#screw this its going in the queue.

[daltonsnightmare]

MacGyver (2016) s2e21 Wind + Water | Cold Open

[aibouart]

i dunno

give me a pokemon

or a neopet (with its paintbrush style/colour if u want) (UC also fine)

or another thing like LPS or something (if u get the vibes im seeking here)

EDIT: sanrio works too

also u can reply here or send anon/ask~

[gumpistol]

@notanuki, tony tony chopper, said: “ did you know there’s a type of tick, and if it bites you, it came make you allergic to meat? “ chopper exclaimed excitedly, holding open the page of the new medical book robin had bought for him.

   large, charcoal hues peer at the open page of the book as the captain leans over. one hand is raised to rest and cup his chin as thumb and forefinger scratch at it. truthfully, luffy has no idea what the book says. there are too many big words written in small letters. even with little picture diagrams, and the little reindeer's enthusiastic, excited explanation, his thoughts are somewhere else completely. 

   nope. in fact, the captain has not been listening to a word his crew's doctor has been saying, while humming and nodding along. that is until ...

     ❝ CHOPPER !! WHAT'D'YA MEAN I'M ALLERGIC TO MEAT??!! ❞

   please chopper, don't break his heart like this.

[handfulofmuses]

yeah.

[ruruumin]

blue lock rivals!

₊˚ ᗢ blue lock! various x gn! reader.

⤷ (rin/sae/nagi/reo/isagi) the type of person & character they play in marvel rivals.

rin itoshi:

his first pick is lord black panther (he will proudly instalock him and unfortunately for you a one trick, so good luck trying to get him to play anything else!)

yes, he might die a little more often than others on your team, but he’s the one that gets MVP at the end of every match. he doesn’t expect you to heal him all the time and frequently dives in solo to pick off enemy supports (bless him because hes the reason why your team is able to push at all)

he has to get close and personal with the other team, destroying them from the backline first. he likes to target luna snow or mantis because those healers are the most annoying late game.

he only plays competitive. in his opinion, quickplay is for “losers trying to practice” and he wants to become the very best in the game (he will try his very hardest to gentle coach you because he absolutely hates losing). 

sae itoshi:

he is lord doctor strange, there is no doubt about it. 

he’s the one that is holding down point even when theres six people attacking him. hes the kind of person that stands alongside the team, typically in the middle, and never overextending (unless hes trying to take up space). 

when he shields you from hela and starlord ult, you might as well step down and propose to him, because he’s your hero. bless his soul because hes doing the absolute most in the team.

he doesn’t mind playing quick play or comp with you. he’s the kind of person that would rather spend time with you than get heated over a match (unless he somehow, by a miracle, matches up with rin he will put a little more effort into it)

nagi seishiro:

hawkeye & moon knight. 

nagi likes long ranged fighters. he feels like its too much work to get close to the other team and endanger himself, so he always plays it safe by hiding behind walls and corners (hitting multiple enemies with moon knight’s ankh just scratches an itch in his brain).

he will only hold point if he has to, not because he wants to. he hates losing more than anything and would rather die on point than on the sideline. 

he doesn’t like to play comp but will only do it if you beg him (for a boost) hes a lot better than anyone else you know, so why not take advantage of it? he’ll make you grandmaster if thats what you desire.

reo mikage:

lord loki.

he doesn’t mind being a strategist/support. if anything, it gives him more control over the game. he can copy other peoples ultimates (especially luna snow), and use it against the enemy team when you’re in a pinch. 

he bought every skin related to loki. he has the money, so why not spend it? if you also tell him you want the skin or battle pass, he would happily buy it for you! nothing makes him more happy than queuing up a game with you in (semi) matching skins. 

he would occasionally flex tank (most likely venom or thor because he likes the element of surprise). but he cannot solo tank so be prepared to do double tanks!

yoichi isagi:

peni parker & lord winter soldier.

he likes peni parker because the idea of setting down mines and spidernests that deal major damage appeals to him so much. it makes him come up with the most creative (and fucked up way) to screw the other team over. one time, he placed all of his mines down in one corner that he knew rin frequents just to kill him. 

when he doesn’t have to tank, he will play winter soldier (his one true main). he loves traumatizing the other team when he goes: AGAIN! AGAIN! because he will always target the supports first, taking them out from the backline and going after the dps and tanks.

he is the best person to play competitive with. he doesn’t get mad at you if you go on a lose streak, and always finds the passion to continue hitting queue because in his mind, you can’t end the night on a loss.

[kingshovelbug]

im sorry but i need to geek out somewhere and screaming into the void on tumblr is less likely to get me flayed than on twitter, especially if i get terms wrong. plus i can do a read more and yall can click into the tech talk if you want to verse it bombarding your twitter timelines

so idk if i only liked it or if i actually put it in my queue but i saw a post that talked about a few pieces of tech that focus on user repairs and being sustainable (fairphone and frameworks laptop) and after doing some more research into what they have to offer i actually really excited that these products are finely hitting the us market and that people are moving away from the belief that super smooth streamlined glassy = the future. being able to reliably repair and keep what you have alive verse throwing the whole thing away when maybe all you needed to do is add more ram to your current laptop (something that i would do with my laptop to keep using it for a few more years if it wasnt glued shut and i was at risk of cracking the screen) or swap out a fuse.

i know big corporations dont like it but i truly do believe with how much tech we use on a daily basis that the way that we are going to be more environmentally friendly is to move back to tech that we can hang onto for as long as we can and to recycle and then reuse what we cant. like with the frameworks laptop. i saw that they just partnered with coolermaster to create a case specifically so that you can reuse you motherboard, cpu, etc and make a portable workstation. you could dual wield with the laptop you just upgraded if you want to dedicate specific tasks to one or the other. they also specifically mentioned that you could screw it into the back of a monitor and create your own all in one. guys thats cool as shit??? if you had a 3d printer and some time you could even create that yourself

on top of the actual hardware part moving to open source programs when your able. when i update my desktop i plan on running linux. it might have a learning curve compared to windows but in terms of performance??? ive heard that it runs smoother even on older machines, that its more efficient because isnt running stuff in the background that tracks your data and shit. now i understand that not everyone can do that because there are some programs that dont play nice with linux but for my needs at least it does everything i would need it to. and maybe a couple years down the road we do figure out how to run these programs on certain flavors of linux since its open source and people fiddle with it so much. (still looking for alternatives to like word and excel though, i use google docs since its free but i want to move away from them as much as i can too since they laid of their youtube music team (i believe?? it might of been a different branch) for trying to unionize)

if anyone knows of any other smaller companies that actually focus on sustainability and user repairability please let me know. theres certain pieces of tech that i think are now unfortunately behind a software repair paywall, things that used to be just machines and are gaining more bells and whistles like cars and refrigerators if that makes sense. but the more we push for these things to be repairable by us the consumers id hope that would change, or there would at least be options that dont need specific companies to repair them or else they blow up

[delirious-donna]

Who? [Kiba Inuzuka]

an: this is a repost of an old story I wrote for @tired-biscuit who we all know is the biggest kiba girlie on the planet. I've reworked it and added an extra 2k (sorry not sorry). Hopefully, it gets a few reads.

pairing: Kiba Inuzuka x female reader

warnings: NSFW, modern AU, friends to lovers trope, characters in late 20s, angst, toxic males (sorry Asuma, Obito, Itachi and Hidan simps!), pussy eating, blowjob after sex, unprotected sex, cum swallowing, biting and marking.

Masterlist

He eyed you with the utmost disdain.

Glowing amber eyes raked from the toes of your scuffed Converse to the brim of the baseball hat that peeked from under your hoodie. A sleek dark eyebrow rose, stern in admonishment of your haggard appearance and you could scream at him for it.

You knew you looked god awful—felt it too—but did he need to sneer quite so fucking openly? Even from the door of the coffee shop, you knew he was going to give you absolute hell, motherfucker couldn't help himself at the best of times. Some best friend he was.

Kiba Inuzuka appeared his usual well-put-together self, the epitome of the aloof bad boy that most girls had that annoying phase of wanting more than reason should allow. Sickening really, but you loved him regardless. Platonically, of course… of course.

He sat with arms crossed at your favoured table in the back corner, his arms tightly crossed over his wide chest and forcing the cotton of the black tee he wore to work to its limit to contain the muscles beneath. You spied his foot stretched out as he practically manspread in his chair, and the ominous tap of his heavy biker boot sounded like the tolls of a church bell as you walked toward him and your doom.

