#this drawing is three years old. jesus christ

[jxthics]

(id in alt)

from the archives: book geregis!

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

🍂🍁🎃

❤️ just some tooth rotting fluff involving Eddie and his not so secret admirer

🎃💌

Eddie was in hell. Who's idea was it to do this stupid shit again?

A banner hung from outside the school that proclaimed today was Boo Day 👻🎃 a day dedicated to your boo (partner) or someone you admired.

Who had came up with this monstrosity you ask? Why that was Miss O'Donnell. She had the idea to have the day before Halloween dedicated to love. Where she had even had an idea like that was anyone's guess but Eddie was pretty certain that the old bat had lost her mind.

Or teaching Eddie for three years had finally driven her crazy.

Everywhere he looked people were cooing over mystery cards that they had gotten from a secret admirer.

This was another thing he hated about this whole day, he had to suffer through Valentine's Day, now he has to go through this shit as well? Who the hell would send him a card like that?

He'd be slightly jealous if he didn't think this was load of bullshit.

He dodges excited students dressed up as ghosts and pumpkins, students who Miss O'Donnell had cajoled into delivering cards and gifts to people who had participated in the card and gift exchange.

Finally there is a hint of escape when he barges into the drama room and breathes a sigh of relief. Jesus h Christ that was a nightmare.

It takes Eddie a second to realise that he's not alone. His heart skips a beat when he realises you're with him.

🎃💌

You're settled on one of the desks with a serene smile on your face that disappears the moment you hear the door open.

Once you see it's just Eddie and no loved up couples looking for a place to make out, you feel yourself relaxing once more.

"Hey Eddie" the haggard look on his face morphs into a genuine smile, all cute dimples and big brown eyes lighting up.

He was so cute and you had the biggest crush on him and you had planned to tell him, today in fact but his loud proclamation that this day was all a bunch of bullshit made you chicken out of handing him the card you made.

You doubted he felt the same anyway, he probably had a crush on one of the cheerleaders or someone like that.

Even if he said he didn't conform to societal standards you still caught him checking out the cheerleaders once or twice. You weren't a cheerleader or popular or anything like that, you just did what you liked and right now that was occasionally joining in on a Hellfire campaign or drawing or writing, honestly anything creative was your thing.

"So do you not have a secret admirer you made a card for?" Eddie teases and you clam up, avoiding his eyes.

"Maybe it's not like he feels the same though" you murmur and notice that Eddie isn't smiling anymore, in fact he looks kinda pissed and a little sad.

"Right, so I guess it's some popular douchebag or something?" He mutters and you try to figure out why his mood has suddenly changed so dramatically.

Was he jealous of who you liked? Didn't he realise that it was him you were smitten by. Shit what if he didn't... Feeling brave you decide to tell him how you feel and hope that he feels the same way or at least things aren't awkward between you after it all.

"It's you. I made a card for you Eddie" shit you wish the ground would swallow you up. The waiting to know how he felt was horrendous, if he laughed in your face you're sure that you'd high tail it out of here.

Instead of laughing he's gawking at you and you're ready to leave and hope to forget this all but something in his expression stops you.

"Maybe I should thank Miss O'Donell after all then" he's grinning widely and looks thrilled. "Can I see the card sweetheart?" flustered you nod and hand him the card.

It has a hand drawn picture of a pumpkin patch and you wrote inside if you were a pumpkin I would pick you 🎃❤️

Cheesy yes but you thought it was cute. Now however you're second guessing that decision and mortification fills you. Shit. This was a bad idea.

The anxiety leaves you when Eddie looks up at you smiling, he hides his face with his hair and it's so adorable.

"Aww shucks sweetheart, that's so cute. Just so you know I feel the same about you, I like you a lot princess and I'm thinking that maybe I could take you on a date"

Beaming you kiss his cheek and nod. "Where were you thinking?" he holds up your card and points to the pumpkin.

"I'm thinking of visiting the Pumpkin patch in town" he suggests and the idea is so perfect that you can't help but giggling.

"Sounds perfect"

🎃❤️

[theragethatisdesire]

"ti penso ogni giorno" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

first fic! kind of threw this together while traveling and had no beta readers, so please be nice to me. i've been spending some time in the italian countryside and got a little inspired.

pairing: reader x eren jaeger

wc: 7.5k (jesus christ)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, unprotected sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, princess), slight breeding kink (if you squint) crying, multiple orgasm, creampie, aftercare

**title means "i think about you every day" in italian :')

Standing on top of this mountain looking over unfamiliar fields, you don’t remember a time in the recent past you’ve felt so at peace, the quiet fluttering of the sparrows easing the ever-present ache in your heart.

It was a tasteful ceremony. A small church in the middle of the Chianti region, in a little town with a name you couldn’t pronounce, decorated with so many candles that the room was sweltering, even with the breeze wafting in from the hills. Mikasa and Jean’s little girl, Clara, had played the role of flower girl perfectly; you hadn’t seen her since she was a newborn, and there she was, toddling down the aisle on fat little three-year-old legs. Historia and Ymir were beautiful brides, practically unchanged over the years, still as consumed with each other as they had been in college.

Even now, you distinctly remember a drunken night when Ymir promised Historia that she would take her to Europe one day, and here she was, marrying her beloved blonde in the heart of Italy. Another memory surfaces, parallel to that one, of someone looping an arm around your waist as you watched college-Ymir make her declaration, a whisper in your ear of the same promise. You pack that up and tuck it away as soon as it surfaces, scratching at your elbow.

“What are you doing out here?” Mikasa’s voice is behind you, drawing closer. You smile down at Clara, holding her mother’s hand and wobbling out into the grass.

“Just thinking,” you sigh, swishing your wine around in its glass, “I should come back in and join the party.”

“They just finished the champagne toast, but you haven’t missed the first dance,” Mikasa agrees.

You take Clara’s other hand and reluctantly allow yourself to be led back into the thick of things, the two of you swinging the little girl between you. Her shrieks of joy make you smile in spite of yourself, calming the nerves fluttering around in your stomach. Years had passed and things had changed, you and everyone else around you included.

It was a gorgeous reception, even more beautiful than the ceremony. They’d chosen a huge stone patio outside of the massive villa they’d rented, covered by columns of stone arching up to form a roof and dripping with flowered vines. It was exactly what you would’ve chosen, so beautiful it didn’t need decoration. Simple, natural, Tuscan.

“He didn’t bring a date,” Mikasa murmurs to you as you enter the terrace, scanning the room for Jean. She didn’t need to specify who “he” was; you had seen him at the ceremony, longer hair than you remembered, two rows ahead of you. Even if you hadn’t, the sad truth was there was really only one “he” for you, and Mikasa knew that.

“What do you want me to do with that?” You respond, trying and failing to mask your discomfiture with irritation.

“Whatever you want,” Mikasa shrugs, vague as always, scooping Clara up onto her hip and striding across the tented reception to Jean. You watch her go, watch Jean take Clara and kiss Mikasa, envy and self-pity clawing at your heart.

Ymir and Historia chose a slower song than you expected; it must be Historia’s doing that they were doing a first dance at all. Ymir had made it exceptionally clear during the bachelorette trip that all of the frills were to make Historia happy, and she was mostly looking forward to the honeymoon. The memory makes you snort into your empty wine glass, until you catch a glimpse of green eyes across the room.

Eren’s suit is more expensive than anything you knew he owned, sharp at the corners and resembling something your boss’ boss would wear. Mikasa had mentioned months ago that Eren and Zeke’s business was really taking off, but you find yourself wondering if these were the clothes he wore now, or if it was a splurge. He’s staring at you, no surprise there. Breakup aside, Eren’s the most possessive person you’ve ever known, and anything that was his is always his, at least from his point of view. That was part of the problem, you reflect, tracing your red fingernail around the rim of your wine glass.

The first dance concludes and amidst the applause, waiters begin circling the room with hors d'oeuvres, little bits of smoked salmon and crudite platters. After the travel and ceremony, you’re ravenous, and you begin weaving your way through the crowd to track down a tray with carbohydrates on it.

You’re halfway through stuffing a croquette into your mouth when Armin interrupts you, chuckling. “Hungry?”

“I only flew over this morning,” you excuse yourself, dabbing at your mouth with a cocktail napkin. Armin doesn’t care, you know that, but after the last few years of cocktail hours with the most influential magazine and website owners in the world, manners are second-nature.

“At least it was a short flight. You came from…Belgium?”

“Moscow,” you shrug, “four hour flight into Milan, two hour train, hour long car service.”

“Car service?” Armin cocks an eyebrow. “Haven’t you gotten fancy over the years?”

You blush, embarrassed. “Did you fly from the states?”

“Shanghai, actually.” Armin’s face shows it, still puffy from the flight. “I don’t even know how many hours, just that it was long.”

“I’ve made that flight,” you say, empathizing, “not a fun one.”

“I was able to throw some miles from my company card into it and get first class, though, it was the nicest-”

“Can I join you two?” Your heart drops. You knew he was watching you, he’s always watching you, but to be so bold as to interrupt a conversation, speak to you here? Now?

“Sure, Eren,” Armin steps to the side to make room for Eren at the high-top table you’ve found yourselves gathering around, “we were just catching up on our flights over.”

Eren nods, masterfully collected as he smiles politely at you. “I actually had business over here, so I left New York maybe…a week ago, now? It wasn’t bad at all, our company card covers first-class flights.”

Some strange mix of annoyance and being impressed swells in your throat. You take a swig of wine to swallow it, not trusting yourself to resist throwing out a snarky comment or alternatively inquiring about where this first-class-covering business card came from. You don’t owe him the satisfaction. Armin nods politely, but you can see the tension in his smile. The history between Eren and you could stretch for miles of scorched earth, and it’s no secret. You imagine that earth, black and smoking, half-finished houses with white picket fences smoldering down to their foundations.

“So,” Eren breaks the silence, turning to you, “where did you come in from?”

“Moscow.” One-word answers, minimal detail, you assure yourself in your head. He won’t get his claws in you this time if you don’t let him.

“Moscow is beautiful,” Eren sips the bourbon that you had considered throwing in his face when he approached, “but a little cold this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It was very nice, actually,” you can’t help disagreeing for the sake of it, “I was only in town for a few days covering a story, anyway.” Shit. You’ve betrayed yourself already and revealed a detail. Eren’s smile curls up over his cheeks like a cat that’s found a trapped mouse. You kick yourself inwardly.

“Hear that, Armin? Our little bookworm is still writing.”

You roll your eyes at the old nickname from college, earned by your constant pleas to stay in for a comfy night instead of a frat party. You had read over 350 books in college, breaking your four-year goal by at least fifty. Eren used to beg you to tell him the stories you read before bed like a child, because he couldn’t be bothered to read the actual book and it sounds so much more interesting when you read it, baby. And up until the last three years, you had obliged him. Now, the only person you read to sleep is yourself.

“I made a career out of it,” you snip, “so yes, still writing.”

“Clara’s getting into the wedding cake- I don’t see Mikasa, shit, one sec-” Armin’s sentence is cut short by the speed with which he darts away from the pair of you, running off towards a table on the other side of the room. You don’t necessarily blame him, but you seethe anyway, vowing to repay him for abandoning you.

“Career, hm?” Eren hums pleasantly. “Work’s going well, then?”

You snatch a second glass of wine off of a passing tray, wanting more than anything to walk away from him, but you both know your feet won’t move. Getting a nice buzz going is your only option, at this point. You take a healthy swig, shrugging. “I enjoy it, and it pays.” 

“That’s a beautiful dress,” Eren murmurs, quiet and thoughtful. You blush and frown all at once.

“Says the one wearing a $6,000 suit.”

