadow asks. His hand hovers close to the outer side of Metal's right arm, but does not touch. Metal wonders why; it's not like anyone has hesitated or asked permission before. An item does not need permission to be touched or tampered with or broken apart and put back together.

It has been three days since the two of them have largely stayed at the house. Three days of Metal staying out of the way, processing, silent, unassuming. Three days Shadow has given him the space—ignoring him, Metal had originally thought, but would later come to learn it had been out of respect. Three days Metal had unintentionally ignored him in turn, too busy not existing and too overwhelmed by existence.

"It's really dark over here," Shadow observes. "Do you prefer it? If it's more comfortable for you, I'll leave you be, but if it's not..." He turns his head to glance back toward the light spilling in from the kitchen area, then drifts his gaze in the other direction to settle on the massive wall-to-ceiling window facing stars and more stars. Finally, he focuses back on Metal after his moment of consideration. "... It's alright to sit anywhere else."

That is new. Metal lifts his head just enough to better regard the not-his-Shadow in front of him, just enough to better perceive the still-concerned expression plain on his face. That is also new. "This" Shadow, behind closed doors, wears a lot of his emotions on his sleeve. Emotions Metal can barely place, barely cares to place, but this one he knows. This one, he has seen before. Countless times before, but only ever on the face of someone carrying the name "Shadow".

Oh, how much it makes him illogically ache.

"If it's privacy you want, we can ask to have a new room installed," the owner of the house says, "or I can bring you some curtains."

How very, very new.

Metal lifts his hand just to point to the spot where he sits with silent rigidity. He signs, 'Stay. Here'.

Shadow does not know sign language, at least not fluently, not yet, but he is in ways alarmingly perceptive. "Okay," he says, and sits down.

Unfathomably new.

Not even the taller, older, "original" Shadow was like this. He was worried, but never attentive. He was respectful, but never so willing to (wrongly) perceive in the interest of comforting an item that did not need to be comforted.

Stay here had meant to be an indication he intended to remain in this spot—with or without the offered decorations or additional comforts and considerations. Not Stay with me.

And yet, Metal does not object. He only watches as not-his-Shadow situations himself in the space beside his own cold exterior, unbothered by the chill, unbothered by the impersonal and sleek plating. He only listens as somehow-better-than-his-Shadow speaks of this and that in the interest of finding what might make Metal more comfortable.

It marks the start of... something.

Metal cannot quite place when or why it happens, if not just this very moment, but vague obligation and familiarity settle into fondness and the beginnings of devotion.

It takes time, like all things do, but "Shadow's house" becomes "their house". "Trespassing" becomes "housemates". "This Shadow" becomes "his Shadow".

"An item" becomes "a person". Again, and never again anything less.

[konoa-t]

Alright, the queue is finally cleared out! I just wanna take this moment to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all of your requests!! I wasn’t expecting so many people to show interest in my initial post, so I’m very flattered that you all came over to submit a character! I greatly enjoyed drawing so many unique OCs, and look forward to making you all happy with even more content!!

[waveoftheocean]

Hi there!

I was wondering if you were planning on restocking the small Karna sized print and the gold foil Gawain print that are out of stock in your shop? It seems to be just my luck that the two I was wanting have both been out of stock for a while 😭. I ordered some of your other fate prints a while ago and they are so beautiful framed on my wall. I would love to be able to order Karna in the same size as the Arjuna one I have. That Gawain print is also just absolutely stunning.

hiya!! thank you so much for your interest (and for framing the other fate prints you ordered from me??!!? 🥺🥺 i'm so honored omg)!

i can definitely restock both of those prints! sorry that they've been out of stock for so long >A< i should be able to have the karna print restocked around the end of august but the gawain print will take longer since it's foil (hmmm i'll try to have that around sept/oct?)

i'll make a shop update post here once they're back in stock! thank you again, those prints are really dear to me so i'm really glad you like them 💕💕💕

[echeveriia]

i’m in full ‘i should text her’ mode help what do i do

[baby--blueish]

a little scenario i thought of

i really like describing things so here's a little description of a nice day outside based off the image above! 💙