The strands of his chestnut brown hair were tousled in a sexy 'I just got fucked' style that was meant to look like he had rolled right out of whatever bed he had spent the previous night in. However, you knew the truth of it. That particular look took him a straight forty-five minutes to perfect each morning, and you were tempted to ruffle your hand through it just to piss him off more but you didn’t have a death wish–not today.

You always gave him shit for how long it took him to get ready in the mornings, many a time in your college years you had screeched about him being worse than the girls, and you were not wrong. If any of his floozies were to find out about his skincare regime their little airhead brains would likely implode from shock. Perhaps you should never have taught him that he needed to use more than bar soap on his face each morning, for the man owned more luxury beauty products than you did now.

"You look like shit," he offered with a shit-eating grin on his annoyingly handsome and punchable face.

The onset of summer highlighted the fresh dusting of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and his usual sun-kissed skin darkened further from the abundance of scorching sunlight. Kiba was a true summer child, not something you shared with him as you opted to hide from the dangerous rays of the sun until the weather cooled into a more agreeable autumn temperature.

"Well, fuck you too, dickhead!"

You threw yourself haphazardly into the opposite chair, face screwed up from the squeal of metal on the polished floor and pouted.

"Could've at least bought me a drink. Not like you don't know what I like," you moaned sullenly.

Glancing over your shoulder you could see the line was almost at the door, and the thought of standing in it to get your much-needed fix of caffeine sounded like hell on earth. With your best puppy dog eyes, you rounded back to Kiba who was watching you fixedly, jaw set in a firm line.

"Oh no. I already stood in that queue, had to almost sell my soul to Satan himself to get the last apple danish. It's not my fault that you're so hungover that you can't face standing up for longer than a minute," he all but yelled at you.

Kiba was more pissed than you had expected, you must have really caused a scene for him to be this level of mad at you. Caffeine was your biggest weakness, and he knew it. Groaning loudly as you rubbed at your aching temples, you tried to replay the snippets of what you remembered from the previous night.

Anger snapped at your fingers. The burn of absolute fury had you rubbing at your chest in discomfort, and you well remembered the slap you had landed with the stinging pain that still lingered on your palm. A face you would much rather forget loomed into your mind's eye, tall and dark-haired. A cocky lopsided smile on his face as he tried to wave away your well-founded accusations.

Goddamn Obito Uchiha, he was the devil incarnate. Nothing but a cheating scumbag that had promised you the world but in the end gave you only hell and one heck of a headache.

You could recall the heated whispers of your girlfriends, the words that had curdled your stomach and caused your pulse to pound in your ears. Your boyfriend had been seen by multiple reliable sources engaged in acts that should solely be reserved for you. He had fallen back into the arms of his ex, and he didn't even have the decency to end things before he went and stuck his dick in her.

Sure, you could have handled things better, you knew that, but he had it coming to him.

"Kiba," you whined, "I know that I probably didn't do myself any favours last night, but you can't tell me that he wasn't asking for it? The bastard cheated on me! A slap to the face was hardly the end of the world..."

You fell silent whilst his stare iced over instantly.

The warmth of his amber-flecked eyes was gone in a heartbeat, cold fury descended over his face as he leant forward with his arms braced on the table. You couldn't help but admire the black ink that ran from his left elbow and slipped beneath the sleeve of his fitted t-shirt. His bicep flexed as he pointed a thick finger in your face.

"Are you serious? You think I'm pissed at you for throwing a piss poor slap at that self-centred prick?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Be quiet," he added as your mouth popped open to shoot back your reply.

"Course he deserved it, and the rest of what he got..."

You frowned at the ominous statement in confusion, suddenly eyeing his hands intently, and as you had suspected, the knuckles were raw and split open in places. That only ever happened when… Icy dread whispered down your spine at the unwelcome thought.

"What I am downright furious about is the scene you made after that slap. Don't you remember shouting your damn head off, screeching like a fucking banshee for 'that bitch' as you called her? Must have slipped your mind that you stormed right across the bar, literally pushing over your friends that just wanted to help and then threw up all over the pinball machine, yeah?"

You blanched, literally feeling the colour drain from your face as you did indeed recall flashes of what he spat at you so venomously. All you wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, instead, you raised your hands to cover your face, or at least, you tried.

A rough hand wrapped around your wrist and forcefully removed it from your mortified face.

"Uh-uh, I got more to say and you are gonna listen, so perk those little ears up mama. I could forgive you yelling like a lunatic and spewing your load, god knows I'm more than aware you're such a damn lightweight. What I cannot forgive is you running out the door and going fuck knows where!"

He was getting louder and you cringed.

It felt like a thousand eyes were on the pair of you, and it made the introvert in you crumble like a sandcastle being overwhelmed by the ocean. You had wondered why you'd awoken in your childhood bedroom, why the window was wide open and your dad was holding a baseball bat over his head as you emerged from the cocoon of bedsheets. Old habits die hard and sneaking in and out of your bedroom window proved to be one of them even though you had long moved out of your parents’ home.

Your mouth was drier than a desert, tongue heavy in your mouth as Kiba finished his tirade. He huffed through his nose like an angry bull, and with only the jut of his jaw, he silently demanded a response. The problem was, you didn't know what to say, surely you were out of excuses for the poor choices you had made. It seemed like this was a cycle you were meant to repeat from now until the end of time.

Step One – find a new boyfriend who would quickly become your obsession.

Step Two – Kiba would either know them already or meet them only to immediately disapprove and ask you to end things. Ask was putting it mildly too.

Step Three – you and he would argue like squabbling schoolchildren until one of you stormed out, resulting in a period of silence.

Step Four – said boyfriend would reveal his true colours in the most atrocious of ways and annoyingly prove Kiba right time and again.

Step Five – Kiba picked up the broken pieces of your heart and soul, glueing them back together with an ever-patient hand. Although he never failed to tell you, ‘I told you so.’

Repeat.

Shame burned in your chest, the feeling filled you from head to toe and it was enough to intensify the headache that crested through your brain like waves on a turbulent sea. All this and you had no damn coffee to at least take the very edge off your misery.

What could you say?

You had acted like a selfish brat with those actions, your friend had every right to be angry at you and it was only then you noticed the dark shadows that lingered beneath Kiba's eyes. You grabbed his hand and held it tightly in your own when he tried to withdraw, pulling it toward you.

"Please don't tell me you've been up all night cause of me?"

He shrugged and again tried to pull his hand free, but he didn't truly fight you. It was evident to both of you that if he wanted to retrieve his hand, he would be able to do so with ease. He grunted in reply and looked pointedly over your shoulder.

Fuck!

"I'm sorry," you whispered with a slight hiccup, fighting the flow of tears that threatened to spill upon the bougie-looking rustic tabletop. A fingertip traced a gnarled knot, it grounded you and kept you from completely losing it.

"Kiba, please. I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I know I've said that before but I mean it, I do, I promise. No more idiots and no more making an absolute fool of myself."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

His tone had returned to a more amicable level, with a smirk unfolding on his lips and you knew that the worst of the storm was over.

Worry had been at the core of his fury, not knowing where you were until you had texted him upon waking at your parent’s house. Frantic fingers flew across the keys whilst listening to your dad's yells of indignation about how you should have used the damn front door instead of climbing in through your old bedroom window.

This really was the straw to break the camel's back.

It was exhausting, the emotional toll enough to have you curled into a tight ball on most nights. True that the highs were intoxicatingly good, but the lows were soul-suckingly abysmal. It was time that you stopped endlessly chasing around after men who were never worth your time and effort. Maybe if you stopped searching, the right man would find you instead.

"I'm done, I promise," you reiterated with a steely determination in your eye.

Kiba tipped back in his chair, assessing your words and finding them to be genuine. His normal goofy smile manifested and it was like the first ray of sunshine you had seen in weeks. He truly was the best friend you could ever ask for, and when he stood with a sigh, you realised you couldn't love him anymore.

"Caramel macchiato?"

Or could you?

–

Kiba had known it wouldn't last, it never did, so why would this time be any different?

The trouble was that he adored you from the tip of your sharp tongue right down to your uncoordinated feet that stumbled and fumbled no matter how hard you tried to keep your balance. The pair of you had been friends since your schooldays and you were both prominent figures within your wider social group. What he didn't like about you, and was not quiet about, was your god-awful taste in men.

You couldn't help it, you were downright adorable so of course, men were always gonna be drawn to you, but did you have to pick the worst scumbags imaginable? He had never believed that one person could get it wrong over and over without at least learning some kind of lesson. It must be some kind of imbalance in your brain and it was astonishing, to say the least.

Over the years you had gone through phases, such as the bad boy stage where you swore blind that you could reform idiotic womanizing players like Asuma Sarutobi. Everyone and their grandmother knew that Asuma could not keep his eyes, and hands, off the ladies. It was never going to matter how many times in a day you fucked him, he was destined to stray and stray he did.