“Is it?” Eren fingers his lapel. He looks amused, and you want to smack the faux-bashfulness right off of his face. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“Your work must be going exceedingly well, then,” you glare, seeing right through him. The facade falters for just a moment, a critical moment: Eren almost looks sad.

“The business took off about a year ago,” he’s not looking at you, focusing on something in the distance, “so I’m traveling almost constantly now. I hardly see Zeke, my only company is usually just my assistant or a flight attendant. I love visiting a new city every week, but it’s…”

“Lonely?” You finish for him before you can stop yourself. He nods, looking surprised.

“Your work keeps you on the go now, too?”

“I switched over to a rolling travel schedule two years ago, when Rolling Stone started their global music column. It ended up being super popular and I’m the lead journalist, so I’m basically running all over the world listening to the weirdest music you can imagine. They had me head over to Berlin one time to cover the ‘rising alien punk scene’; it was…really something.” You pull a funny face at the memory, Eren laughs, a deep, real laugh from the belly. You can hear yourself rambling, revealing, but you can’t stop. It’s so natural that the realization of falling back into yourself, the self that loved Eren, is making your skin crawl. You should walk away, look for an out-

“Have you explored the grounds at all?”

Eren’s question snaps you out of your moment of clarity, back into his magnetic field. “The grounds?”

“This house,” Eren gestures to the villa that Ymir and Historia have rented for their closest friends, “sits on over a thousand acres of vineyard. The best wine in the world.”

“I can tell,” you examine the legs on your glass of red, provided by the vineyard itself, “it’s not my usual French, but it’s incredible.”

“Snob,” Eren grins at you. You have always been a picky wine drinker, Eren used to joke that you could pass a sommelier test without even taking the course. “So, the grounds?”

He offers you an elbow. You look at it, weighing but not really weighing your options, and slip your arm through his, feeling the rapid thudding of your pulse. You’re fairly sure if anyone looked closely at your neck, they’d see the frantic heartbeat insistently pushing right under your skin. You tell yourself it will only be a short walk, just a few minutes, because you do want to see the grounds, even if it’s with the last person you should be spending any time with. You hope that you’ll be able to sneak out without catching Mikasa’s eye.

Eren tugs you along, prattling on about the history of the vineyard, entirely unaware that you’re not listening. This Eren is so different from the Eren you left in New York, but still similar, still feels like home. His nose and jaw have only grown stronger with age, but his eyes still have a youthful glimmer, even if they seem sharper and more intense than you’ve ever seen them. It’s unlikely that he’s physically grown even taller between 23 and 26, but his presence makes him seem like the tallest man in the room. He’s self assured, confident, and in charge, in a manlier, more mature way that you’ve never seen before. A heat simmers in your stomach as you admire the curve of his strong neck, and you want to swat your own hand, tell yourself to settle down. It’s just a walk.

“I think I could die happy here,” Eren says, looking over the view you’ve approached, about a half mile from the rest of the party now. You chuckle.

“A beautiful view and some good wine is all it takes?”

“That’s most of it, these days,” Eren shrugs, “but I do need cable. And-”

“A television, a gym, at least one case of shitty domestic beer in the house at all times,” you count off on your fingers.

“For starters,” Eren concedes with a shy grin. “And a wife.”

Those last two words cause your heart to stop altogether. You look around, realizing just how far you are from the villa, how alone you are with him. The sun is setting reluctantly around you both, sinking slowly, holding onto the landscape with an iron grip.

“That would be nice,” you stammer, “f-for you, definitely.”

“Want to explore this building over here?” As if nothing out of the ordinary happened, Eren points out a smaller home down the hill from you both. “It’s really cool inside.”

You trudge along beside him, having kicked off your heels and left them at the reception long ago, and a fresh wave of anger kicks up in your chest. It was just so quintessentially Eren; drop a bomb, and then act like nothing happened. It reminds you that there are aspects of Eren you can’t stand, and that reminder instills you with the confidence to seclude yourself with him in the charming little stone house.

It is really cool. No window panes in the entire bottom floor, just the fresh vineyard air rolling in. There’s a little kitchenette, some various odds and ends of sofas and chairs sprawling across the clay-bricked floors. A huge table, clearly made for workers’ lunch breaks over the centuries, squats in the middle of the bottom floor, and racks of wine cover the walls. You break away from him to pick up a bottle or two, examine the label, brush off some dust.

Eren grants you a few moments to yourself before you sense him behind you, closer than you want to consider.

“Anything good?” He says, peering right over your shoulder from the sound of it.

You turn around before you can regret it, chest to chest with him. He’s hunching his head to make the best eye contact with you he can, the way he’s always done. You focus on breathing normally, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how his proximity still affects you after all these years. “A ‘92 vintage Chianti. They actually talked about this wine in my sommelier course; I didn’t even realize this was the same vineyard.”

“You took the course?” Eren smiles crookedly, an endearing grin that you’ve always loved. You smile despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly, “I took the course.”

Eren grins wider, and thankfully leaves you there, striding across the room to shuffle through the kitchen drawers. When he returns, he’s holding a wine key and two glasses. You cock your head, confused.

“It’s supposed to be the best, huh? Crack it open.”

“Eren…” you trail off, holding the bottle gingerly, “this bottle has to be over a thousand dollars. We can’t do it.”

“Did I forget to mention this is my bunk for the trip?” He smiles again, his prominent canines glinting in the sunset light streaming in, gesturing around the room grandly; your knees nearly buckle at the sight. “Bedroom’s upstairs. Ymir and Historia said any of the wine’s up for grabs. It’s the owners’ fault if they left the good stuff out for us to get into, and it’s on my tab anyway.”

You’re nearly speechless, not only that Eren got an entire house to himself (he’s always been the spoiled brat of the friend group), but that he tricked you into coming here, with him. When you fail to respond, he takes it simply as more reluctance to open the bottle, and he grabs the bottle from you and starts to dig the corkscrew in through the top.

You let a few beats pass, considering your options as he pours the wine. When he finally hands you the glass, you give voice to your thoughts, testing the waters. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you love wine and the house is cool,” Eren shrugs innocently, taking a sip, “damn, that’s good. Try it.”

You hold your glass stock-still in your hands. “We’re done with…what we used to do, you know. That’s not what’s going on here.”

The air sparkles with dust; Eren’s demeanor stutters, a small frown working its way onto his face. “Just try the wine, babe.”

Your heart flutters, your stomach sinks, your memories with Eren shriek from the back of your mind. The pet name is too familiar, too easy, and it brings a cold chill over you. As you’re prone to do, your panic comes shooting out coated in snark.“Babe? Yeah, no, I’m done-”

“Sorry, sorry– it was a mistake, force of habit,” Eren’s already apologizing as you’re talking; you hate how he can still anticipate your reaction before you can give it. He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, rolling his eyes, “a mistake. Try your wine, you don’t know when you’re going to stumble across that again.”

You let him hold your wrist, enjoying the pressure of his strong hands into the delicate flesh of your arm despite yourself. You look between him, the wine, the room several times, as if you’re weighing your decision. You know what you’re going to choose, but maybe you can pretend that he doesn’t know, too. Eren’s willing to play along, eyes wide and pleading.

Without breaking your gaze, you carefully taste the wine. Damn him, it is good. It has a complexity of flavor and a depth to it that’s incredibly rare, even in the French countryside wines you tend to favor. Even though you fight it, you smile at him and offer your glass for him to pour more.

The bottle passes quickly, both of you settling yourselves in chairs at the kitchen table, discussing old friends, new friends, reminiscing on the college years when you were both a little happier and a little less sane. You hardly notice the sun setting further, the smallest bits of twilight leaking into the corners of the sky.

“Your teeth are so red,” you giggle, head spinning. The wine was delicious, delicious enough for Eren to pop open a second bottle, but God, was it strong. You aren’t sure how you’ll manage the walk back up to the reception- is the reception even still going on?

“So are yours,” Eren pinches your cheek, giggling drunkenly along with you.

“God, you’re right.” You place a finger onto your teeth, rubbing frantically at the wine stains to no avail. Eren reaches a wobbling hand out to pull your fingers out of your mouth, shaking his head. He frowns and shakes his head, childlike.

“Don’t take them off.”

“The wine stains?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? They make teeth look dirty,” you laugh again, trying to shove your finger back into your mouth where Eren’s holding it.

“I…okay, maybe it’s weird, but I always thought it was kind of sexy when your teeth were all red from wine,” Eren blushes, and it’s so childishly endearing that you can feel your heart swell.

“Really?”

“I never told you that?” Eren looks astonished, chuckling under his breath. “It drove me crazy back when we were together. You’d go to Historia’s, or Sasha’s, or whoever’s and down a bottle or two of red and come stumbling back into that crappy apartment in Harlem-”

“-the one with the mean bodega lady outside!”

“Yes!” Eren snaps his fingers, pointing at you excitedly. “Anyway, you’d come waddling back in, hair a mess and wine all over your teeth, your lips would be bright purple, and you’d always be so horny-”

“Eren!”

“It’s true! You’d ride me for an hour before you knocked out.” Eren sipped his wine, smiling in a private way that you felt was just for you.

“An hour seems like a bit of a stretch,” you murmur, looking down into your glass. You’ve almost finished your wine and you shouldn’t have any more, the reception is waiting for you and you’ve been gone with Eren long enough that you’ve been missed at this point. When you pull your head up, Eren looks different. It’s a familiar face on a new man: his eyes have a mischievous glimmer in them, the sunset winking at you through his green irises.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips; your mind wanders to that tongue, those lips. Mentally, you dance over what you know those lips and tongue can do, how they feel on your mouth, your neck, between your legs. Your wine-addled mind tries to shake the persistent thought. Eren reaches a hand over to your mouth, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the corner of your lips.

“Still think it looks sexy,” he mumbles, half-drunk and half expecting a stern reprimand from you. His eyes search your face, curious of your reaction. It’s the moment you’ve been running around the world from for the last three years, finally coming to fruition here in this little house. 

You embarrass and surprise yourself simultaneously: tears well in your eyes. You want him; you’re drunk and beautiful and desperate for him in the beautiful countryside of Italy, but he’s so bad for you. They’re tears that have been waiting behind your eyes, tears of frustration and desire.

“Why are you crying?” Eren asks, furrowing his brow. You know he knows, he understands you and your emotions better than anyone. You’re angry with him, angry that he knows the source of your tears before you open your mouth.

“We’re done, Eren,” you fail miserably to steel your voice, “we can’t do this anymore, remember? It’s not good for us.”

“It’s been three years, baby,” Eren responds, still rubbing his thumb over your lips, “three years of growing. We’re different now– I’m different.”

“No,” you sniffle, feeling like a child. Whether he’s changed or not is still up for debate, but your sore heart can only take so much. He’s so beautiful, soaked in sun and wine and temptation, simpering at you. Your resolve is weakening by the second.

“Yes,” Eren insists, “it’s me. You belong to me, you know you do.”

“Eren–”

“You always do this, always try to run from me, but I’ll always find you,” he murmurs, “I’ll go to every corner of the earth if I need to. I’ll always find you because you’re mine.”

You’d love to say that he leaned in, he grabbed your face and pulled you to him, but you’d be lying. It’s you who leans forward ever so slightly, catching your chapped lips in his and kissing him tentatively. You wouldn’t be lying if you told anyone that he sighed into your mouth, ready to feel your body under his hands again. You wouldn’t be lying in the slightest.