You sit on a blanket outside, even with the fluffy blanket you can still feel the pricks of the grass beneath you. It's cloudy out, and it smells like rain. A nice breeze blows by. Today feels just right. The world feels so calm, hearing the sounds of birds, feeling the breeze, watching your blanket flow in the wind, seeing the cloudy skies above. Rain was always nice to fall asleep to. The pitter patter of the raindrops against the roof. You lay down on the blanket, taking in your surroundings. The trees, the grass, the clouds, the breeze, the grass, everything feels perfect. You feel a little sleepy. It's better to sleep in your cozy bed rather than a blanket outside. Checking to see your stuffie and blanket are dry you scoop them into your arms and take everything back inside, blankets dragging against the floor. Feels like a perfect night inside. A nice bubble bath, warm food, cozy pajamas, and the sound of rain to lull you to sleep. The world is calm, the world is cozy, and you are too. Good night little one 💙

[incenseandiron]

havent been very active lately, sorry, it's been a Time and ive been stressed and tired and focusing on getting patterns down for my sweater so i can maybe have it done by the time it gets cold

would y'all like to see some progress pics or maybe even charts i'm using? i finally started it this weekend 🥰

[save-mohamed-family]

My campaign is verified and added to the Gaza Donations page with number 192.

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@sar-soor @heba-20 @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @soon-palestine@ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates @fallahifag @fairuzfan

I love you all 🙏🙏♥️🌹

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters, who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, I am facing a severe injury to my leg, which is at risk of amputation if I do not receive the necessary treatment. My wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, and my wife is also suffering from uterine cancer.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

To everyone with a compassionate heart,

To all who understand the essence of humanity,

This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.

We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.

My name is being repeatedly added to many public and private donation campaigns. Please, be a support for me in this difficult situation.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

[scrapplesims]

SALLY - CC Tattoo Set

I've gotten a few WCIF requests for Sal's tattoos. She's the sharing type, so here are some of hers, rearranged, slightly modified and repurposed for a new tattoo set 🖤

Traditional style featuring tulips, leaves, ornamental bits and LEG SNAKE!

(I also got my very first tattoo this week at the ripe old age of 34 so I am feeling celebratory 🥳)

DETAILS:

Base game compatible

Teen - Elder

Unisex

Disabled for random

File contains 3 variants: 2 color (light and dark) and black, with 3 opacities of each

72 swatches

Located in Tattoo (Upper chest)

DOWNLOAD [SFS] 🌷

Always free, just please don't reupload as your own, put behind a paywall, no CF, etc.

Hope you enjoy! Feel free to tag me if you use them, I'd love to see them in your game 😊

@alwaysfreecc 🧡

[buttercuparry]

So tumblr keeps on shadowbanning Siraj's accounts and he tries to remake of course, but right now, he is exhausted with  how targeted these bans have started to feel.  To be honest, Siraj is tired of a lot of things: the never ending atrocity, the hunger, the cold, and of course, he is tired of barely making any progress in the  campaign at all. He wanted to make a post today but since he doesn’t have the energy to travel all the way to Deir-al Balah for an Internet connection, I am writing this on behalf of him. Please read through this if possible; these are Siraj Abudayeh's own words:

A perception gained through hearing is merely a poor reflection of the actual, be it about events concerning Gaza, Ramallah, Paris or USA.

It can't ever be enough even if you diligently follow the news. Or if you read every single article or watch every video that maybe available online. For there are things present in the air of Gaza- rotten and burnt smell, metallic smoke that sticks to the mouth and coats the nostrils, poison that is inhaled with every breathe and chemicals taken into the lungs- that no video can capture.

So of course there is a difference! It is a difference between reading the phrase, “I waited seven hours for a bottle of water,” and actually being parched and having to wait hours for some semi-polluted water. There is a difference between reading about Gazan children losing their childhoods, and actually having to see your son despairingly cry out “BREAD!” There is a difference between hearing about a torn tent, and actually having to live in it, that too if you were lucky to afford one.

There is always a difference between reading/hearing it and LIVING it. For all this, I want to say that the one who is only hearing about it does not have the right to draw up conclusions about the needs of the person living the nightmare. They have no right to either question his relentless pursuit for his cause, nor expect that he can be steadfast and not feel exhaustion. There is a difference between what we know and what others have the privilege of not knowing: there is a difference, there is a DIFFERENCE. The meaning is simple, there is always a difference.

In the last 2 days, we have seen some disturbing comments being made about the genocide going on in Gaza. I don't actually have anything to say regarding such banal behavior but I do request you to read what Gazans have to say. Ultimately Palestine will be free, with or without us, but I hope that when we chanted "Free Palestine", there was some truth to it.

( $10 CAD= $7.19 USD)

Vetting #219

[totalswag]

hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena. 

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest. 

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder. 

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows. 

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone. 

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you. 