Kiba was there to pick up the pieces, to reassure you that it was most definitely his loss, and no, he didn't think you needed to lose any fucking weight! Why would you even think that? He didn’t always understand women and the fascination with weight was his biggest bugbear. 

Then there was the sophiscated phase which he referred to as the smugly quiet phase. Itachi Uchiha was only a few years older than you but damn did he act like he was a motherfucking elder. The condescending smiles, the little tuts and eye rolls at what he deemed to be childish acts and that low almost monotonous tone that spoke volumes about his feelings, or lack thereof.

Again, Kiba had warned you off but you chose to ignore him as usual.

Instead, he waited until Itachi sat you down and told you abruptly that you were too immature for him, effectively breaking your heart in all the time it took him to blink those feminine-looking long dark eyelashes of his. Kiba was there for you to cry upon his shoulder, to wipe your snotty nose and assure you that you were not immature, that dude was just an old ass fuddy-duddy.

Obito had simply been the latest in a long line of utter morons, and part of him had desperately hoped you would keep your word this time. The one thing he was glad about was that you had never dated within your friendship circle, though it hadn't stopped some of the guys from trying.

You would never know about the times he had forcibly taken aside the likes of Naruto and Shikamaru, the muttered threats of mortal wounds and outright death if they so much as dared to touch you. Kiba was always met with nervous chuckles, reassuring pats on the shoulder and hastily sworn oaths that they would keep their distance. Shikamaru had even looked downright pleased with himself, as if he knew something that Kiba didn’t and that encounter had lingered with him for a long while.

It had been a good month since you swore 'til you were blue in the face that you were done chasing men, a record for you but it had all come tumbling down when Hidan entered the fray.

Hidan–a dude who swore he had no last name. Seriously, who did he think he was, the goddamn pope? Perhaps he should have taken that final step much like Prince had done and changed his name into a symbol, it certainly wouldn't have made him any more pretentious.

The man clearly thought he was the next messiah and Kiba had taken an instant dislike to him. This time it was different and he couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart. Worry gnawed at him, the sense that his guy was more than capable of drawing you into things that could endanger you. The saying goes that you should listen to your gut and Kiba took that very literally. His every instinct screamed of danger and put him on high alert for trouble.

Weeks had passed since you two first started dating and although he desperately wanted to teach you a lesson by giving you the usual silent treatment until you snapped, he refrained. Something stopped him, a niggling doubt that poked him at the most random of times. He wasn’t about to let something befall you on his watch, he’d never forgive himself if it did.

Instead, he watched much like a predator would, assessed this cocky-ass male and learned his weaknesses. Kiba knew Hidan hated to be called out on things, his word was law in his mind and that just grated on the Inuzuka to the worst possible level.

He remembered well the night that Hidan had cornered him as he left the bar restroom, his fist thundering into the wall next to his head in an attempt to intimidate him. It didn't take much for Kiba to snap, yet he managed to hold on to his composure this time. Fought to retain his sanity tooth and nail because he would not play into Hidan's hands, for this was a game to him.

"You wanna fuck her, dontcha?"

"Killing you to know that it's my dick that she sits on each and every chance she gets, huh? Cock hungry little slut that she is."

The inflammatory words had been like grenades exploding behind his eyes, what an utter cunt he was for speaking about you in such a derogatory manner. Kiba had stuffed his white-knuckled fists deep into his pockets, biting his tongue and pushing away from the sneering male without further incident.

In hindsight he was shocked that he had managed to keep it together and not outright punched the fucker–he wanted to–but then again so had Hidan. It was a part of his plan to isolate you, to keep you from your friends and family so that he could steal all your time and attention. He was the definition of a toxic male.

Manipulative fucker!

The Inuzuka drained his beer and let his head fall back against the couch cushions. He was at his wit's end, there was no plan to swirl inside his rampant brain that seemed likely to work.

How long had he ignored his feelings for you?

Too long was the answer. He doubted you were ever going fall into his arms as he wished, but he satisfied himself with being your ever-constant rock. If he could not have you, he would make damn sure that whoever was lucky enough to steal your heart treated you like a princess.

It hurt his heart, but it was better than the emptiness that came with the alternative.

Tired eyes looked towards his phone that was buzzing incessantly on the couch beside him, he palmed the device and looked at the screen to find your name illuminated like a beacon in the darkness of his lounge. He schooled his features although he knew you could not see him and answered the call.

"What's up?"

–

You were a dumbass.

There was no other way to describe how dense you were when it came to your love life. You had to wonder if you had a sign above your head that attracted the absolute worst of mankind to swarm you like insects. Was there something wrong with you? Were you actually a bad person who didn't deserve to be loved?

You made your way to the apartment you knew as intimately as your own.

Feet carrying you ever forward, speeding you towards comfort in the arms of Kiba. He would make it all better, wouldn't he?

For once, you didn't know if he could. There were only so many times you could be knocked down before you could no longer get back up and it was getting harder and harder to find your feet.

Tears threatened to fall but you refused. Curling your hands into tight fists until your nails sank into the flesh, close to puncturing the skin but not quite. It grounded you and kept the tears at bay. How long it would last, you weren't sure.

The ache in your chest eased as Kiba answered the door with worry prominent on his features. Pinched brow and pristine white teeth gnawing his lower lip in earnest. Even before you could step inside, he was reaching for you, dragging you into his strong embrace and wrapping you in his essence.

You sank into him willingly, inhaling his musky spice-infused scent until you were filled with it. It felt like stepping into a perfectly hot bath after a long exhausting day, the tension from your muscles draining away whilst you sagged against the chest that rose and fell in harmony with your own. Kiba wrapped one arm wrapped around your lower back, a thumb rubbing against you in soothing motions whilst the other cradled your head and let you settle into his broad shoulder.

Why couldn't all the men in your life be like this?

Kiba accepted you for who you were and had no interest in changing you into something that would better suit him. His soul was filled with warm light, you saw it through the amber flecks in his eyes, the adorable dimple appearing on his right cheek when he smiled broadly and through his caring actions.

"Tell me everything babe," he cooed softly into your mussed hair, ruffling the strands with his breath.

Where to begin?!

You spent the next hour filling in your longtime friend with every dreaded detail from this afternoon, sipping cautiously on a beer that he offered you once seated on his squishy leather couch. The last thing you wanted to do was succumb to alcohol, but one would settle your nerves you reasoned.

"I knew that guy was a motherfucker," Kiba hollered from the kitchen.

Rolling your eyes at the sheer joy that laced his gravelly tone, you turned to find him bent over searching the fridge aimlessly. His tight butt swayed in the hold of his black jeans, it was such a nice backside and if you were in a better mood you might have tiptoed closer to give it a good hard smack. He’d deserve it.

"Mr Kiba 'I knew he was a motherfucker' Inuzuka. Can't you ever give me a break?"

It hadn't bothered you this much when he first said it, but the more you repeated the words, the more fury infused your veins. It hit you like a tidal wave, turning you from weepy sadness to burning anger in less than a minute.

You popped to your feet, pacing back and forth whilst your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides. Wary amber eyes followed your movements, closing the fridge door with a hard thud that made the magnets rattle. Magnets you had gifted that asshole. The grim set of his jaw was back, irritation so quick to line his features until you were both scowling at one another.

"The fuck? Why have you always got to be so fucking high and mighty? You ain't perfect either, you know!" You were yelling now, raw emotion burning your throat and turning your body into a literal inferno.

"High and mighty? You gotta be joking me. Watch your damn mouth, my patience will only remain for so long. I suggest you calm the fuck down and sit down as well!"

He was making it worse, where was his usual compassion when you stormed like this?

"Or what Kiba? You gonna chuck me out?" You snorted through your nose and missed the flash of pure rage that flitted through his blown-wide pupils.

All six foot two of him towered above you, so close you could feel the heat roiling off his body and licking at your flesh. The back of your legs caught the edge of the glass coffee table and he was grabbing at your upper arms in an instant.

You gasped when his fingers dug into the meat of your arms until you almost yelped out for him to stop. Head tipped back and heart thundering from an evil cocktail of anger and bitterness, you straight up growled at him like a dog ready to lunge and attack.

"When are you going to open your fucking eyes?" he whispered, low and so very dangerous that the hairs on the nape of your neck prickled to attention.

Too wrapped in your own negative emotions, you failed to comprehend his words fully. Oblivious to the storm of desire that was rapidly rising to the surface in the male fixing you in place. You ignored his words and spat more venom at him in an attempt to get him to release you.