Eren allows you a few tentative kisses, a few pecks against his lips, familiar and new all the same. Once you’ve had your fill of shyness, your obligatory ruse of unassuredness, he reaches for you, scooping you into his lap. You straddle him, whimpering at the friction of his already-growing bulge against your clothed cunt. He has to push your dress up to allow you room to spread your legs over him; you’re wearing a slinky little silk number, a gorgeous deep brown against your tanned skin, but not cooperative for lap-sitting.

Eren’s tongue is practically down your throat, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you have to pull away for air, hands roaming your now-bare thighs.

“This dress,” he pants between kisses, “is so fucking perfect on you. Look so good for me.”

You sigh into his mouth, running your hands through his hair. Off to the side of your mind, you realize you may have knocked his hair out of its bun, but the dark locks feel so soft in your fingers, you can’t bring yourself to apologize for it. He’s wrapping his hands around your ass; Eren always loved your full hips, and it seems that that fact hasn’t changed.

Your hands find their way to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He’s grown stronger over the years, definitive muscles rippling under your fingers, but the broadness he’s always possessed is still there. He’s large compared to you, twice as wide and at least a head taller, and you loathe to admit it, but it turns you on. You love the way he manhandles you, the way he pushes and pulls you exactly how he wants you, the way he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, rocking them against his own.

A particularly well-placed thrust of his hips against yours elicits a wanton groan from you, spilling into his mouth. Eren moans back, moving away from your lips to mouth his way down your throat.

“Gonna sit you up now, okay?”

He stands, knocking the chairs aside on his way up, to set you on the table, the perfect height for him to grope at you, pull your dress this way and that.

“Wanna get this thing off, will you let me?”

You hesitate, or try to, at least. His hands are dizzying, flying all over your body and squeezing at just the right spots as he nibbles on your earlobe. “But, the reception–”

“Sh, sh, sh. We’re so far away, baby, they’ll never even know, yeah?” Eren goads you and you’re putty in his hands, the rapidly-shrinking rational part of your brain growing quieter with each kiss, each pet. He manages to wrench your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but a stringy pair of panties. Eren steps back to look over you; you resist the urge to cover yourself. You know his routine.

“Fuck,” Eren breathes, palming your tits, “you’re perfect, do you know that? So beautiful just for me, aren’t you?”

You flush pink from your chest to your forehead. Even after years of love and war and running, his bedroom talk still gets to you. Eren loves to tell you what he thinks of you, and you’ve never managed to grow accustomed to hearing it.

“Say it.”

“Hm?” You hum, preoccupied with his mouth pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts, even pausing to suck a bruise into the side of your left.

“Say you’re beautiful, tell me how pretty you are for me.”

This part is new; Eren has always loved to talk to you in bed, but your participation in the dirty talk has been minimal until now. Your blush grows even deeper. “I’m beautiful, beautiful just for you.”

“Good girl,” Eren purrs, allowing you to pull his head closer to your chest. His tongue swirls around one nipple. He closes his lips around it, sucking hard, and you moan openly, pulling him closer. Eren grins, letting his teeth pinch down on it. “You still like when I play with your tits, hm?”

“Yes,” you hiss, too caught up in pleasure to address his smugness.

“Know you baby, know you inside and out. These tits are mine,” a hand wanders down to your cunt, swiping across your panties and feeling the wetness that soaks them, “and this pussy’s mine too. You might not love me anymore, but your body– oh, she loves me.”

You have no way to respond to that, no way to address what those words do to your brain. Chagrin as you might be to admit it, he’s right. Eren was your first and only adult relationship, fucking your body into submission for years and training it, training your cunt to respond to him and the way he liked to touch you. He’s pushed and prodded you into his perfect little fuckdoll, and you let him and you loved it. You loved every second of it, and god does it feel good rushing back to you now, finally under his hands again after years without.

Eren nudges your panties to the side, rubbing quick circles over your clit, just the way you like it. A long, heady whine leaks from your lips, your hips urgently roll towards him.

“Missed me? Is that it?” Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smug grin on his lips. Eren loves when you’re needy for him.

“Mhm,” you indulge him in the hopes you’ll get what you want, and you’re right. A long finger sinks into you, instantly curling to press into the spongy spot within your walls that has you swooning, clutching desperately onto his shoulders.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

You pull at his suit jacket, fumbling with the buttons on his collared shirt. “Want it off, want to see you.”

Eren relents, pulling his hand from you to step back and strip his shirt and jacket. He is as muscular as he feels; you drag your eyes over his strong chest, his defined abs, and the deep V leading down below his belt. You briefly remember all of your post-college friends, girls that had never known Eren, teasing you that he was your hottest ex. You had blushed, but you understand. He’s like a Greek statue, glistening with sweat from the evening heat, every crevice of him on display just for you. It sends a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your body, and you pull him back to you, relishing in the feel of his hands on you.

“Want me to make you cum, is that it?” Eren’s amused, sinking two fingers into your heat. You croon, nodding desperately. He chuckles, moving his fingers against the spot inside of you. “I’ve got you, don’t worry baby. Gonna make you feel good.”

You nod again into his shoulder, attached to him wherever you can find the space, grasping his body and pulling it to yours. You wish you had the capacity to be ashamed of your need, laid bare for him to see, but you don’t. All you can think about is his fingers moving in you, gaining speed and bringing you closer to an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He slides a third in, just to be safe, and you’re so wet that your pussy accepts it willingly. The stretch makes you pout, push at his chest. “Too much, Eren–”

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he huffs, his arousal getting the better of him, “get you ready to get fucked. Cunt’s tight after all these years, isn’t it? Gotta work it open.”

That does a lot to your hazy brain; you bite deep into his shoulder, moans coming faster and louder as he works his fingers in you. The bubble is building in the pit of your stomach, your hips are canting towards him.

“Eren, Eren I–”

“I know, I know,” he coos, fingers curling inside you even faster, “my girl needs to cum, doesn’t she? You want to cum all over my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry into his skin, biting and moaning alternatively. Your head’s spinning; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You’re no nun, not by any means, but Eren knows your body, crafted it to respond to him, to his hands and mouth and cock, and your body is rejoicing at the feel of him on and in you again. You can’t hold it, you know you can’t, you’re moments away now. “Eren, I’m going to cum, I’m gonna–”

“Do it, baby,” he growls into your ear, his fingers working even faster, thumb moving up to swipe at your clit, “give it to me, want to hear you cum.”

Your body convulses and you’re cumming hard, with Eren the first one of the night always goes that way. Eren knows it, pulls you close against him and works his fingers in you, helping you ride it out. He’s practically purring into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, cumming all over his fingers like that, and you eat it up. You cry into his flesh where it’s secured between your teeth, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.

Your orgasm begins to fade, and you find the presence of mind to shove at his fingers, begging for a reprieve. “Give me your cock, want it in my mouth.”

“Is that what you need?” Eren’s already helping you onto your knees, gentle, but needy. “Need my cock in your mouth?”

“Please,” you say eagerly, adjusting your knees to a comfortable position on the dirt floor, easily unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his legs. He steps out of his shoes, kicking his pants off, strong thighs twitching under your nails as you softly scratch down them. A groan rumbles in Eren’s chest at your enthusiasm, he places a hand on your head, running through your curls.

“Can’t be for too long, ‘kay?” Eren pants, hissing when you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. “Still gotta fuck you, feel you cum on me.”

You hum your approval, popping him fully into your mouth with a satisfied moan. You’ve always loved taking him in your mouth, the comforting weight of him on your tongue. You’re getting impossibly wetter, feeling the heat gather between your legs as you bob your head up and down on him, listening to his satisfied little grunts and groans above you.

Eren rubs a hand over your cheek, mutters his approval, thrusts his hips forwards unwittingly a few times. You gag when he does, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve taken him like this so many times, even with his impressive size, you love the feel of him pressing back into your throat until you choke.

“Fuck, fuck, baby it’s– it’s too much,” Eren indulges in a few more thrusts into your throat before grabbing your hair and urging you off of him, “need your pussy, okay?”

You’re not going to argue with that, letting him pull you to your feet, an anticipatory smile cracking across your face. You’re drunk on the wine and sex and him, babbling nonsensically. “Wanna feel you, Eren, need you.”

“I’ve got you, gonna make you feel so good, princess.” Impressively, Eren scoops you off of the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both over to the wall, pressing you up against it. “Gonna make you mine all over again, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a loaded question, but you’re so captivated by him, all you can do is murmur your agreement, tell him you want to be his because at least for now, you do. Eren’s magnetic, the man you run from so you don’t get lost in him, but tonight, you’re willing to drown. You’re begging for it.

The stone wall is rough against your bare back, but the head of Eren’s cock rubbing through your folds distracts you, a promise of what’s to come.

“Please, please put it in, Eren, I need–”

“My girl needs to be full, doesn’t she?” Eren’s smirking at you, slipping the tip of his cock in. Even the stretch of that alone is enough to make you moan, digging your nails into his back. “There you go, gonna fill you up, make you all better.”

You nod into his shoulder, the weight of your actions catching up to you as he presses himself into you, fills you entirely. Eren’s your kryptonite, he’s a drug, he’s an overwhelming presence, you can’t think straight around him. Before coming to this wedding, you told yourself you’d stay away, but you can’t help it. Everything about him is like he’s sculpted just for you, your body yields to him so easily you think you might be made just for him too. His skin, salty and sweaty from the summer air, is delicious under your tongue.

He’s moving now, fucking up into you desperately, like he loves you and like he wants to break you. You jolt in his arms, helpless to do anything but take and take and take everything he has to give you.

He smiles against your open mouth, placing a sloppy kiss over it. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so fucking good,” you whimper, letting him manhandle you. Eren’s always rough with you, always riding the line of too much, and you love taking it. You love letting him push you to your limits.

“Missed my cock in you, didn’t you? This cunt was made for me,” Eren huffs, “made just for me. Mine, isn’t it?”

You don’t indulge him with an answer, loathe to admit that your cunt is made for him, but you feel yourself clench down around him, more of your wetness soaking his lower stomach. Eren chokes out some mix of a moan and a breathless laugh, fucking up into you harder. “What a perfect answer, baby. You love it, I know you do.”

“I love it,” you agree, simpering against him as your willpower fizzles out to nothing. You’re reluctant to believe it, but there’s another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. Your body responds to him in a way it responds to no one else, clinging to him and growing wet for him and tightening around him.

Eren’s digging his hands into your hips, moving you up and down on his cock more so than actually thrusting. He’s panting against your ear, hot and heavy and in tune with your own gasps. He nudges his mouth down to plant sloppy kisses around your shoulder, just at the crook of your neck in the sensitive spot that he knows you love, remembers even after all these years. 

“Been too fucking long, baby,” Eren says, “gonna cum soon.”

You nod into his neck, cunt tightening around him at the prospect of his cum inside you. Just the thought of it sends your mind into orbit; a little fantasy forms in your hazy head of him fucking you like this every night, like he used to, a child with your curls and deep, green eyes-

“Gonna let me cum in this perfect cunt, aren’t you?”

As usual, Eren’s right in line with you– the synchronicity makes you moan again. “Please, please–”

“Gotta cum with me, alright? You can do that for me, can’t you?” You can, you will, but you’re so close to the edge when you try to respond your words are jumbled together. Even so close to his own release, Eren snickers at you. “My sweet girl’s all fucked out, can’t even talk.”

“Need your cum,” you manage, “please, Eren, m’close.”

Years ago, through strenuous games of overstimulation and denial, Eren trained your body to wait for him, you can’t cum unless he does and you know it. Your only option is to beg, hot shame warming your face. Eren remembers, just like you do, it makes him grin, feral and dangerous in the early evening light.

“Need my cum, baby? Needy, so needy, so beautiful,” he’s starting to slur, you know he’ll finish soon, “gonna cum in this perfect cunt of yours, never let you keep it from me again. Maybe I’ll knock you up, hm? Can’t run from me with my baby in you.”