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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[retiredteabag]

winter weight (nanami ver)

Synopsis: nanami has gained some weight this winter, it seems you don't mind.

based on this fanfic I wrote for Toji which was based on this fanart! thank you @lil-sis for requesting more nanami :,)

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had known Nanami Kento for years before you were romantically involved. He had never made an inappropriate comment, always treated you with the utmost respect, and was all-around, the truest form of a gentleman.

For a time, you locked away your feelings for the kind man, sure he could never see you in that way, but little did you know, the man in question hid from your gaze, not because he did not want to see you, but in fear that you would see him. See him for what he was: a man, obsessed.

You had been with Ken for nine months now and he was everything you could want and more. He was communicative, thoughtful, and romantic. He looked at you in a way nobody had before. Likewise, for you, those nine months passed with comfortable ease.

This was your first winter together, and with the changing of the seasons you learned day by day that the man you knew was your life partner. The both of you were homebodies in a sense, however, with the chilly air and light snowfall this week, you were even more keen on a night in together.

You raced around the house, lighting candles, simmering mulling spices on the stove, and laying out blankets for the two of you. The house felt even cozier knowing that Ken was coming to join you.

He had spent the afternoon with his parents and was coming over after having dinner, he told you to eat without him and you had just finished cleaning your plate when you received a text,

"I am on my way now, sweetheart, is there anything you would like from the store?"

Ken was like this, domestic in the way that made you want to bounce around the room. You thought for a moment before deciding you would probably need more eggs. Earlier this week the two of you had planned a movie night, the next morning you were both hoping to bake cookies together while playing board games or taking turns reading to one another.

You informed him of the need for eggs and he told you he would be just a few more minutes. During that time you scrolled through the choices of movies, picking a few for the two of you to choose from.

Despite being together longer than the gestational period for a baby human, you still received butterflies in your stomach at the thought of his arrival. Knowing he was nearly home, you bounded to the kitchen and faced the door, the room smelled delicious, the only thing missing was his presence, and perhaps another layer of clothing.

Even so, you could hear his footsteps approach and knew that the two of you would share a blanket and body heat in no time.

When the man finally opened the door he was smiling shyly, a red dusting across his face from the cold. He wore a long winter coat, and in his arms were a bouquet of flowers and a wrapped gift.

You rushed to greet him, taking the day bag from his arm,

"Oh! Ken, they're beautiful!" You stood on tiptoe as he bent his knee and you kissed his cold cheek. "Goodness, you're freezing! Come in please!"

"Hello, my love." He smiled more broadly now, wrapping his free arm around you, "This if from my parents, but they told me not to let you open it until the holidays."

A warmth ran through you, the Nanami's were all too kind. Kento set the flowers on the counter and stepped toward the coat rack by the door to retire his shoes and jacket.

In the motion it took for him to pull the sleeves off his broad shoulders, you took him in. Leaning on the kitchen counter you allowed yourself to stare at him. His dress shirt was tight on his arms, and his suit pants clung to his thighs. You took a step toward him again.

"I almost don't want you to change, you look so handsome in your work clothes."

"Well, I've certainly put on some weight. These pants hardly fit now." he looks increasingly uncomfortable, not to be in your presence but to show that he was dressed in such a tailored fashion.

"Ken, my dear, you look incredible." You contain the desire to squeeze his thigh by walking to the bedroom and bringing out a pair of sweats and a cotton shirt.

"Although you are a delight to see this way, I'll let you get comfortable." You smile and pinch his bicep.

"Thank you, dear, I don't believe I've ever been so heavy. It's all the good restaurants you introduce me to, perhaps I should get back into the gym." He had grabbed the soft clothes you picked for him and walked into the bedroom to change.

"You're the one bringing me to all those good restaurants so you can't just blame me." You smile from outside the door.

"I'm just grateful you're with me" He laughs, pulling the shirt over his head.

"Ugh!" You exclaim, "Of course, Ken, don't say something so ridiculous." He laughs but you are still caught on what he said earlier. "And don't start going to the gym, you look great, very chewable."

He pops out from behind the door and looks down at you, amused. "I'm not sure how to feel about that descriptor, but if you still like me with extra weight, then I suppose I can remain comfortable."

"Still like you?" You gasp offended, "Ken, I grow more attracted to you every day, I don't care how tight your clothes are, in fact, it's a good look."

He gives you a mischievous face, "Go sit on the couch, pick a movie, stop trying to seduce me."