"When was the last time you even got laid Kiba? Haven't seen any of your airheads flouncing about in forever. They made me sick to my stomach with their simpering eyes out on stalks, drooling over you like you were some kind of fucking god."

He let go in a moment of startled surprise as your words found their mark, and you stormed towards the door only to have your wrist captured in a rough hand. Kiba pulled you back to him, the tug was so forceful that your chest bumped into his and your free hand flew to the wall of steel that was his chest in an attempt to balance yourself.

"Jealous?" he seethed, lowering his face until you were practically nose to nose

Had you been in your right mind, you might have taken a moment to process that incredibly loaded question and see it for what it actually was. Instead, your primal instincts found themselves firmly in the driving seat as a war cry pounded in your ears and a tightness grew heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You snatched your hand back and grabbed two fistfuls of his stupid tousled chestnut hair, pressing yourself onto your tiptoes to reach his wickedly curled lips.

This was no soft kiss, it was cruel and punishing.

Lips met, teeth gnashed and snarls sounded from both of your throats as Kiba reacted in kind. His hands were not gentle as he cupped your face, one hand stealing into your hair and wrapping it around his fist. He pulled, forcing your throat to strain taut and ripping your mouth away from his with a hiss.

White-hot fury veiled your vision in red. His sharp almost fang-like incisors sank into your vulnerable neck, harsh and selfish as he marked you for his own. Greedy lips followed the exquisite sting of pain, sucking at the skin indented by his teeth until the entire area would be bruised and tender to the touch when your sanity returned.

You didn't know what made you say it, the words were out of your mouth before you took note of them.

"Seems like you've been the jealous one.” Kiba froze against your frantic pulse point.

His eyes were positively feral, the pupils almost entirely swallowing his normally warm amber irises. Cheeks dabbled in rough whiskers from the late hour and the tendon from neck to collarbone straining from exertion. Kiba levelled you with a dangerous stare and you couldn't help but look away to admire his forearms instead of succumbing to his piercing gaze. The sleeves of his open shirt rolled to the elbows–a look that had you weak at the knees at the best of times–and the strength in those corded muscles was obvious to your appreciative eye.

"That’s right, m’gonna make you forget about those stupid assholes that didn't know what a treasure they had. Their loss is my gain. If you want this," he pointed to himself to emphasise the point, "if you want me, then come get it."

Without a backwards glance, he stormed to the island in his kitchen and left you there… alone and bereft of his overwhelming heat. Kiba stood with his lower back resting against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded as he watched you. His muscled chest heaved with every laboured breath, cheeks ruddy from the kiss you’d shared and there was a more than subtle bulge on the front of his jeans.

Did you want him, your best friend Kiba?

Hell yeah, you did!

Annoyed by your own oblivious stupidity, the puzzle pieces clicked together in your head. Kiba was downright sexy, his physique godly and a face that was both rugged and angelic depending on his mood. He was funny, a total goofball who made it his mission to keep you laughing until you were clutching your stomach and begging for mercy. A social butterfly who ensured he gave his friends equal attention, he knew every birthday and often was the ringleader of group outings and meetups.

He was your Kiba.

The person you relied upon most in the world, your constant and when you tried to imagine a world without him, it stole your breath until you were crippled by the agony. Had you been jealous of his idiotic little girlfriends? Yes, you always wanted to be the centre of his universe and they distracted from that. You had tried to mask it as a dislike for his taste in women but most of his exes had been perfectly nice if you had given them the time of day to get to know.

It was clear, that you wanted him.

You ran.

Four long strides and you threw yourself into his quickly outstretched arms. He caught you –of course, he did –bearing your weight with practised ease as you wrapped around him like climbing ivy. Hands fisting into the t-shirt that lay beneath his shirt as you found his mouth once more, sought to reclaim it and make your intentions crystal fucking clear.

This time the kiss was more tender, yet the passion was still as ardent and heady. His wide hands roamed your hips until he was kneading the meat of your ass through your pants and making your lower half grind against him in sinful bliss. The zipper of his jeans pressed against your centre through the layers of clothes and you moaned openly into his mouth.

Kiba was famished, he swallowed your lewd noises and was quick to incite more as he turned to perch you atop the counter. His hips rolled into you, languid but forceful whilst he explored the wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongue rolled over his in an erotic dance that had no end in sight. If not for your necessity to breathe, there would be no parting you and only the shared oxygen in the space created by two friends that finally breached a line that had been long held and now threatened to either tie them together or pull them apart.

You tugged expectantly at his clothes, desperate to strip him to your gaze and finally, he relented. Kiba pulled back long enough to tug off his shirt and tee, discarding them haphazardly. His warm breath fanned your cheek, stuttering when your cool fingers stroked and detailed the definition of his torso.

"Eager little thing," he growled. The smile he sported only served to highlight the ego that was often to focus of your teasing. Yet, this time no humourous jabs came to mind. For once you were glad of his self-confidence and eagerness to move things along.

He divested you of your oversized hoodie, thankful you had taken the time to put on a nice bra beneath it despite the mess you had been in earlier. His groan was heaven to your ears and when he dove to kiss you through the sheer material of your bralette you thought you had died right there and then.

Saliva dampened the already thin fabric, those dangerous wolfish teeth nipping at your pebbled buds. With your head tossed back, he used that wicked mouth of his on your breasts and you were unprepared for the piercing rip that flooded the hushed space. Kiba had torn clean through the garment, the halves falling down your arms to lay destroyed on the floor.

"Kiba!" you half yelled, half squeaked as he took that exact moment to suckle your nipple between his plush lips. Your belly quivered, the pulling sensation more intoxicating than the most potent alcohol and the feeling echoed far more intensely between your trembling thighs. Your fingers carded through his lush hair, nails scraping against his scalp and smiling indulgently at the rumble deep in his throat.

"I'll buy you more, promise baby. Lay back, need to get you naked," he said sounding entirely as drunk as you felt.

For once you were eager to follow his instruction, a novelty for Kiba who merely watched with a knowing look that promised he would deliver of your wildest fantasies if you’d just fucking listen to him, at long last. His eager fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings and were quickly dragged down your supple legs. Slowly, he eased his calloused fingers back up your bare legs, stopping to toy with the back of your knees and listen to the subtle gasp caught tight in your throat.

Funny how you had thought he would be rough and impatient, the deed almost over with and the finish line hurtled towards at inhumane speed when here he was taking his sweet time. It was maddening when all you wanted was for him to feel the searing heat that was radiating from between your thighs, to dip his fingertips against your panties and know how drenched they already were from the mere prospect of being with him.

As if sensing your thought process, Kiba finally parted thighs whilst you rested backwards on your elbows. A low appreciative hum caught your ear and you shifted your focus to the tight grip he had on his bottom lip, teeth sinking deep and the wide flare of his nostrils like he was scenting you as an animal would do. He planted your feet and pushed your knees to the sides until you were splayed out like a cat in heat. It was vulnerable and so exhilarating you couldn't help but wriggle.

His eyes were glazed over when he, at last, moved to touch your panties, zeroing in on the obvious damp patch and letting his head roll along his neck for a second as a visible shiver passed up the length of his spine. You’d swear he appeared like those cartoon characters that have zapped with electricity, near every hair on his body rippling from the sensation.

"Have to taste you, sweetheart. My pretty fuckin’ girl."

A chaste kiss fell to your lips before he began a slow tortured path down your body, stopping here and there as he learned the spots that made you tremble and shake, noting carefully when you would whine and try to cling to him. Smug smiles and smears of his saliva were painted upon your heated skin, and he let loose a triumphant bark of laughter when you whimpered your impatience.

"Please," you mewled, a hand pressing atop his head to hurry his descent. Forward was not something you were familiar with, shyness always overtaking your urge to express your wants, but with Kiba, you knew there was no need for any such concerns.

"Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll deliver."

You could cry at the bubble of pressure that was desperate for release, sitting just below the surface, if he would just touch you.

"Wan’ you to fuck me with your mouth, need it so bad Kiba! Please–"

The last syllable had barely left your mouth before he was diving for your centre, underwear pressed aside as he nudged your clit with his nose and inhaled deeply. One roughened pad explored your slick folds, collecting the nectar and pressing it into his mouth.

His sigh was purely reverential and he settled down to devour you like a starving man sat before his first meal in weeks. It was all too much, the immediate stimulation intense enough to have your toes curling where they now rested down his broad back.

Kiba laid languid swipes of his molten tongue along your slit, alternating between flickering motions against your engorged pearl and slow circular patterns around your sopping hole. The walls of your cunt fluttered, desperate to be filled and clench around something–anything–and when his finger slipped easily inside you bucked wildly.