Your watery eyes fly open at that, the logical part of your brain long-quieted, and you moan loud for him again, just the way he likes. Eren’s thrusts have grown sloppy, he’s grabbing you so hard now you know you’ll be left with Eren-shaped bruises on your hips.

Eren finally cums in you with your name on his lips, long and deep, keeping his cock fully seated inside you. It triggers your orgasm, a toe-curling wave of pleasure coursing through your body, straining your sore muscles. Eren’s mouth is pressed against yours and all you can manage is a whimper, feeling his cum warm your pussy, leak out around from where you’re both still joined together.

All the energy’s been pulled from your body now; you slump against his shoulder and whine when he slides out of you. Eren places you gently on the floor, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before leading you upstairs on shaking legs. It smells like Eren up here, the pricey cologne he favors and the scent of well-loved sweatshirts intoxicating you. There are no words between the two of you as he leads you to the bathroom, helping you sit on the toilet seat as Eren rummages around for a washcloth to clean you.

“We need to go back to the reception,” you say weakly, wincing as Eren rubs the cloth over your cunt.

“What do you think?”

You frown, confused. “About?”

“Us, again,” he’s avoiding your eyes, focusing on his work between your legs. You’re not surprised he waited until you were disarmed to ask, brain still muddled and dizzy.

“Eren–”

“I am different now,” he finally meets your eyes, gaze alight with the burning, too-hot-to-touch love you know so well, the only love Eren knows how to offer, “got a therapist like you were always asking me to. I meditate every day. I’ll be so good to you, you know how good I am.”

He is good to you, you remember it well, your own tendency to flee was what broke you up in the first place. You’d left his heart shattered on the sidewalk of your apartment back in New York City, overwhelmed with commitment and unwilling to give his flaws the same grace he gave yours. You’re opposites: he’s hot where you’re cool, angry where you’re distant, argumentative where you’re cold. You sigh, head feeling heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me? What about the lives we have now?”

“We’d make it work, line our schedules up together” the corner of his mouth curls, you want to kiss him again, “we’re always able to figure something out.”

You hate yourself for it, you want to run from him, get a car to the airport right now. You also want to pull him into your arms, feel his heartbeat against yours, kiss that hesitant smile on his face and never stop. “I…can I sleep on it?”

Eren’s face lights up, a kid on Christmas morning. He’s always been so expressive in these quiet moments; unreadable in a crowded room, but when it’s just you and him, his heart’s always been on his sleeve. He can’t help it. “Yeah, just sleep on it.”

You get yourself as put-together as you can, wipe the mascara from under your eyes, slip the dress back over your shoulders and concede one more kiss to Eren. It’s slow, long and languid, tongues slipping over one another, the desperation now cooled into a sense of homecoming. 

You hold hands as you climb the hill back to the reception. Your knees wobble, and it makes Eren laugh, makes you blush. He’s still going on about the villa’s history, and you’re half-listening, admiring the stars above you both. The reception is still going on, albeit a bit more subdued than earlier. Some guests have trickled out, finding their beds, but your friends are still seated around a table, drunk and laughing.

Connie’s the worst, of course, leaning on Jean and regaling everyone with a tale about their Midwestern childhood together; Mikasa’s buried under Clara, who’s sleeping soundly in her lap; Ymir and Historia are alternating between listening and kissing one another; Sasha’s struggling with a corkscrew and a tricky wine bottle, Armin attempting to help her.

Your face warms as all eyes turn to you, rumpled and suspicious and late. Mikasa raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her face.

“Where have you two been? You missed the garter toss,” Ymir nudges Historia conspiratorially.

“Just touring the grounds,” Eren answers coolly, pulling the empty chair beside Mikasa and offering it to you. You sit, grateful to be off of your shaking legs.

“It’s so beautiful here, thanks for putting us all up…” you accept the glass of wine Armin is offering over your shoulder, tipping it in the happy couples’ direction. Historia murmurs a quiet ‘you’re welcome’, the entire table exchanging knowing glances. You scowl, being left out of a joke is one of your pet peeves. “What?”

Jean grins lewdly. “Nothing, just…I don’t think Eren’s room is as far from the main house as you two think it is.”

[livwritesstuff]

tw: references to blood

When Steve and Eddie’s children are old enough to start elementary school and they begin to meet their classmates’ parents, Steve finds himself quickly approaching a new revelation:

Men…kind of suck.

Steve knows that’s a blanket statement, and a bold one at that given how it’s directed towards a camp both he and his husband are a part of, but some of the stories the moms of his daughters’ classmates tell in the school pick-up line are…something else.

One of them once said she didn't trust her husband to be alone with their children for more than an hour. One mom referred to her husband’s time with the kids as babysitting. Another said she couldn’t get her own husband to take on basic household chores.

Truthfully, it takes everything in Steve to not point out how messed up it all is. The foundation of his and Eddie’s entire life together – their marriage, their family, everything – is the partnership they’ve built over the years. At no point during their seventeen years together and their near-decade navigating parenthood has Steve ever felt like he and Ed were anything other than equals in how they tackled all the facets of the small corner of the world they were responsible for.

However.

There is still the (very infrequent) occasion in which Steve catches himself wondering if someone might have swapped out his husband for a fourth kid.

For example:

It’s a Saturday afternoon and it’s raining, so the whole family is stuck inside. In his desperate search for something fun to do, Eddie is trying to invent a new form of bowling, and hacking off the tops off of milk cartons with an old box cutter in his endeavor.

Steve had warned him that this was a bad idea.

“The blade on that thing is ancient, my love,” he’d said, but Eddie had just waved him off, and, of course, less than two minutes after Steve walked away to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink, he hears a pained hiss and the clatter of something hard and metal hitting the floor. Then comes the shrieks of three panicked little girls.

“Papa!” Robbie yells, “Daddy cut himself and there’s blood everywhere!”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters, taking his time dropping the plastic Disney princess cup he’d been holding back into the sink, wiping his hands dry, and heading back into the family room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch, the box cutter at his feet, surrounded by their daughters as he holds his wrist in his other hand so Steve can see a gash on his finger bleeding more than he would have guessed, “Alright everybody outta the way.”

The first thing Steve does is swipe the box cutter off the ground and stuff it in his pocket. There’s droplets of blood on the floor, he notices, and Robbie helpfully says, “Papa, the blood squirted!”

He glances at Moe, the most squeamish out of their three daughters by a mile, to see that she’s white as a sheet and getting greener by the second.

“Enough, Robbie. Moe – walk away, please.”

He tugs Eddie off the couch and pulls him towards the bathroom.

“Girls, don’t touch the blood on the floor, okay?”

“How come?” Robbie asks.

“Because it can have germs in it…and we’ve got white carpets.”

Once they're in the bathroom, Eddie sits on the counter and holds out his hand so Steve can wrap a wad of gauze around the cut and gently press some weight onto it.

“You okay?” he asks him.

“All good. You gonna say I told you so?”

“Nah. Feel like this is sufficient.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

There’s the scuffling sound in the hallway of the girls convening outside the bathroom door. Steve can vaguely hear Robbie saying, “...and if the blood doesn’t stop, he’ll pass out and then the ambulance will come and he’ll go to the E.R. and –”

Steve opens the door a crack.

“Amelia Robin,” he warns, “Beat it. Nobody’s going to the E.R…unless any of you want an extra flu shot. I can make that happen.”

The girls all shriek again and run in the opposite direction.

Eddie is snickering as Steve shuts the bathroom door again and rifles through a cluttered drawer.

“Pick your poison,” he says, holding up three boxes of branded Band-Aids (Mickey Mouse, Star Wars, and Pokemon).

“Give me the mouse,” Eddie replies, sounding resigned.

Steve obliges, wrapping a Mickey Mouse band-aid around his finger. He plants a soft kiss on the spot where the cut is (because it can’t hurt), and then, because it’s the first time they’ve been alone together all day, he plants another on his lips.

"All better," he says when he pulls away.

“What would I ever do without you?” Eddie grins.

“You’d’ve died in the Upside Down twenty five years ago," Steve replies drily.

[d0not-disturb]

no offense but as a 16 year old every time i remember your age i go “jesus fucking christ” but in a positive way. how did you get so much talent. what are they feeding you (this is /pos btw i love your art so much every time it pops up on my dash i go “WOAH NEW D0NOT-DISTURB ART”)

Yk What Ive been asked this question about one TRILLION times “where did you get your talent from” and imma prove I earned that talent and was NOT born with it

These are all of my completed sketch books from only 2020 to late 2022 when I say I drew every single day for multiple hours I DID THAT there wasn’t a second of the day I wasn’t drawing

This doesn’t even include my my digital drawings cause remember on top of traditional I also started doing digital art I’d say around early 2021

I’ve gone through three iPads. Cause they didn’t have enough storage to hold procreate. I was. So. Obsessed with grian mumbo and Grumbot.

Let’s not even talk about apple pencils

Btw thank you😇😇😇😇😇😇

[victimeyez]

Pity Party

Chapter 18 of Professional//Victim - Masterlist

Tommy celebrates his 30th birthday, five years after his capture. But it's his party, and he can cry if he wants to.

Content warnings in the tags.

_____________________________________________________________

At the top of the stairs Tommy stopped, frozen, the blood draining from his face. His chest had seized, and he only remembered to breathe again when Caius gave him a thump on the back. 

He was forcibly turned by his shoulders back to face Caius, starting to hyperventilate while anxiety paralyzed him. 

“Look at me. Hey, look at me.”

Tommy wheezed, barely able to drag his eyes from the scene. The best he could manage was a fuzzy, unfocused stare towards Caius’s mouth. No eyes, just the mouth, just the mouth that told him what to do. 

“You don’t have to think about it. Stop making things harder for yourself all of the time. I will guide you, focus on that lifeline. You’re going to sit at the table, and you will be courteous, and gracious, and you’ll get the fuck over yourself for once and enjoy it. Play along. Show me you can do that.”

Tommy was seized with a violent coughing fit, doubling over. His eyes watered and he struggled to breathe, gagging on the air he did manage to get in. 

“Jesus christ Tommy, this is not what is going to do you in. You have gone through the fire too many times to be getting this choked up over some cake. You’re too old for this shit.”

Even Caius winced a little at the last line, realizing a moment too late the poignancy of drawing attention to his age. 

Something about it struck Tommy as funny. He couldn’t say what, but it stopped his panic attack in its tracks suddenly, like flicking a switch. He felt slightly dazed, surprised by his own sudden drop. A long, silent moment passed between them before Caius’s hand returned to his shoulder. 

“Thatta’ boy. Come on, come.” He guided Tommy to the table, but he handled him with a light touch. Tommy was feeling quite delicate himself, like porcelain worn thin from years of use. Whatever stopcork was blocking his meltdown, he felt like it could slip at any moment.  

His total guests consisted of Caius, Rory, and Sam. Tommy sat at the head of the table, feeling distinctly small. He felt a little heady, suddenly exhausted from the rush of emotions. He idly felt the top of his head, half expecting a birthday hat to be perched on top. If anything, he had expected streamers, balloons, some mockery of a little kid’s birthday party – Courtesy of the nearest dollar store, for sure. 

Instead, it was…actually kind of nice. They usually left the table bare for use, but the wood was dressed in a clean, cream colored tablecloth. He rubbed the edge of it absently, feeling the material thick and silky in his dry hands. The table was set with paper plates and plastic cutlery, of course, but cloth napkins were rolled and tied with ocean blue ribbons, folding in a few sprigs each of dried lavender for decor. Plastic champagne flutes at each place were filled with a light golden bubbly. The cake in the center was of a smooth, light purple frosting, freckled with real vanilla bean. The top was decorated with a few more sprigs of lavender, sweet and simple.