You laugh, incredulous, "I'm not trying anything, I'm only speaking the truth." You shrug, bounding to the couch and crawling beneath the blanket. Ken brings two mugs of cider before joining you.

That night you lay on his chest, watching a cheesy romance, the both of you laughing at the silly main character. You tilt your head up, to watch his face, your eyes catching the beginning of a few grey hairs dispersed in his blonde hair. You gently run your hand through his undercut.

In that moment, in his arms, as comfortable as you've ever been, you are sure, he is the man you will grow old with.

[kleftiko]

❦ HOW TO GIVE HEAD

cw: mature, sexual content, blowjobs, swearing

here are the tips i give my friends so that they get 10/10 sloppy top ratings

"baby~" you coo from beside him on the couch.

the corner of choso's lips lift slightly in response, but his eyes still focus on the screen of his phone.

"babe~" you call again. "cho~"

although your voice is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard in his life, your boyfriend grants you mercy and finally answers you.

"yes, baby?" he asks softly, eyes not leaving his phone but the small smile still on his face. he can't see the beautiful, but maniacal, grin on your lips.

"teach me how to give a blowjob~"

the tendons in his hand tighten, nearly cracking the poor device between his fingers. besides his entire body going rigid, his eyes lock onto yours, only to nearly lose himself in the look of lust in your gaze.

"y-you can't just ask that shit with a smile on your face!" your boyfriend sputters, cheeks and neck blooming with a harsh blush.

"but who else am i supposed to ask?" your question is just too pure and innocent for the look in your face, and yet, choso can't help but fall victim to you.

"fine, just-fine." he takes a tense breath before saying "sit."

with a little too much enthusiasm, you kneel on the floor between his legs, hands gently resting atop your thighs. you look like a doll to him, so eager to please and so pretty that his cock would twitch even if he didn't know what was going to happen next.

he runs a hand over his face.

"fuck, baby, don't look so eager." his deep voice is muffled behind his fingers.

you giggle. "can't help it."

"'kay, now—um—fuck." choso pinches his nose for a second, gathering his own courage to say, "you're gonna need, like, a lot of spit." while he speaks, your fingers dance across the waistband of his sweatpants, littering his v-line with goosebumps as you free his half hard cock from his boxers.

"it needs to be messy, yea?" you look up at him and lick your lips, coating them with a shine that.

he nods silently, jaw clenched.

"t-then, you're gonna wanna -fuck!" you don't let him finish when you take a lick against his tip. the rough texture of your tongue dulled by the coating of saliva you gathered across it. as you continue to pleasure him, he lets out a low groan of satisfaction, his grip tightening on the edge of the couch. the intensity in his eyes tells you that he's enjoying every moment, encouraging you to take him further down your throat.

"fuck." he whines, taking note of your comfortability, just like always. "breath through your nose."

your head bobs up, taking a breath through your nose now that your throat is clear. swirling the tip of his cock with your tongue, you tease him with slow, deliberate strokes. his hips buck involuntarily, a desperate plea for more. the taste of his precum on your tongue only fuels your desire to please him further.

"the tip-the tip, baby." your tongue pays special attention to the slit at the top of his pretty dick that's leaking absurd amounts of precum, and your boyfriend squeaked out a small, "yes, fuck."

as you continue to focus on pleasuring him, you eagerly comply with his request, intensifying your attention on the sensitive tip of his throbbing member. the combination of his desperate pleas and the taste of his precum drives you to further explore and satisfy him, ensuring his pleasure remains at the forefront of your mind.

"b-balls."

your manicured hands cup his balls. you gently massage and caress them, feeling their weight in your palms. the soft moans escaping his lips encourage you to continue, as you use the pads of your fingers and palms to fondle them.

"oh fuck."

it feels like a shame to waste your nails, so with one of them abandoning your boyfriend's sensitive balls, it creeps up to his v-line. You trace teasing circles along his v-line, feeling the shivers of anticipation ripple through his body. the combination of your delicate touch and the sensation of your nails grazing his skin heightens his arousal, making him tremble with desire.

the combination of all your minstrastions causes choso to buck against you, whimpering out obscenities as he jumbles out a warning of going to cum.

"fuck!" he whimpers as your lips release him.

spurts of cum fly into the air, landing in splats across choso's thighs, pants, and your hands as you lazily jerk him off.

the fucked out expression on his face and the mess he made of himself all because of your doing just made you crave him even more, so with one last move, you gave his angry, red, tip a soft lick, nearly causing him to cry in ecstasy.

when he calmed down, he gave you a look.

"you've done this before."