“Shh, keep still. Lemme hear your pretty voice but gotta hold still, yeah?” He encouraged, mouth only moving far enough way for you to hear his heated request.

It took mere minutes for you to come apart on his mouth, his digit sucked deep as he stroked your slick, spongy walls and suckled at your clit to almost pain. Your legs were limp from the unrelenting waves of euphoria that raced throughout your body and if not for the grounding palm caressing your thigh then you might have passed out there and then when white sparks shot straight through your vision.

Kiba didn’t spill a single drop of your nectar, the wet insistent muscle rolling into your cunt over and over to simply dig more of the delicious juices from your quivering body before he stood with the lower half of his face glistening in your essence. It felt… empowering. The intense lust that blazed in his eyes, a lust that was for you and no one else. Fuck. You loved him. Had for a long time. Why had you taken so long to see it for what it really was?

It wasn’t the time to get stuck in your head like this, there would be moments for these thoughts and what lay beyond but right now, you weren’t entirely satisfied and you wouldn’t be until you had milked the man looming over you for every drop he could deliver.

With renewed vigour and determination, you propped yourself on your elbows and then lunged forward towards the buckle of his belt. You’d never worked so deftly as you worked to unbuckle him, moaning at the loud metal clattering loose. Buttons worked free and zipper pulled down, the waistband of his underwear came into sight and your fingers curled around that final barrier and released with him an audible gasp mingled with his sigh of relief.

You had known he was going to be well endowed, could feel it from the press of his body only earlier, but it was still a shock to see him in all his glory, and what a glory it was. His length was impressive, but it was his girth that was the true beauty–if you could even call such a monster a beauty. Kiba's cock could barely support its own weight, the angry length tipped to a deep purple with precum leaking from the slit under your scrutiny.

It looked enormous in your petite hand, managing to encircle the shaft but only just did your fingertips meet. You stroked his velvety soft skin, paying attention to the stark veins that stood to attention and how Kiba reacted when you traced over the most prominent with a salacious smile. You scooted towards the edge of the counter, eyes locked with him with every deliberate move you made.

The head kissed against your glistening folds and you teased both of you by running the blunt tip along your slit until it bumped against your clitoral hood. His fingers were gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you feared he would crumble the marble under his strong hands if he wasn't careful. You notched him at your slowly pulsing entrance, and on a breathy keening noise, you pleaded. 

"Fuck me Kiba."

You knew that he had snapped when an animalistic noise roared from his throat and the death grip moved from the counter to your hips as he pushed into your cunt. Kiba eagerly watched your walls suck him in, utterly drunk on the silken feel of you in much the same way that you were drunk on him. Every drag of his shaft rubbed delicious friction into your most intimate areas with a precision he shouldn’t yet possess. He was made for you and you were made to take him.

There would be a time for slower moments and tender loving making, for you were sure that Kiba was not going to escape from you, not now. He was yours, and you his. This alone had you urging him on, driving that feral side of him to act and do it hard and fast with nips at his lips and nails clawing down his back. 

His hips pistoned like a well-oiled machine, and sweat clung to his forehead as he set a pace that saw him pounding into your pussy. A relentless rhythm that matched the pound of your heart, clammy skin on skin and kisses that acted better than any drugs ever could.

"This what you wan’? Hungry for my cock, huh?"

His words were staccato with every thrust that he delivered, your body jerking with the wild and powerful movements. Your head fell back against the counter as moan after decadent moan left your throat. Kiba's tight grip moved to your waist and he began to pull you onto his length, your back sliding against the marble top making your tits bounce and your ass slap against his pelvis. Every drag of his shaft against your walls made you keen for him, full to capacity but craving more nevertheless. He was using you like his own personal fucktoy and you were creaming around him at that knowledge, the lewd squelches of your bodies joined in this way growing louder and louder.

"Tell me. Need to hear you say it, kitten."

"Oh… fu-fuck! Need your dick, feel so good–ah!" You screamed when Kiba leaned over you and altered the angle of how he was driving into you. His mouth sucked possessive marks onto the sides of your breasts as you used the last of your hastily retreating sanity to again fist his hair and force him even closer to you.

"Tell me I'm better than those other motherfuckers. No one can fuck you like this, nobody else is worthy of this beautiful pussy," he growled, breaking from your hold to allow him to press his thumb against your clit and making you jerk at the sudden unsuspecting touch.

"Kiba–best. Gonna, oh god–m’so close. No one but you."

Your brain was a puddle, the ecstasy too much for full coherent thoughts as you felt the gush hit against his groin. You soaked him in your juices, the wet noises crescendoing whilst stars winked into your vision.

"Such a good fuckin’ girl, oh shit. What a beautiful mess you've made on me," he cooed in praise, slowing his pace but never stopping. He had to be close; your walls desperately trying to milk him, to force his release in kind.

Slowly, you returned to the earth, oversensitive from each measured stroke that he delivered until he pulled from you and wiped the sweat from his brow. He fisted his shaft as you watched, tears springing to your eyes at being denied his release.

"Wanna come down your throat, think you can manage?" he asked, his eyes burning into yours as he pumped himself.

Your thighs were shaky, the skin slick with the spill of your arousal but you managed not to fall to the floor. Kiba steadied you with his free hand, groaning in his throat as you knelt before him. His head fell back when you parted your lips and accepted him into your wet mouth.

The taste of his essence mingled with your own, sweet and bitter but definitely not unpleasant. You had never done this before and it felt so wicked as you watched Kiba come apart above you. He could barely maintain his eye contact with you, heat surging to his cheeks and his hands cradling your head in gentle reverence.

His hips jerked, your fingers sinking into his ass that flexed beneath your touch as he kissed against your throat. The muscles constricted and he faltered. "Oh fuck, so close sweetheart."

Your teeth unsheathed carefully, tongue running the length of the litany of veins that ran his shaft and teeth grazing his sensitive flesh until his fingers seized and you felt the hot spurts of his release. It poured down your throat until you pulled back, the rest pooling on your pink tongue.

Kiba panted and whined, losing himself in the moment and the feel of your scorching mouth, chest heaving with each laboured inhale. You showed him the milky seed that coated your tongue, watching his eyes roll to the back of his skull the second after you swallowed audibly and opened up to show your now empty mouth.

The seconds ticked by and neither of you moved as your breathing slowly returned to normal. How gorgeous he looked to you, spent and blushing. The massive frame of his body–Kiba’s body–completely undone by your actions and your body.

"That's one way to get over Hidan," he groused, trying to turn from you.

You were not going to allow him to step away from this, two hearts were on the line and you refused to see him in pain. You stood abruptly, possibly a mistake given how your thighs quaked but not giving a shit at the moment. You pulled him back to you, arms resting over his wide shoulders and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Pouring every bit of love and desire into your expression, you fixed him with a sincere smile and watched his eyes widen and soften, the creases smoothing out to reveal his true self, the one you were intimately familiar with.

"Who?"

[chaifootsteps]

unless the writers want to rush wrapping it up, the DHORKs plotline has once again been left hanging

normally for this show I would think them doing some follow up on the last episode, especially if they actually show Via's feelings about it, is a good thing

but it's a bit annoying because DHORKs should have been the thing to shake the foundations of the show's world and they are far more tied to something the main characters did (got screwed around on earth) than the Stella/Andy plotline which was just a knock on effect of Stolas committing adultery

but they just keep being shoved to the back of the queue. is Viv just going to save them actually doing something for the s4 end of show finale when she's run out of Goetia-related plotlines to drive into the ground?

I don't think she ever intended them to do anything but show up and be quote unquote funny, because this show is as shallow as a puddle and all of its natural lead-ins to deeper storytelling end up forcefully closeted.

[saleintothe90s]

504. The Macys Thanksgiving Day Parade, 1981, part 2

(part 1)

A sleepy Superman.

I love Regis saying "Hi, Mr. Hooper, you look great!" to the Sesame Street float.

FINALLY. Something interesting happens. Two actors from Hill Street Blues got out of their cop car and sang a song about NYC and dance with Ed. This is what I'm talking about. This is why I watch these old parades. This is my favorite part of that parade.

Ed says gruffly "Who are YOU?!" to Strawberry Shortcake. He shows her a parade from the past in super fast motion. Because? I don't know why. She said the parades where she lives are short?

Aw, its Stephen Nedoroscik.

Wait, I think I need this little girl toy that shows you where to put what eyeshadow where.

Here we go, flying too close to the sun with the microwave. Are those persimmons in with that chicken?