“Michelle couldn’t make it, so he made your breakfast. We have a few things for you today, though.” Caius told him with a serene smile.

Sam smiled a mean smile, and slid him a card.

“Yeah, Tommy, just a chill day with the boys,” he agreed.

Tommy looked to Caius, who nodded meaningfully.

Play your part.

Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to reset the scene in his head before opening the envelope. Inside was an oddly shaped card featuring Dora the Explorer.

YOU’RE 3o! She exclaimed in the speech bubble. Or rather, she said, YOU’RE 3! But Sam had sharpied in a quick 0 after the three.

It actually made Tommy chuckle, even though he felt like cracking a smile might crack him in half. It was so perfectly stupid, and honestly much closer to the party he had been expecting. Open humiliation and cruelty was far more familiar territory than when Caius pretended to be nice.

He opened it, and a five dollar bill fell out. Inside, the original message printed in the card was scribbled out, and a brief handwritten note was penned in.

Towards your retirement. 

He assumed the abstract swirl afterwards somehow spelled out Sam’s name. He chuckled in spite of himself.

“Wow Sam, uh, your terrible handwriting is the first proof I’ve seen that you’re a real doctor.”

Caius and Rory laughed, sharing a brief look of surprise. Sam made a sour face, but when Caius gave him a playful push to his shoulder, he broke into a tense grin.

Tommy took a sip of his champagne, hoping it wasn’t obvious his hand was shaking. It was shockingly sweet, reminding him of some off-brand Halloween candy from his youth. 

“Open Rory’s next,” Caius encouraged, reaching over to push the only other envelope slightly closer to him. 

Tommy tore it open, fumbling it slightly before he pulled the card free.

The front of the card featured a picture of an elderly woman standing in a cucumber patch. She was smiling proudly, holding aloft a massive cucumber that had grown into a conspicuously phallic shape. 

Underneath, a text box said, “Hoping your BIGGEST wish comes your way this year!”

“Oh my god, he’s blushing!” Rory laughed, and Tommy covered his mouth with his hand nervously. He flicked the card open with his thumb.

Don’t take shit so seriously

Never turn down a joint

Hit the gym

Work hard, play hard

Keto will give you the runs

The list was penned in by hand. Rory leaned over, stealing a peek inside, and groaned.

“Shit. I forgot I wrote that. Caius was saying something about - imparting wisdom for turning thirty. I guess most of that doesn’t really, uh…apply here, exactly. Seriously though, fuck keto. Never again.”

A friend has given you a funny card. He’s…a loveable scamp. Probably a fan favorite. Tommy’s Life is filmed before a live studio audience. Queue the tinned laughter. 

Oh, that ol’ Rory!

Tommy chuckled, smiled.

“It’s great, thank you.”

He set it aside and sipped his champagne. He felt warm. He didn’t think he was throwing it back that hard, but it was drained before he realized.

Tommy pulled it away and looked at it in surprise. He supposed it was a pretty small flute. He realized he’d never actually drank champagne out of a champagne glass, just out of the bottle, passed around the circle with the band after their EP release show.

God, he hadn’t thought about that in ages. It hit him with such a strong nostalgia,a longing for just sitting on the couch with the missing leg in Greg’s apartment. G’s cat had shredded the shit out of the whole side of it, and it was worn down to a soft fuzz. 

They had this great recording of Greg yelling at Mr. Meow Meow for clawing at it again, right at the end of the song, and Jazz totally losing it in a fit of giggles. They’d left it in, all of it, letting it finish out their five song EP. Fuck, which song was that? 

“I’ll get you a refill, bud.”

Sam interrupted his little flashback by snatching the plastic flute out of his hand. Tommy realized he had tears in his eyes, and wiped at them with his sleeve self consciously. 

Just allergies. The show goes on.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Caius gave him an approving thumbs up. Tommy smiled weakly back and cleared the thickness from his throat.

Sam put on some music while he was up, and something emo started playing.

“What kind of music would you like to listen to, Tommy?” Caius interjected pointedly. Sam scowled at him.

He was tempted to say it doesn’t matter, but he had limited access to music. Caius gave him an odd assortment of tapes and records, even some CD’s, but he knew the most recent one was from 2010. 

It’s my birthday, and I’ve got the aux.

“I used to - I like Bad Guys Win. Have they put out anything since Strander?”

Sam groaned, but Caius promised they would check. He gave Sam a meaningful look, and he dutifully changed the track.

It was a little distracting, because Tommy really wanted to listen to it in silence, but he managed. They chatted idly and drank champagne. They stuck to safe topics - things that didn’t involve work talk. 

Tommy’s favorite was when they told him about horror movies he hadn’t seen. Sam described the entire movie The Human Centipede, much to Tommy’s grossed-out delight and Caius’s grossed-out chagrin.

Rory insisted on cutting the cake, cursing as he attempted to saw through it with a plastic butter knife. He rustled through some drawers in the kitchen before proudly holding a trowel-like utensil aloft. 

“We are using a cake server proper. These bitches work pretty good for pizza, too,” he announced to his audience, before using it to deliver an enormous slice of the cake onto Tommy’s plate. Tommy stared at it wide-eyed, the mountain of fine pastry set before him. He didn’t usually even get lunch, and breakfast had already been too good to be true. He knew the sugar might make him sick at this point, but he had zero qualms about the stomachache being worth it. 

He needed something in his stomach, anyway. He was nursing his third glass of champagne, and while he didn’t think the alcohol content could be very high, he was already feeling it. His face felt very warm and flushed, and he felt like his heart was pounding, even though he was about as safe as he could be here.

Current threat levels: low. 

The cake was sweet, but well balanced, the herbal taste of the lavender sweetened with a bright vanilla mascarpone that melted in his mouth. It’s not something he probably would have picked on his own, but it was delicious. The other guys appreciated it too, and Caius recommended the pastry shop he’d gotten it from. Tommy forgot it as soon as he heard it - it wasn’t like he’d be visiting. 

Sam moved to top off Tommy’s glass, but he raised a hand to pause him. 

“I think I’ll just have some water, please.”

“I’m not going to let you be a lightweight for your birthday,” Sam teased easily, and whisked away his cup in spite of his protests.

Tommy sucked the frosting from his spoon, lifting a hand absentmindedly to his forehead. He did feel warm. Just his luck to get sick on his birthday. No, it must be the alcohol and the sugar, it made him jittery. 

Caius noticed he hadn’t finished his piece of cake.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no it’s very good. I think I might just, uh, be getting a little bit of a sugar rush here.” He gave Caius a sheepish smile.

His lips felt oddly numb, and he had a sudden feeling of dizziness.

“Honestly? Worth the diabetes, or whatever,” Rory piped in. 

Sam poured shots of whiskey for them all. Tommy stared at the russet potion, and nausea ate at his stomach just from the smell. He pushed it away from himself without thinking, turning his nose. 

God, has whiskey always smelled this bad? What the hell is this stuff?

“Oh come on Tommy, it’s good stuff. Try it,” Sam encouraged, tipping his own back in one oversized shot.

Actually, he was very nauseous, and the room suddenly seemed so bright, he had to squint. 

“I have the last couple of preparations to do. You boys behave!” Caius told them, givinf a wave as he left for the stairs. 

“Wait,” Tommy whispered, but Caius was gone. His stomach clenched with anxiety.

Don’t leave me alone with Sam.

Sam leaned over at the table, leering at him.

“What’s wrong? Not feeling well?”

“‘M drunk,” Tommy tried weakly. “I just need to lay down, I think, could you-”

“You’re not thinking very clearly. You just need a little hair from the dog who bit ya.”  Sam slid his whiskey closer to him. He positively oozed smugness, and Tommy had a strong sense that he was playing into a cruel joke he hadn’t picked up on yet. 

The room felt hot. He pulled his shirt out from his chest and realized he was sweating. The temperature had felt fine before, but somehow it now felt sweltering.

“Jee Tommy, you don’t look so good. Too much freedom for you, buddy?”

“Was the cake an edible or something?” Tommy managed. 

“Like I'd waste good weed on you. You’re just being a spazz.”

Tommy squinted against a particularly bright spot in his vision, off of the-

The cake server.

The cake server was metal. 

Blunt, and thin, but it was real metal. 

“Knock it off.”

They both turned when Rory spoke. His hand was clenched around his whiskey, glowering at Sam, who spat back. 

“Take a joke man. Have a seat until your number is called.”

“Let Tommy have his day, man. Caius put this together, you don’t want to piss him off.”

Sam laughed harshly, turning fully towards Rory. Tommy was grateful for the respite from his attention, but he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of them any more. Sam was not deterred.

“Hey Rory, we’re sharing stories. Tell me that one again, about how you got kicked out of Yale. How much did that one cost your daddy?”

“A lot less than medical school and a string of malpractice lawsuits, I’ll tell you that. You would know all about that though, Doctor – I’m sorry, Mister Snow.”

Uh oh. Honestly, it was amazing they’d gotten along for a few hours. Usually, they just skipped right to the dick measuring contest. 

Where the fuck was Caius?

“I’m gonna go see if Caius needs help,” Tommy mumbled, trying not to interrupt too much, but knowing an attempt at a silent exit would only stir them up. He started to stand, pushing himself up from his hands on the table to rise. 

He just wasn’t fast enough. 

He’d barely started to turn away before Sam’s hand grabbed his wrist and yanked, pulling him closer instead, and knocking over Tommy’s untouched whiskey in the process. 

“Tommy, you’re my patient, you know I’m a good doctor. If I wasn’t, you’d be one hell of a Freddy Krueger looking motherfucker, wouldn’t you?”

The spilled plastic cup rolled in a semicircle, a pool of pungent whiskey soaking into that soft cream tablecloth. There was something wrong, though, a streak of color clouding the liquid.

“-Tommy?”

His heart was pounding in his ears. His head throbbed along with it. He picked up the goblet with the hand that wasn’t being crushed in Sam’s fist, and held it up to the light. 

There. Just a little, in the bottom. A pink, chalky residue - all that was left undissolved of whatever Sam had slipped into his drink. 

Thud thud thud thud thud - his heart was beating so loud and so fast, his chest ached.

Rory seemed to put it together at the same time.

“What the fuck-”

Sam wrenched Tommy over, his body pressing against his, too close, too hot. 

“Look at the fucking mess you’re making!” he hissed, his voice dangerously close. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU GIVE ME?!” Tommy shouted into his face, helpless tears spilling over. 

“Your birthday gift.”

Fuck, he was cracking, all the grief and anger he’d held back erupting all at once. 

Tommy shoved at his chest, ripping free just to make it two steps before Sam dragged him back by the arm, and then by a hand in his hair, and the room tilted crazily around him. Tommy’s head exploded in pain as he was slammed against the table’s surface, the cloth runner little comfort as his face was ground into the whiskey soaked linen. 

“It’s okay Tommy, I’ll just fix it! Like I always fucking do. You know what would fix you, Tommy? A fucking lobotomy. I think I’ll schedule the operation with your owner today, yeah!” Sam’s voice was slightly slurred. One thing he had in common with Rory – he was a mean drunk. 

The impact had dazed Tommy a moment too long, and his resistance was weak when Sam flipped him, bending him backwards over the table and pinning him by his hands around his throat.

Rory was shouting something, but Tommy couldn’t make sense of it. The light above him was blinding, he couldn’t breathe – he thought his head would burst from the pressure of Sam’s hands digging in under his jaw. He clawed at his wrists uselessly while Rory backed away from the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING MAN? HE WASN’T EVEN DOING ANYTHING YOU PSYCHOPATHIC–”

Tommy could hear him, faintly, barking and barking, but he was only moving further away from them. 

HELP ME, HELP ME- 

With unbreakable will, Tommy released his grip on Sam’s wrist and raised a hand above his head, feeling blindly along the table. Nothing, nothing - and then his hand sank into the gooey remains of his cake, ruined now under his fingers.

“I’m gonna put a hole, right here–” Sam jabbed at the inner corner of his eye, forcing it closed as he twisted his finger hard against his sinus, miming screwing something into him.

Tommy’s fist closed around the handle of the cake server.

“-And I’m gonna carve the thirty-year-old loser right out of your body.”

Tommy drove it into the top of Sam’s hand curled around his throat. 

Sam shrieked, dropping him immediately, but Tommy stabbed it again into his chest. Sam stumbled back, but Tommy was a live wire now, righting himself before the rush of blood back to his brain could even catch up with him. He swung his weapon down at Sam’s chest again, another hit narrowly missing with a wild slash as the good doctor retreated. 

Rory finally lept into action, hooking his arm around Tommy’s at the end of his arcing strike, halting his attack. Sam was back on him in a second, pinning him back over the table with his arm barred across Tommy’s throat. Tommy gnashed his teeth, trying to struggle out from under Sam, as Rory tore at his frosting-covered grip on the cake server. 

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK IS HAPPENING HERE?!”

At the sound of Caius’s voice, Tommy’s resistance abandoned him. He went limp under Sam, and Rory pried the cake server from his fingers. Sam let him up and he took an agonizing breath in, falling to the floor when the other man stepped back. He curled into a ball on the ground, screaming uncontrollable sobs into his hands. 

The other three shared a moment of stunned silence. Caius threw his hands up in bewilderment.

“Didn’t I tell you all to behave?!”

~

NEXT

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slighlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

Thank you all so much for reading, I cannot tell you what it means to me.

[multifandomslxt]

🌸LIAR🌸

(Bsf brother! Yuta x Black Chubby reader)

Synopsis: Yuta, Y/n’s best friend's brother just came home from college to a beautiful surprise in the form of thick thighs, stomach pudge, puppy eyes, and a little bit of lies.

Warnings: Mentions of a kn*fe, smut and lies.

Word count: 1.8 k (ik I went overboard)

“Oh, Yuta’s coming tomorrow” My best friend of 6 years says to me in the most casual way possible.

I turn to look at her in shock “What?”

We were seated in a booth at our favourite diner ‘PHUCK ONMEI’.

Yup, its exactly that

We were having our weekly tea pill over some cherry cokes and cheesy fries when she just dropped this bomb.

“Lisa, I’m not fucking with you. What do you mean your brother’s coming tomorrow?”

She rolls her eyes and slams her tall class of coke on the table “My brother, Yuta Nakamoto - the man you’ve been wanting to jump your draws since first year high school - is coming tomorrow”

I slapped her hand at the rude but true comment.

I’ve had a crush on my best friend’s brother since the first day I saw him.

Lisa and I were 16 and chatting up in her living room and 16-year-old Yuta had walked out of his room shirtless with bed hair.

That was 7 years ago.

Ever since then, every time I saw him, I stared.

Back then, He confronted me many times about it.

He tilted his head and smirked

Holy fuck.

“See something you like You like Y/N”

“N-no”

“Shush bitch. At least pretend to be disgusted or something.” I stated.

You’d think someone would be upset at their best friend having a crush on their sibling but nope, not Lisa.

Matter of fact she encouraged it.

‘You lie when you’re flustered, and he lies all the fucking time. Match made in Heaven’. She would always say.

“I thought he couldn’t take time off this year” I said still trying to digest the news. Yuta had moved away to college three years ago and was currently studying to become a doctor.

More specifically a Gynaecologist.

Christ.

Lisa slurps the last of her drink and says, “That’s what he said but mom misses him and y’know when mom wants something she gets it”.

“True.” Was all I could say as my mind started to fill with thoughts of him.

I picked at my food for the rest of our little ‘gossip date’ until it was time to go.

The minute I stepped into my apartment I screamed in excitement.

“Holy shit!” I ran around my apartment smiling like an idiot.

“I’m seeing him tomorrow for the first time in three freaking years.”

As the evening went by my excitement began to be replaced by fear.

‘What If he doesn’t remember you?’

I feel like he does. He has to.

‘What if he brushes you off?’

 I mean we aren’t exactly family.

‘What if he hates what he sees?’

My skin crawled at my last thought.

Yes, my body changed over the past few years, but I wasn’t insecure about it.

My hips filled out nicely, my boobs were alright, and my ass was heavenly.

It rested on thick thighs that complimented my stomach pudge and back rolls…I was Hot.

“What’s not to like” I said out loud to no one in particular.

“Wear something sexy but cute tomorrow, mom wants you at the welcome dinner”. Was the last thing Lisa said before we parted ways.

Thank God I went shopping last week I know exactly what to wear.

://///////:::::::/::::::////////////////////TIME SKIP

“Hail Mary mother of G-” I was interrupted by a smack on the back of my head.

I rubbed my head trying to quell the pain “OW!”

“Cut that shit out. It’s just my brother not the coming of Jesus” Lisa hisses as rolls her eyes.

We were currently sitting in her living room surrounded by what Mrs. Nakamoto called ‘simple decorations’.

They were not simple.

Blue and white Balloons were all over the floor and there as a fucking 7-foot standee of Yuta at the front door.

Scared the living shit out of me when I got here.

“Mom says he’s on his way here.” Lisa says as she idly kicks a balloon.

I shrugged “Whatever.”

“What? All of a sudden, you’re not trembling in excitement anymore? That’s weird.”

I shrugged again “I wasn’t excited.”

Lisa looked me up and down and threw her head back laughing “Liar.”

//////////////////////////////TIME SKIP///////////////////////////////////////////////////

He came.

He fucking came like a storm.

He changed.

So damn much.

He walked through the door and heart fell to my ass.

Yuta Nakamoto did the fucking impossible and became hotter.

I watched as he hugged Lisa and his mother before turning to me who was standing behind Lisa.

I waited for him to say something…anything.

Instead, he did the unthinkable

“Who’s this?”

The world stopped.

Shame and embarrassment clawed at my chest.

Lisa gasped in shock and Mrs. Nakamoto swatted his arm.

“You don’t remember Y/N?”

His eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“This is Y/N?” he gestured to me in disbelief.

I smiled shyly and looked down “Yes, its me”.

I could feel his eyes on me. Taking me in.

I hope he likes what he sees.

We had dinner in comfortable conversations, revelling on past memories and Yuta’s school life.

Throughout the entire meal he didn’t even spare me a glance.

I felt dejected.

Soon it was time for dessert but Mr. Nakamoto who was supposed to be here earlier had called.

“Your father needs to be picked up from work again so I’ll have to go get him”. Mrs. Nakamoto said slowing standing from her chair.

“I’ll come with” Lisa said also standing from her chair.

“There’s cake in the kitchen” Mrs. Nakamoto says grabbing her coat and car keys, Lisa following close behind.

“Oh, I’ll cut it” I offered.

I needed to get away from him and take a damn breath.

I got up from my seat and headed to the kitchen leaving no room for Mrs. Nakamoto to object.

“Alright then, we’ll be back soon.” Mrs Nakamoto shouted out before closing the front door.

Great.

I grabbed the oven mitten and pulled the cake from the oven and setting it on the countertop.

I heard a chair scrape the ground and footsteps making their way towards the kitchen.

Soon, there was a presence beside me.

"Missed me?"

I peered up at the man I'd met a thousand times before. Before he left for Uni his hair was shorter

and he was slimmer. Now, his body was lean with muscle and his hair was so long that he gathered it

in a ponytail at the back of his head.

Nakamoto Yuta was a sight to see.

“N-no I didn’t”

Then he did that thing, the thing that almost made me loose my shit about a hundred times

He tilted his head and smirked

“Liar. I know you did”

I shake my head “You’re so full of yourself”.

 He chuckled “I know.”

I rolled my eyes and turned around reaching for a knife to cut the cake.

I could have imagined it.

I really could’ve.

But I’m pretty sure I just heard Yuta do a sharp intake.

I turned around to face him again “Are you okay?”

“You changed a lot” He ignores my question.

“yeah, I guess.” I said simply said.

He nods.

“And this dress…did you wear it for me doll?” He questions as his fingers skim across the fabric covering my breasts.

My breath hitches as I feel my nipples getting hard under the fabric “N-no I did not.”

He grips my chin causing me to look directly in his eyes.

“Liar”.

////////////////////////////////////// SMUT! NSFW SMUT! //////////////////////////////////////////

“You taste so fucking good baby” Yuta says gripping my thighs pulling them further apart as his tongue works between my legs.

We were still in the kitchen.

I was now on the countertop with Yuta between my thighs.

I could her him sucking and lapping at my juices.

His face was glistening and covered in it.

my mind was so foggy I could barely understand anything.

Suddenly my lower abdomen started to feel cramped, but I could tell something was different.

More intense.

“YUTA! WAIT!” I shout as I try to squeeze my thighs shut.

He uses his strength to keep them open. I try getting up only to be held down and pulled closer

“Don’t you fucking run from me.” He grunts.

Tears were streaming down my face “Yuta m’gonna make a mess”

“Not yet baby. Not fucking yet” he says standing up.

I whine in protest.

He pecks my lips to shut me up.

I can taste myself on his lips.

He grips my waist and helps me down form the counter

“I want you to sit on my face.” He says as I watch him lay on the kitchen floor.

“What?” I ask in disbelief. Staring down at him

He grunts and pulls me down by the hem of my dress making me fall on top of him.

“I’ll crush you” I state.

A sharp slap to my thigh causes me to screech “Sit. On. My. Face.”

I hesitate but go to hover over his face anyway.

“Y/N I said sit. Not hover” he says sternly

“But I don’t wa-” I was cut off as he grabs my hips and pulls me down immediately. His mouth latching to my pussy.

He continues licking and sucking eventually adding a finger.

“Oh fuck!” I shout as my eyes roll back at the intensity.

“Did you miss me?” He asks again.

“NO!” I shout

“Liar” he says adding another finger causing my body to jolt.

His fingers pressing into my Thighs keeps me in place as my thighs tremble and my orgasm builds.

“Yuta I’m gonna cum! I wanna cum!”

“Did you miss me? Ill let you cum if you tell me the truth doll.” He says as he places sloppy wet kisses on my clit continuing to pump his fingers in and out of me.

I shut my eyes tightly as a stray tear rolls down my cheek “YES! YES I FUCKING MISSED YOU!”

“Atta girl. Cum for me baby” he says from under me.

And I did.

I roll off to the side beside Yuta.

I was panting and so was he. Except I look like I just rana mile and he looks like he just had the best time of his life.

“I missed you too doll.”

///////////////////////////////////////END OF SMUT///////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Y/N! YUTA! We’re back!”

Lisa says as she walks in her Mr. and Mrs Nakamoto behind her.

Yuta and I already cleaned up and were watching TV.

“Hey!” I say smiling at them.

“Dad, you’re late” Yuta says mischievously causing Mr. Nakamoto to laugh heartily.

Yuta and his parent walk to the back patio to catch up leaving me and Lisa in the living room.

She takes a seat next tom me on the couch and says

“Bitch, the house smells like sex.”

[ducktoonsfanart]

Donald Duck swims for the Holy Cross - Scrooge McDuck as Deda Moroz and Webby Vanderquack as Snjegoručka (Снегурочка) - Duckverse and folk customs

I wanted to post this earlier, but for some reason I didn't get to it and was partially blocked. Now I am publishing these drawings that I drew last week related to earlier holidays and related to the customs of my country and the customs of Eastern Europe.