I am just not feeling the vibes of this parade yet, I had to climb in bed and take a two hour TikTok break about thirty minutes in. They're giving Regis nothing to do, he's just standing on the other side of town going "oh, there's smokey the bear. Across the street is the natural museum of history where I went a lot as a boy".

"Hey Reege, can't you see that I'm on my coffee break?" Nah, it's just the cast of the off broadway musical Pump Boys and Dinettes. They made it to Broadway the following year! There was also a TV pilot filmed but it didn't go past that. Aw, they only sang their theme song.

I found a screw up! Susan and Bill Hayes from the soap Days of Our Lives was supposed to sing a song about the parade, well they either missed their queue, or the music messed up, something. They had to restart their performance! I've never seen that happen with the parade. Susan is wearing Strawberry Shortcake's hat.

I love that Gregory Hines is having fun and singing directly AT the camera. This is almost a Quik Bunny "Try to Remember" situation from 1990. Seriously though, Sophisticated Ladies might me my 2nd favorite part.

Ed sings again! I think this is the same song he sang last year, but this time he sings it with Kaleena Kliff from Love, Sidney.

D0nny Osmond (he was only 24!) was the star on the turkey that year.

I don't understand why NBC is making their TV starts sing SO.MUCH. Even Kim Fields and Nancy McKeon from Facts of Life had to sing. Tootie had to sit in a kangaroo! Dave Winfield the baseball player sang too?!

Ann Miller sang to a teddy bear while on a dollhouse float that was leaning a lil. DonMcClean's float was shaking pretty wildly too.

Kermit made it! He looks good!

and then Kermit and Fozzie nearly committed car terrorism.

Underdog almost knocked some people out too.

There was an Opera rendition of Hansel & Gretel, which wasn't too great, but we got this witch!

Kool and the Gang came in on a giant butterfly!

Ok, so the good copy from New Orleans runs out at 2 hours, so if you wan to see the rest of the parade you have to watch the meh copy from Richmond, VA. You guys are welcome to watch the rest of the parade, but the video quality and sound quality is really bad. I can't even enjoy the old commercials they're so fuzzy. If anybody can find me a full copy that is in ... viewing condition? put it in the comments. If its before Thanksgiving, I'll watch it.

Facebook | Etsy | Retail History Blog | Twitter | YouTube Playlist | Random Post | Ko-fi donation | instagram / threads @thelastvcr​ | tik tok @ saleintothe90s | TeePublic Store | BlueSky |

[hugintheraven]

The Undersiders and their Overwatch mains

(This will use OW1's 2/2/2 comp because that's what makes sense and will ignore any chars introduced after the point where that ceased to be relevant) (Obviously this team is initially sponsored by Thomas Calvert/Coil).

Grue: Reinhardt. He protects others, he likes how tactical Rein vs Rein can be, he's big and hits stuff, but it's not overly complicated or focused on accuracy. Brian can and does learn the other main tanks, and later on his Sigma is disgusting, but he was really happiest when it was just him and a shield trying to out-time some other guy with a shield, with the entire team on the line if either screwed up.

Hellhound: Off-Tanks. She doesn't have a main, preferring to pick a char depending on the situation(even going Mei/Brig/Winston if off-tanks are bad in the current patch), but "get in front of the enemy, get hit, hit back harder" are general themes. Was accused of cheating a few times because she runs a custom HUD mod that replaces all text with icons and all numbers with partially-filled bars; this was EVENTUALLY ruled to be assistive mode similar to colorblind mode and officially patched into the game, but she still receives online hate for it regularly(as she doesn't read and exclusively uses social media to post and look at pictures of puppies, she is able to ignore this, giving her the single healthiest relationship with social media possible for a streamer.)

Imp: Offensive flankers. She has a Sombra icon on most social media, has cosplayed as her, and many people call her a Sombra main, but Brian got the game because Aisha saw Tracer in the early advertisements and went "I want that". She does not consider it a win if her team wins. She considers it a win if the opposing team's Mercy or Widowmaker DCs, and will play any char that can accomplish that.

Skitter: Widowmaker, other snipers. Officially flex DPS, any time the Undersiders need someone to play an unusual hero in a new broken team comp, Taylor can pick them up quickly and well, but she's at her best clicking on heads and 180ing to take out Genjis and Sombras who thought no one had seen them coming up behind. Taylor is just very very good at noticing who's absent from the battle and knowing which route is easiest for them to take to get behind the team. Was laddering as Mercy/Ana with Emma's group of friends when she got scouted by Lisa. When solo-queueing she will literally play anyone to keep from getting bored.

Tattletale: Main support, heavily Ana. Shotcaller for the team, good at knowing who's high and who's low on health. Tends to tunnel vision on the fight and get taken out by flankers, but so good at keeping everyone else alive and getting her grenade onto key targets that it doesn't matter much. Lost a 1vs1 as Lucio to Taylor's Battle Mercy and sent her a friend request immediately.

Regent: Zenyatta, maybe Lucio if he's in a good mood or Brian asks nicely. Because:

The Heartbreakers are Canada's premier esports team, coached by former competitive Half-Life 1 player/asshole, Nikos Vasil. Several of his kids have shown up amongst its roster. People complain about nepotism, but the kids are actually mostly very good. Hijack and Cherish were standouts in the early days of Overwatch, with his Hanzo and her Genji working extremely well together, even if they hated everything about it. He eventually ran away and deleted all accounts, but his savings ran out and his attitude was not well-suited for a real job. So he went back to streaming with stolen wifi and his old gaming laptop. After all, if he didn't play Hanzo, no one would notice, right? Lisa spotted him in under a week and promised cash if he'd try out. His rule: No DPS. So now he's their secondary support, with a Zen that out-damages most Soldiers when he tries and at least keeps his healing orb out when he doesn't, and Alec shows up to competitions/conventions in a mask.

Other people:

Glory Girl is an obvious Pharah main, and Pancea learned to play by picking Mercy and jamming her staff directly up Pharah's butt. Amy ends up with more hours logged on AO3 than actual Overwatch despite eventually becoming extremely good as a support player/shotcaller(after leaving New Wave).

Cherish also leaves the Heartbreakers and gets picked up by Slaughterhouse, an extremely aggressive team coached by also-asshole Jacob Black(Jack / ). They peaked during dive comp. She continues to play Genji, and is still miserable.

Scion is Bobby Kotick.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

You know what would be funny? While the RDA is obsessing over Pandora's resources and providing the rich assholes with ways to extend their wrinkled existence, the rest of humanity goes “Fuck this shit! Time to fix up our planet!” Like full on terraform Earth back to its former glory.

And so, while the RDA is spending billions to send ships to terrorizing the tall, blue people, the rest of the world is having its redemption arc up until like a year after the second movie, where they’re at the point where they can go “Yoooo, wtf is the RDA doing over there? Oh, they got bored with fucking us over so they moved to alien natives? Nah, send in the Balkan people (These mfs are built different I swear, they’ll just take a breath of pandoran air and go “Umm, spicy and refreshing”). They’re sent on their way (Let’s say they arrive in 1 year flat because screw physics, this is a joke post, mf are going 4 times ftl.), beat the ever living shit out of the Ahaa cartoon villains that are the RDA personnel and teach them some, you know, human decency, queue in the best apology video of all time, leave the blue people alone, boom mission accomplished. RDA gets sued to hell and back (You know, war crimes and all of that) and even more funding goes to fixing up Earth until its basically as we know it today.

Later down the line, the na’vi need help because of some disaster, humanity sends said help, some form of actual peace is formed, Spider becomes the ambassador of human/na’vi relationships (Guy had the glow up of the century, which tends to happen when you live in a time of peace again and people actually love and care for you “ahem, Spider Sully”) Human and Na’vi truly learn about each other (Ones aren’t uncivilized savages, but people with a unique cultures and deep history. Others aren’t advanced savages with boom sticks, but, you guessed it, people with a unique cultures and deep history.) and learn from each other.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

The end

(Very unrealistic, I know)  

Ugh, my dream. The terraforming Earth part, not the humans coming back. Because the whole movie is a colonization metaphor, I'm so tentative and iffy on the Na'vi needing or wanting any help or support from humanity.

But regardless, I am obsessed with the idea of humanity healing Earth. I know that we are cynical people and are always like "This is realistic, humans are selfish and would take advantage of Pandora as we did to Earth." And I totally get that, but I also love those humans are inherently good stories. I do think the majority of people care and have empathy about other people and their situations, and the majority of problems in the world are systematic and stem from ignorance. People are uneducated or are struggling with what they have to deal with on their own, and don't have the wherewithal to care about every single other thing that is such a gigantic systematic issue. I would love for people, for everyone, to just be like yeah this isn't okay anymore lets fix it. About anything and then everything. But I digress.