The first drawing I drew was Scrooge McDuck as the Russian Santa Claus (or called Deda Moroz) and his adopted niece or granddaughter Webby Vanderquack as the Russian Snowwhite (or Snjegoruchka). That in Russia and Russian countries usually Santa Claus together with his granddaughter Snjegoruchka distributes gifts to good children and looks different from the usual Santa Claus. Usually they are shared when the Julian Christmas and the Julian New Year (old calendar) are celebrated. I drew together as a redraw, and it's also a good parallel regarding the Ducktales and Uncle Scrooge comics. I wanted to do a drawing related to Russian customs, but unfortunately I didn't make it, so I did this and I apologize. Another time. In Russia, Scrooge is called Дядюшка Скрудж (Uncle Scrooge), and Webby is called Поночка (Ponochka).

The second drawing is Donald Duck swimming in strong water and having found the Holy Cross. Usually in my country (Serbia), as well as in other Orthodox countries, such a custom is used that brave men go into the water to find the Orthodox cross and thus fight for good strength. This is true only for strong and hardy men who can withstand it, not for everyone, since there is no swimming in winter. Although Donald endures everything, I made him swim for the Holy Cross and he holds it in his right hand. Yes, it is usually done on the feast of the Epiphany where in Orthodox countries it is celebrated because on that day Jesus Christ was baptized in the Jordan River by the prophet John the Baptist. Let's face it, it is different from the Catholic and Protestant understanding because on that day the Three Wise Men came to the baby Jesus to bring gifts. And the day before that is the Day of the Cross, and the day after the Epiphany is St. John's Day. Related to that. If you need, feel free to ask me anything. And yes, Donald in my country is called Paja Patak (Паја Патак).

I hope you like these drawings and again Happy Holidays. And yes, don't use these ideas without mentioning me. Thank you! Feel free to like and reblog this!

[jjaydazo]

I played darts lol.

RANDOM THING:

Find your oldest drawing, post it along with your most recent drawing. Then pick a random, favourite or least favourite photo and add that after dating the prior two. Then date the photo U just added, specifying what it is and why U hate, love or context. Then add a paragraph on your opinion on the note. Because looking back is fun :)

[before you ask, yes I seriously got this from throwing darts. My wall is gonna need to be filled, sandpapered and painted. Again.]

(to be able just make an ask from doing darts sounds like your takin life like a pro. nice)

alright here.

dancetale frisk back when it was..... 2017 jesus christ when I was 12 years old.

and the recent is this comic

in which i just finished it today.

My least liked art work is this one

It is kind of old. here are reasons why I don't like it.

The color (especially my skin)

The shading

the anatomy

the rendering

When I was a kid, I was too stubborn to do cell shading. my dumbass thought "Hey air brushing is better! I could learn faster doing this!" I in fact did not until idk 1-2 years later. I don't think i cared enough making this. since i was doing this in a rush.

as for a random thing

this is a frans swap comic that supposed to have a third chapter.

along with special cameos certain 2 horror type or frans artists

my favorite

there comes a rime where i don't know what to draw and times where i do know.

this one however i was motivated to draw three gals standin over their bf's lmao

[ravenadottir]

naming characters from s5

now listen, i never played the season and don't know their names, so i thought it would be fun if my partner saved the pictures and i would name them in the dark! feel free to add because honestly there's definitely culture shock when it comes to names since i'm not american or european, so a name that sounds good to me might not sound good for y'all lol

like gary, i didn't think it was a bad name and then found out people think it's an old guy name ??? anyway, here are my guesses/names for season 5 characters:

so bland looking, jesus christ! why is he sleepy here? is this his standard self? anyway! he looks like a jordan to me, because honestly jordan is a bland ass name and it fits right in!

she's anaís (anah-ees), look at those eyes! magical! she's gorgeous and deserves a name on the same level. also, is she an li? 'cause i would be so down for her!

she's giving "i'm pretty and i know it, i'm also composed and my name starts with a D", so i'm naming her deena. she's really hot, love the blonde hair for her!

oh... can we talk to the designers and ask what the thought process was with this one? why does he look like a dad in gossip girl?? anyway, generic guy asks for generic name, and i thought of eddie or tommy, but i know there's a tom in s4 (?) so... eddie is a good one. although, his face alone is giving nordic, so i'm naming him viggo.

alright, much better, this is definitely more my style! i would name him flynn, because one, white, two, red hair, and three, flynn rider, and he also looks like a smug little shit (affectionate).

the personification of my dream girl... but not quite because she's pixels, but still! oh my god, if she's not an li you should ask for a refund! i feel like she fits with a small but impactful name, like quinn, so that's what i would name her.

wait, so minors can apply for the show now? it's giving kindergarten, i'm sorry! cody and noel made so much fun of bobby but look at this small little child! he's definitely an evan, because he looks 14 and the adolescent vibes are there.

HAVE YOU SEEN A KATRINA MORE KATRINA THAN THIS KATRINA???? THIS - IS - A - KATRINA!

retro hair, probably vintage clothes, a bland of crochet and hemp... i actually have two names for her, because it's either mona or a name with a repeated syllable, like lala. the quirky vintage crochet girls are always a lala, or lulu, so i'm naming her lala.

this girl is giving isabella, or isadora, something that starts with -isa, but i believe isabella would fit in with her face. she's absolutely stunning, holy shit!

the designers did the boys dirty this season huh. i feel absolutely nothing for him, and it's kind of hard to find a name for someone that i feel so indifferent about, so like... gabriel, 'cause i feel nothing about the name either!

THIS CANNOT BE A REAL CHARACTER ON A REAL SEASON, I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THIS ONE! they took the time and money to draw this??? he's the human version of a ransom note written with magazine cutouts! like, every part of his face belongs to a different design, i can't!! i'm naming him hugo because who the fuck is named hugo? the human ransom note!

i know this one! his name is suresh, i've seen him on my dash a few times last year, and he was very popular (?), so... i actually like this name for him, but i think i have one that suits him better: devaj (born from the gods);

((now the reason why i have some favorite names from different ethnicites and cultures is because i did a lot of research for an upcoming project, so there's indian, korean, chinese, japonese, spanish, among others. so when you see my favorites in the other posts, that's why))

[arcane-vagabond]

About Me

Hey there!

Hi! My name is Liz! I’m 28 years old (Born on September 3rd), and my big three are Virgo Sun, Taurus Moon, and Virgo Rising! I just recently started writing fanfiction, but I’ve been writing since I was around 9 years old. I’ve been creating stories since I could talk! I was a Linguistics Major in college, and I had two minors: one in German and the other in Medieval and Renaissance Studies. I studied abroad twice during college: once for a year in Germany and the other for a month in Ireland! 

My Hobbies include:

Writing

Reading

Drawing

Painting

Traveling 

Video Games

Photography

Cross-stitch

Embroidery

My Favorites include:

Books: Night Road by A.M. Jenkins, The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell, The Giver by Lois Lowry, Earth Abides by George R. Stewart, and Coraline by Neil Gaiman

Movies: The Labyrinth, Pride and Prejudice (2005), Raiders of the Lost Ark, Where the Crawdads Sing, Detective Pikachu, and Black Phone

Shows: Derry Girls, Daria, X-Files, Steven Universe, Gravity Falls, Fruits Basket, and Anne With an E

Songs: In a Week by Hozier, The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For by U2

Disney Movies: The Little Mermaid, Brave, Elemental, and Soul

Disney Princess: Ariel

Disney Character: Donald Duck

Disney Show: Ducktales (original and new)

Cryptid: Mothman

Holiday: Halloween

Scary Movies: The Omen (1976), Longlegs, Incantation, and As Above, So Below

Flower: Lily of the Valley

Place in the World: Scottish Highlands

Myth: Orpheus and Eurydice

Musicals: Hadestown and Jesus Christ Superstar

Season: Spring

Weather: Thunderstorms

Colors: Yellow, Green, and Pink!

Musical Artist: Hozier

Animals: Stingrays, Gorillas, and Foxes

My Other Interests include:

Mythology

Folklore

Cryptids

Anime

History

Literature

Cute Things

Conservation

Activism

My Personality Types are:

INFP

Chaotic Good

Enneagram 7

Have other questions? Go ahead and shoot me an ask!

[bizarre-blorbo-bracket]

Round 1 poll 23: Judas Iscariot from the Bible vs Reynard the Fox from mideaval European Folklore

Propaganda under the cut:

Judas Iscariot

so i've always been sort of fascinated with the judas kiss as a thing in the bible. i was just always like dang it's wild that that exists. i would attempt to draw/paint/sketch it constantly in high school and i didn't really know why. the way i learned the name of the garden of gethsemane properly was one time i was feeling extremely faint as one does and as i was gripping my head on the floor of the bathroom, face a few inches from the tile, i just heard gethsemane, gethsemane, gethsemane repeating in my head over and over again. and i was like what the fuck is gethsemane and i looked it up and i was like OH. so fast forward a little little bit and i watch the last days of judas iscariot at a formative teenage year of my life and i am WOWED. i watch that last scene with jesus and judas MANY MANY TIMES. i'm OBSESSED i want to carve it out and eat it. after watching the play in full i show it to my actually catholic friend. she enjoys it. something about judas in that play clicks for me, and suddenly there's this whole context for my relationship with judas that makes a lot of sense to me, a traumatized former catholic. i become a HOUND for all media with judas in it. i am like a connoisseur and archive. i am just obsessed with it. i listen to clown bible in full. it makes me cry every time i listen to it. JUDAS by the reverent marigold WRECKS me because it's explicitly about judas as a scapegoat as an allegory for the trans experience with religion and it is a BANGER. like it's so good. i buy a copy of the script of the last days, of corpus christi by terrence mcnally, of judas by jeff loveness. i listen to several versions of jesus christ superstar in full and i am WOWED i did not expect it to be that good. someone on tiktok says that trans men's vocal chords thicken like cis men's on testosterone but don't lengthen, and that these shorter vocal chords make it easier for us to sing in a strong, natural falsetto. and i think about how jcs is full of really high tenors and briefly i start drawing red lines all over my life like, BOY HAS VISION OF GETHSEMANE AND IS TRANS BECAUSE THE UNIVERSE WANTS HIM TO PLAY A PRINCIPLE ROLE IN JCS??? and it's a brief lapse in sanity that i don't take seriously but one of my favorite jcs jesuses also had a weirdly prophetic vision of himself playing the part in jcs (i'm obsessed with him), and i'm like okay. i don't know what to do with all that information. anyway. i haven't played anyone in jcs and likely never will but i am still very attached to judas as like a mythological figure and symbol. i wrote an essay about him for an essay class that ended up being 19 pages unspaced. prof was warned beforehand that it was going to be long and she was very nice and encouraging about it um so thank god for that. yeah i have the absolute weirdest relationship with judas. and it has only been magnified with each new media and seeing people's various takes on judas as either redemptive/antihero/tragic figure/scapegoat/etc etc etc. currently obsessed with the parallels between him and jesus and him and mary magdalene in jcs. jcs ended up kind of extending the obsession to the three of them. i have a bust of jesus looking so so forlorn in my room. impulse buy. anyway. love him deeply obsessed with him turned me insane i think

Reynard the Fox

I feel like a mega weirdo for finding this medieval archetypal creature so endearing, especially considering the atrocities he commits in the stories he’s a part of. There’s just something so fun about a really old story about a bunch of morally grey animals engaging in shenanigans meant to satirize and mirror our society.

[globalworship]

The 'O' Antiphon Songs, Paintings, Poems

Elise Massa is a friend and part of United Adoration in the UK. https://www.facebook.com/EliseMassaMusic

She wrote,

 I thought I'd share with you a little project that I put together this year. In 2023, I engaged in a personal creative prayer practice, meditating on the O Antiphons and writing a musical response for each one. The O Antiphons are ancient refrains, typically sung at evening prayer from December 17-23. Each one is a title of Christ as found in Old Testament prophecies. My responses are more contemplative, less congregational, tapping into my singer-songwriter roots before I wrote for church congregations. This short album (<20 minutes) is just me, my instrument, and a little reverb for spice. It's available for listening and purchase through Bandcamp. https://elisemassa.bandcamp.com/album/o-antiphon-series

May Wisdom of God speak steadily in times of confusion. May the Lord draw you to his Kingdom. May the Root of Jesse anchor you to his life sustaining vine. May the Key of David release you from heavy burdens. May the Morning Star guide you to his Kingdom. May the King of the Nations bring peace to the wars outside and within. And may Emmanuel, God with us, be ever so tangible to you and those you love. 

+++

The O Antiphons are a series of seven verses dating from the sixth century and prayed during vespers during the last week of Advent. Each antiphon is a name of Jesus taken from Scripture, and they are the basis for the popular Advent hymn, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.”

Here are 4 paintings from the series by Sister Ansgar Holmberg, C.S.J. that arer based on the 'O' Antiphons.

+++

Here are excerpts from a (2020) interview with her:

Sister Ansgar Holmberg, C.S.J., 86, didn’t paint her O Antiphon series to edify or instruct anyone. They were meant only for herself.

Ansgar (she likes to be called by her first name) has been with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet for 67 years, and although she has spent time teaching children and offering spiritual direction, she created these seven paintings over the course of three years as a personal way to contemplate Scripture.

“I had read what other people had said, but I decided to paint them for myself, for me to understand them better. That’s one of the ways I learn,” Ansgar said.

Now the seven paintings, done in brilliant gouache (a kind of opaque watercolor), are gathered in a small book, Praying the Advent Names of God, paired with poems composed by another sister in the community, Joan Mitchell, C.S.J.

Read more at https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2020/12/22/advent-o-antiphon-paintings-239567

+++

Here are some of the images with poems available in the book and as posters:

+++

+++

+++

Read the artist's thoughts about these paintings and poems at https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2020/12/22/advent-o-antiphon-paintings-239567

Buy the 20-page book at https://goodgroundpress.com/product/advent-names-of-god/

Buy the posters at https://goodgroundpress.com/product/o-antiphons-posters/

[gamer-comix]

listen. it's been nearly 10 years. im an adult. i've been an adult for a while. i want to be the adult here. i want to be the bigger person. i also really don't want to, like, start shit, since it doesn't update anymore and OP seems to have dropped off the face of the earth for a couple years at this point?

but im a petty bitch so, fuck it, i'll just give a vague cliff notes version essay lol whoops.

under a cut because this is a comedy blog and not everyone wants to read about my tragic past. so only read this if you want to. seriously. it's only funny in terms of the absolute shameless audacity on display but it's mostly just kind of a huge bummer

to be perfectly clear, this isn't some "someone was mean to me in 6th grade and i'll NEVER forgive her >:(" kinda deal. im not THAT petty. we were both adults when this happened. i think she's, like, three or four years older than me actually? so keep that in mind

[backstory]

so a few months after i started twewy-comix, one of my irl friends (WHO I WILL NOT NAME) made her own blog (WHICH I WILL NOT NAME) based on it, for another series (WHICH I WILL NOT NAME). we were close friends and had drawn comix for this series together before, with me drawing four or five characters for her (important). on top of that she had a "this is based on twewy-comix, im friends with the OP" disclaimer (important) so i was completely fine with it

said series had had a new installment earlier that year (while meanwhile twewy was kinda old and sequelless) so her blog did really well. like, 50-200 or more notes per post well. again, great! love to see my friends succeed. but it got to the point where despite the disclaimer, i was getting people on my comix going "omg is this ___ comix style?!" not great! that part was annoying but It Can't Be Helped so i shrugged it off. all was well.

[/backstory]

so yeah. we kinda started drifting apart (edit: i should mention we'd been friends for at least eight years) but still kept in touch pretty frequently. like, i really want to stress that things were totally fine between us. but one day im trying to send her a meme or some shit and realize she's blocked me, like, everywhere. no explanation, nothing hinting at a reason anywhere, just. huh. i didn't have a phone back then so i had no way of contacting her, and even though we live(d) in a small town i somehow literally never saw her again. to this day i have no fucking clue what happened. did she move? did she die? who knows!

what i do know is she kept running that blog for at least five years afterward. she kept the "im friends with twewy-comix" disclaimer up for a year afterward and continued using the stuff i'd drawn for her right up to the end.

i know it's just mspaint shitposts and Really Not That Serious. but it's the principle of things, man. she'd drawn characters for twewy-comix too but i at least had the decency to stop using those after this

and not to get personal but that year and the years after (and the years before too honestly) were really, really rough for me. i was pretty much completely isolated both IRL and online. so knowing that while i was going through such a miserable time (partly due to her), she continued to rake in fandom clout using my content is just. jesus. jesus fucking christ, dude. what the fuck?

tl;dr if i ever start making comix for that series again people are gonna be really, really confused

last minute edit: this isn't a callout post. like i said at the start this person isn't active anywhere anymore afaik so let's not make this into A Thing. this is more of a "this happened. is that fucked up or what?" post. im over the ghosting part, and the stuff that happened after is annoying but it's over and done with at this point. if they come back it's fair game though

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - April 16th

 Here’s what I’ve read this week! I spent a little bit of time in the world of polyvewngers, so it’s shorter than normal but--enjoy!! Give your authors a comment & kudos as you read! 

~*~ 

Initiative Test Prep by plingo_kat

A day in the life of Steve Rogers, SAT tutor.

Drawing From Life by kdm103020

In which Steve cannot stop himself from drawing a certain someone.

Touchy Feely by MusicalLuna

After an encounter with Justin Hammer, Tony starts to feel—and act—strangely.

two for the show by meidui (orphan_account)

Tony is forty-five years old when he doesn’t believe in soulmates anymore.

lay your soul bare, your armour down by meidui (orphan_account)

“Now that you’re standing here, I just realised,” Zemo says softly, menacingly. “There’s a bit green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw.”

Steve is filled with an eerie dread as it occurs to him that Zemo was never after Bucky. He was after Steve.

The flecks of green in his famous blue eyes aren’t flaws. Dishonesty is a flaw. He thinks Zemo knows what he’s been keeping from Tony, and Steve is suddenly hyperaware who he’s trapped in this chamber with.

one more moment of this silence by Red (S_Hylor)

Tony can see ghosts. Not just any ghosts, but ghosts of people how haven't found peace yet, or refuse to. Ghosts of people whose bodies have never been found.

The closer to their bodies he gets, the more he sees them, an ability, or a curse, that he uses to help the police find body's of missing people.

It's never easy.

The Truest Story Never Told by Veldeia 

To pass the time as they wait for rescue in the Catacombs of Paris, Tony tells Steve the story of how he ended up with the repulsor pump.

Afternoon Delight by greyduckgreygoose

Tony watched with narrowed eyes as Rogers nodded politely to Natasha. They exchanged quick, familiar smiles, which suggested that they knew each other better than the acquaintances they seemed to want Tony to think they were. Up close, Rogers was even more attractive than he had appeared on camera, a touch of blonde stubble along his jaw, large square hands.

He also had a nice ass, not that Tony was particularly staring.

“Mr. Stark,” Natasha said, as they both stood before Tony’s desk. “May I introduce Steve Rogers? Or, if you prefer, Captain America.”

Degrees of Separation by plingo_kat

Oh god, what if Jarvis infected Dummy with, with emotions. Jesus Christ.

I've got you under my skin by sirona

Five times Beijing 2008 Olympics Gold Medalist Tony Stark thinks it's going to be no more difficult a job to get ready for London 2012, than what he has just achieved. That is, of course, before Coach Fury comes to visit, and offers him a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something much bigger than himself. Swimming AU.

None of This is Righteous Anger by Catchclaw

“Shut up, Sheriff,” Tony says, both his fists in Steve’s shirt now, that tin star poking, his heart a dead pound in his throat. “Unless your next sentence is let me take you to bed, because otherwise, you can go straight to hell.”

While Everyone's Lost (The Battle Is Won) by jukeboxhound

Steve closes his eyes in 1945 and wakes up in 2012.

Well. They certainly didn’t put that on the recruiting poster.

Prototype Automated Neuro-Tactile Unit 0 - New York Labs by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)

ANT-0-NY is one of a kind. The man that programmed him was killed before his code could be duplicated, and for all that his later owners have tried, no one can get the code out of ANT-0-NY's head. So he gets sent off to work instead, putting his considerable talents to work for the police department. The only issue is that his partner seems to routinely forget that he's just an android.

not so different, you and i by Anonymous

Three years ago, the idea that Tony Stark being one of her best friends would have been something she’d laugh at.

Not even laugh- she’d have given whoever suggested it a dry look and changed the subject.

Dreaming Electric by jukeboxhound

New York City is still rebuilding in the wake of the Chitauri army when the biotech virus Extremis is released, upgrading a lone domestic terrorist into a posthuman threat. Tony would’ve been happy to keep going on playing with alien tech in his lab, saving average citizens as Iron Man, and pretending not to notice these other people moving into his tower, but sometimes a person just can’t have nice things.

[kakusu-shipping]

omg i hope you don't mind i'm mhabrained today and i wanted to draw some self inserts so i drew mine, @echoes-lighthouse's, and urs hanging out ^_^!!!!

i'm so very curious about your mha self insert ... if you wanna share i'd love to hear what his deal is!!!!!

First of all this dynamic is amazing an accurate I am BEGGING you not to break anything. Tired Dad Energy my beloved <3

Second HOLY SHIT I went looking for my about post on this S/I and the most recent one was from 2021. I haven't watched the show in forever but when I do finally go back I need to color those sketches I made of their updated designs and make an about for them because Jesus Christ. I can't keep sending people to a 3 year old post.

Seeing those two posts side by side though does make me feel great about my art though. Three years. Damn.

ANYWAY, I'll give you the quick rundown

This S/I is my League of Villains self insert, he's Sir Nighteye's twin brother, legal husband of AFO, and Father to Tomura Shigiraki along with the rest of the League.

My Self-Ship with AFO is the only Self Ship I have that's completely non-romantic. Normally there's affection on at least one side, but here AFO is just using me, and I'm just going along with it to stay alive. No love here. I also self ship with Mr. Compress and Twice with this S/I during a little imaginary intrum after the Meta Liberation Arc where everyone's just crashed together at ReDestro's place.

His Quirk doesn't have a name cause the old name I had for it is dumb, but it's basically the opposite of Nighteye's quirk; He sees a person's past upon making contact with him. The difference while he doesn't have the once a day limit like Nighteye, he needs to be in direct contact with the person who's past he's looking into in order to keep seeing their past. The longer he stays in contact, the farther back he can see.

He sort of has the energy of a used car salesman when dealing with anyone outside of the League. He's overly friendly and unassuming. With the League he's very momcore, a bit overbearing and a big worrier, but overall chill mostly just doing basic chores like laundry and what not. Outside of both those scenarios he's Stoic, blank expression and calm demeanor, like his brother that's his default, he just puts on a very good act.

That's like. All the quick basic stuff kdjgkf Thought the post ended up kind of long

Thanks for the ask!!!! And the drawing!!! It's really good!!!