I love the idea of Spider Sully and Jake being a bridge between the Na'vi and humanity. I think Jake would have to be involved as well, because honestly Spider has never been to Earth and has never been with regular humans. My man knows no human culture or traditions, really. He's like, really Na'vi biased in that way, hilariously.

Spider: Na'vi culture is better and more important, obviously.

Someone: well, what is human culture.

Spider: clearly it's test tubes, guns, air lock doors, green paper, Jesus Christ, and also tank tops.

[trudemaethien]

How about Sev/Glitch and "fill, separation, registration"? (Asdfghjkl those are genuine results i got and i have the screenshots to prove it lmfao)

how far is kashyyyk from draay 2 i wonder? (i did not check *handwave handwave*) you get one definite prompt fulfilled and vibes on the other two.

Sev is four places back from the head of the line when his attention gets drawn. “Where is your registration,” the droid intones, and a far too familiar voice responds.

“Here, you see my registration,” the clone says in a smooth cadence. He sounds like… Bard’ika trying to mind-rub some two-cred lowlife.

Does he really think he can use the Force? Does he think it’ll work on a droid? As far as Sev knows, it doesn’t. That guy is so screwed.

He doesn’t have a registered chain code either; Sev had been planning on trying to jam or slice his way past the tinnie. He needs to get off this waystation just as badly as the other clone seems to.

The droid is making increasingly obstinate noises, so Sev shoulders past the queue and steps up. “Give my brother here a pass, bolt-brain, or we’ll start realigning your vital circuitry, cozen?”

“Attempted security breach has been reported, please proceed to the waiting area without further deviation,” the droid says, and that’s enough for Sev. Who knows what it’s called down upon them.

He busts its bucket and proceeds somewhere decidedly other than where they’ve been instructed to. “Let’s go,” he growls, manhandling the other clone along with him by a firm grip on his bicep.

He hasn’t seen another clone in months. He’s not leaving him behind, not like some guys might.

“Hi,” the clone says, sarcastically hysterical, “how are you? I’m just fine, thanks for ruining my plan to keep my head down and get through here quietly, appreciate it!”

“You’re kriffing welcome, di’kut,” Sev says. “You’re plan wasn’t working, I improvised and adapted it. You packing heat?”

“Do I look like I—through a security checkpoint? You’re insane. You’re insane! Let go, I can kriffing well walk on my own. Insane,” he mutters, capping off his tirade.

“Sev, actually, a commando,” he introduces himself.

“Glitch,” the trooper grudgingly responds. “And I do have, uh…” At this juncture he flashes open his poncho a bit to reveal a honest-to-goodness lightsaber.

He does think he’s a Jedi!

Alarms have begun going off around them. Sev moves faster, as quickly as he can on his fucked leg. Glitch sees it, ducks under his arm, and loops his arm around Sev’s waist, seamlessly falling into step and taking weight off the injury.

It’s been even longer than the last time he saw his squad since Sev’s been touched, and he flinches, accidentally making overly honest eye-contact with the Jedi-clone. Now’s not the time to be thinking about the heat and press of a body against his vulnerable side, the comforting heft of a brother under his arm, the familiarity and the disparity of it being a total stranger.

Glitch is startled by it too, and his tongue reflexively darts out to wet his lips.

“So, Commando, you want to, hmmm, share the rest of our escape plan?” he asks, and Sev ruthlessly jerks his brain back into tactical mode.

First they have to make it out of here, and then they can figure out …everything else.

Lost Boys 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51594406

[gumpistol]

@king-and-his-consorts, roronoa zoro, said: “  i feel like i can’t breathe when you’re not here. ”

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐒 / accepting

   ❝ eh? but Zoro, i am here! ❞ and yet, as the captain falls quiet, his eyebrows are still scrunched together, and lips are pressed into a firm, slightly downturned line. even if what Luffy said is true, it didn’t make the bad feeling that had crept into his stomach suddenly disappear. he doesn’t like it. how does he make it go away?

   in a wide stare, charcoal irises dart over the swordsman’s face, searching quietly, as if some unknown clue would appear. but while Luffy’s face remains unreadable ( blank in his attempt to understand ), below his neck he begins to fidget. the raven-haired man’s arms start to subtly swing at his sides, one periodically reaching across his torso to scratch at the other. then the movement changes, as he begins to rock back and forth in place on the balls of his feet, palms and fingertips sporadically alternating in tapping at the sides of his thighs. something has the straw hat captain mildly stressed, anxious even.

   it’s abrupt, the way Luffy makes the decisive ( or more likely impulsive and somewhat self-serving ) move to wrap arms tightly around his first mate’s broader frame, creased brows softening. but his expression remains otherwise impassive, or to those who know the young pirate well: alert, perceptive. there’s a moment or two of pause, followed by a warm cheek being laid on Zoro’s shoulder and a ‘light’ squeeze from securely wound limbs, before silence is broken–

   ❝ i’m not going anywhere. ❞

[voxofthevoid]

I usually post these ~12 hours earlier, buuuut I queue these on Tuesday, usually, and this time, I lost track of the days/dates. That happens a lot, to be fair.

This fic is now a baby novel: 53k and counting. I only have 2.5 chapters left to write, at least.

Onto Time Travel Fuck-It Wednesday #6! Have some Nanami.

“Nanami,” Satoru greets cheerfully. “Where is he? You didn’t lose my Yuuji, did you?”

“He’s at the school with your first-years,” comes the clipped answer. Nanami opens the door wider with visible reluctance. “Come inside. We need to talk.”

Satoru whistles softly. “Sounds like I’m in trouble.”

Nanami doesn’t dignify that with an answer, turning on his heels and marching deeper into his apartment. Satoru follows, closing the door behind him, and isn’t particularly surprised to find a bottle of some liquor and a half-full glass on the coffee table. Nanami’s sitting in one corner of the couch, his hunched body and the tension thrumming in it reminding Satoru of how he found Yuuji after he introduced him to Megumi and Nobara.

That night ended very pleasantly, but Satoru doesn’t have high hopes for this conversation.

He takes the recliner opposite the couch, sinking into the plush upholstery. Nanami has the air of a man who’s considering his words. He’s dressed casually, in a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, but there’s nothing easy or comfortable about his posture or demeanor.

Sure enough—

“What exactly is your relationship with Itadori-kun?”

Satoru can’t help smiling. “You never change, Nanami.”

“Answer the question.” A split-second of hesitation, followed by— “Please.”

“You already know what Yuuji is to me. You wouldn’t bother with this little…interrogation otherwise,” Satoru points out.

He can hear Nanami grind his teeth. “You’re wrong.”

“Oh?”

“I know what you mean to Itadori-kun. I know nothing of your feelings.”

Satoru hums. “I think I should be offended.”

“Gojou-san.”

Satoru holds his arms up in a faux-conciliatory gesture. “Fine, fine. Yuuji is…” There’s a lot Satoru could say: special, beautiful, brave, damned. The list goes on, and each one is as true as the others. But in the end, it comes down to— “He’s mine.”

Nanami briefly, furiously screws his eyes shut. Satoru isn’t entirely unsympathetic, but then, what was Nanami really expecting? He should know by now not to ask questions he doesn’t want the answer to, especially if he knows them already.

Nanami says, “You’re going to kill him.”

Satoru doesn’t waver; he doesn’t allow it. “I am.”

“He knows.”

“He does.”

Dark, angry eyes skewer Satoru. “How do you justify this?”

“You’ll have to be more precise, Nanami.” Satoru smiles. Nanami gaze drops to it, and his whole face draws up tight. “What am I meant to justify? The killing? You already know why. I told you first thing. The loving? Are you saying I should’ve rejected him?”

“Yes. Obviously, you—”

“And then what?” Satoru cuts in, and he finds he can’t quite keep up that smile anymore. “Let him die a broken-hearted virgin? Why would I do that when I can give him what he wants instead?”

Nanami seems on the verge of rising from the couch and leaping at Satoru. He never will, of course. He’s one of the most controlled people Satoru has ever known. But it says something that Nanami’s tempted, and the fact that it shows is telling in its own way.

All this after two measly weeks—Yuuji really is something else.

“Don’t you dare pretend this was for his sake.” Nanami’s voice is even, but there’s an edge to the words that carve up the air between them. “You’ve never been anything but selfish, but this is downright cruel.”

“Ouch,” Satoru intones. “Tell me what you really feel.”

Nanami ignores him. “You can’t be so idiotic as to think it’s better for Itadori-kun to be killed by a lover.”

“Have you asked him? No, I know you haven’t. You should. The answer might surprise you.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Nanami snaps. “That’s not a question any child should have to answer. And you—”

Satoru tilts his head to the side, watching Nanami’s mouth flatter into an even thinner line. “Go on.”

Nanami’s silent for the longest time. It’s not anything as wise as hesitance. His eyes are burning, and there’s a red tint to his ears and cheeks that has nothing to do with the half-drained glass of alcohol on the table. Nanami’s filters might be lower than usual or ideal, but he’s not lacking clarity.

There’s the fleeting thought that maybe Satoru should have answered some of his calls, just to let him get it out of his system in increments, all from a safe distance. Yuuji would have expertly handled Nanami in the aftermath, he’s sure. He might even have scolded Satoru, which is always delightfully novel.

But Satoru’s finding it hard to summon any real regret. He doesn’t want to antagonize Nanami. He understands where he’s coming from. He’s even glad, albeit in a distant way he can’t really feel at the moment, that Nanami’s already grown to care so much for Yuuji. He knows it’ll make Yuuji happy.

Still, something grates.

“Do you not care?” Nanami finally asks, so softly that Satoru’s skin prickles in alarm. “Or did killing your last lover rob you of whatever humanity you had left?”

Satoru laughs.

Mouth open, head thrown back, loud and unfettered.

He laughs until his eyes burn and throat aches, and he knows, the full might of the Six Eyes trained on Nanami despite the laughter racking his body, that it’s not the reaction Nanami expected. His expression is caught halfway between anger and surprise, and the end result is strangely comical. That doesn’t help Satoru calm down any.

It’s not funny, of course.

You don’t wield jujutsu to protect anything. You only use it for self-satisfaction.

None of this is funny.

By the time his laughter tapers off, the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“And you call me cruel,” Satoru says, still a little breathless. “Sometimes, Nanami, I think I can’t forgive you after all.”

To his credit, Nanami recovers quickly. “I don’t need your forgiveness.”

“I will anyway,” Satoru says, head still tipped back. He forces his eyes to focus on the blue-grey ceiling instead of Nanami. “Not for your sake. Not even for mine. But we didn’t survive this long to fight now. Yuuji would be sad.”

A strangled sound escapes Nanami. “Gojou—”

The front door bangs open.

“Nanamin,” crows a familiar voice. “I’m home!”

“Shit,” Nanami curses softly.

Satoru stays put, but his attention is a different matter, fixating on Yuuji’s presence with a fervor that burns him from blood to bone. It takes only seconds for him to enter the living room, and Satoru knows the exact moment Yuuji spots him.

His whole body sings.

“Satoru,” Yuuji gasps, distilled delight. “You’re back!”

Satoru raises his head, the smile on his mouth as helpless as it’s real. “Surprise. Did you miss me?”

[the-s1lly-corner]

Y'know what? Screw it, the mpreg idea has wormed its way inside my head already, and it's been intrusive ever since-

Hey Silly, can I officially request for a KND Father mpreg hcs/imagine? Not a joke, very serious.

Take as long as you need because I'm gonna inhale this like its dopamine when it comes out.

Advanced (๑`✪̤◡✪̤)◞ღԵհɑղƘՏღ

Pregnant Benedict headcanons

We've opened the can of worms and theyve spilled onto the floor, look at what you've done Anon who initially started this! Not even going to bother with the queue <\3

Notes: Implied trans male Benedict (based tbh), reader is GN, mostly fluff post

CWs: Pregnancy stuff

Very. Tired. Actually a lot of his evil plans come to a halt during the pregnancy and after during his recovery- probably reverts to his non shadowy form due to just being so... over it

Cranky but not fuming, mostly just tired

Defenses around the mansion are really amped up because he is not at all in the mood to deal with the KND most days

Might even put his foot down with the delightfuls to make sure they dont pick fights and bring the KND to their home

Which... doesnt do much considering they semi routinely get robbed by them (cough cough that episode where numbuh 5 breaks in to steal their chips, the lice episode)

Mansion is massive so theres plenty of room for another member to join the household, you guys decorate the room together so that's nice

Asides from emotional support there arent many duties for you to attend to thanks to the staff working around the mansion

Do you guys thinks he would get clingy with his S/o and seek out affection more than he normally would

[heylittleriotact]

✨Writing Interview Tag Game✨

Thanks you for the tag @preciouslittlebhaalbae - sorry this took absolutely forever to get to!

When did you start writing?

As soon as I was taught that a story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I was the weird savant kid in first grade that was writing far above the level of my peers, but my teacher became concerned about the content of my writing because it was all really graphic, vicious, violent horror stories that included scenarios like two girls walking home from school and finding a severed head on the playground - complete with a vivid description of its dead eyes and the gravel sticking to the gore and strips of flesh and viscera at the base of the neck. I got sent for some counselling sessions and was told by the adults in my life that I was a very talented writer, but that I should write nice stories that are happy and make people feel good. Clearly that didn't stick. Thank fuck for that.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I've been very lax on reading for the past ten years or so. I haven't been able to get into things or maintain focus on novels long enough to get properly into them, but I do enjoy a good biography or autobiography.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I'm very paranoid about my voice sounding too much like someone else's. I've been reading more recently than I have in years and it's reaaaaally screwing with my confidence when I start putting things on paper because I start questioning if it sounds derivative and has been subliminally influenced by the author I'm currently reading. I have been told in the past more than once that my style is reminiscent of Ne*l G*iman which is a compliment that has aged like milk, sadly.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I focus the best at work lol. I just chuck in a headphone, queue up some music, pull out my notebook and my fountain pen and away I go. I have a big, beautiful white marble topped reception desk and massive windows that look out into downtown. The reception area has nice warm pot-lights on dimmers so I don't have to suffer under fluorescent lights like everyone else. Overall 10/10 super cozy.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Music is a big one. I make character playlists for almost every major character I write with a mix of lyrical and instrumental music. It really helps me nail down motivations, personality, flaws, and how they feel.

Aside from that, going out and doing something always helps. Participating in something, observing people - all really great ways to find little pieces of life to cannibalize and turn into words.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Hahahahahahahahahahaha

Alcoholism/substance abuse

PTSD/C-PTSD

Many other mental illnesses

Death and mortality

Magic as an entropic force that is largely misunderstood by those who study it

The first time I clocked the recurring nature of these themes I was like "huh" and now I just embrace them.

What is your reason for writing?

It's something I've always been compelled to do. As an abused child, it was very much an escape when I was young. As an abused adult, it was very much an escape when I got older. Writing has always been a great way for me to work through things that I've otherwise felt I have no control over. I can literally do whatever I want and it's very liberating.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

All of them. Any of them. The fact that anyone would take the time to not only read my writing, but also take the time to comment on it and give me their thoughts about it, how it made them feel, what they liked etc. is so meaningful to me. I write for myself and I don't change plots/directions based on what I think or know readers would like, so to have people trust in my vision and the direction it's going in and still come along for the ride is huge for me.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Hmmmm. I've never really thought about it. Mysterious and sexy, but pleasant and supportive seems like a nice way to be perceived.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I've been told that I have a knack for battle/fight scenes, violence, and gore, which is unsurprising when one considers my tendencies when I wrote as a child.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I'm glad to be doing it again in the first place. I stopped altogether a few months into 2017 because I had used it as a coping mechanism for various abuses and traumas over the years, and then escaped the abuse and no longer required a coping mechanism. Anytime I tried to pick up a pen after that I just triggered myself and felt reminded of all the horrid reasons that I wrote in the first place.

Such a long gap has fucked with my skill and writing style and it's extremely noticeable when you hold up what I was working on in 2017 next to what I put out these days, but it's not necessarily a bad thing: the me that wrote like that doesn't exist anymore and that's okay. I'm having fun getting to know how I write now.

I very much danced around writing explicit sexual content for years on account of my face turning red and me giggling like a twelve year old every time I tried for years, but this year I've put serious effort into writing more smut and getting better at it. It's by no means perfect, but I'm really proud of how confidently I can approach sexual content these days.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

If I get too hung up on what other people want or might like I literally feel my characters cease to be mine and start to become weird gaseous inconsistencies in my mind. My stories deal with heavy themes, darkness, and personal struggles that I try to convey in a realistic way and that's not for everyone. Sometimes I wish I could just write nice happy stories like they told me to when I was a kid, but I feel like forcing myself into a box that isn't for me would be a betrayal to myself and this odd talent with words that I have.

Smut though? That's all about people-pleasing. Smut is written for me to enjoy, and you to enjoy, and anyone who comes across it to enjoy.

My brain is sore now so I won't tag anyone, but feel free to steal this if you'd like to!