#throwback drawing?m

[official-voxtek]

Art by @lucifer-imaginaryfriend

Just a throwback from an old blog! This was when Lucifer was the pregnant one (with OG Virgil) and he was craving electricity so Vox was providing him with some — and it felt good 🤣

[bullet-prooflove]

In For Five: Tyler Owens x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hunterthecharmer @heylookwhoitis @shakespeareanwannabe

Companion piece to:

The Mechanic - Tyler faces a problem when Boone brings his mechanic ex girlfriend back into the fold.

Rigs -Tyler reflects on history with you

Ford Mustang - Tyler extends an olive branch.

Engine Parts - Tyler and you try to clear the air.

Your first job with the Wranglers is to get Tyler’s truck back to your garage in Lawton. When you step out of your tow truck and lay eyes on it, you know it’s going to be a bigger job than you initially reckoned because the poor thing is barely holding itself together in the aftermath of it’s adventures in a tornado.

“You can fix it right?” Tyler asks as you stand before the vehicle with your arms crossed over your chest.

“It looks like it needs an exorcism.” You tell him with a sigh before attaching the chain to the truck. “Let’s hope it holds together long enough for me to get it home.”

Arnett is almost three hours away from Lawton and Tyler decides to ride shotgun, leaving the other Wranglers with the RV as they help locals rebuild the community where tornado hit.

“It’s where the money from all the merch goes.” He tells you as you hurtle down the 60, your eyes on the road, Luke Combs on the radio. “We try to help out as best we can.”

He was the same back then too, you recall, throwing himself into the thick of it, pitching in any way he could.

It’s an hour into the trip that you realise he’s fallen asleep, the lyrics to Fast Car are still playing but Tyler’s voice isn’t accompanying them. You look over to see him tucked up against the door of your tow truck, head resting on the window, arms crossed over his chest. He looks so boyish in that moment, so care free and you remember what Boone had said when he’d taken you aside after Tyler had climbed inside your truck.

“He hasn’t been sleeping since the big one.” He confides in you. “He says he’s fine but what happened in that movie theatre scared the shit out of all of us especially when we almost lost Lily.”

Tyler hasn’t talked much about the tornado other than a brief outline of Kate’s work, it isn’t until that moment you realise just how close it had been for all of them. It explains the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes these days.

It’s when you pull into the garage that you try to wake him. You try saying his name but he doesn’t stir so instead you reach across to touch him, your hand lightly squeezing his shoulder. He jerks awake, his body tensing, his eyes wide and fearful and you know that he was back there again, trapped in that movie theatre along with everyone else, waiting to die.

“Hey, it’s alright.” You say softly, your hand coming to cup the side of his face, your thumb tracing over the dusting of stubble across his cheek. “It’s just me.”

His hand clasps your palm to his face, his heart thudding in his chest as he closes his eyes and his breathing stuttered.

“In for five.” You whisper and he draws in a deep breath. “Hold for five and then out for five.”

It’s a throwback to three years ago, when you used to wake up with your pulse racing in the middle of the night. He’d be right there with you, his forehead resting on yours as he soothed away your tears.

“Do it with me.” He’d say as he looked into your eyes, drowning out everything else but the sensation of his chest pressing moving in time with yours. “In for five.”

His breathing starts to even out, his shoulders relaxing. His lips brush over the underside of your wrist, his heated breath ghosting over your skin as his eyes meet yours. It takes you back to the last time the two of you were together in a motel room in Kansas, him undressing you by the light of the street lamp outside, his lips chasing over every inch of you before he took you apart.

“We’re home.” You whisper and Tyler sighs because home is where ever you are, it’s just taken him this long to realise it.

Love Tyler? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[wintaerbaer]

things we don't say: part 5.5 (interlude) (kth) (m)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 2.1k

chapter warnings: maya and jk are fighting again :( , and also SMUT in the form of: lots of kissing, light/brief breastplay, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), missionary, creampie, a throwback to part 2, they’re so vanilla but it suits them

a/n: a huge thank you to @btsborahaee for beta-ing on extremely short notice! you’re the best! and an extra thank you, too, to everyone who has shown this series love. it truly means the world <3

listening rec: pieces by andrew belle

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

The night is beginning to wind down, thick summer air turning cool and the noise from inside the venue softening with every passing moment. It’s peaceful—the kind of pleasant exhaustion that marks the end of a big day. Jungkook stretches out at the patio table, resting his hands behind his head. As much as he enjoys a party—loves the pounding of music and the press of bodies—he has to admit that this is pretty nice too, the ease that comes with good company and a more intimate setting.

It also helps that Maya and Mingyu have rejoined the group, settling his imagination, which had been running rampant while they were gone.

“Tae and Y/N haven’t come back this way, have they?” Jimin wonders, peering around as if he thinks that saying your names will cause you to appear.

“I haven’t seen them since dinner,” Maya says.

Joshua shifts in his seat, tilting his head out of curiosity. “What’s their deal anyway?”

It’s like a collective sigh passes through half the table. A heavy breath that’s half amusement, half exasperation. “You noticed?” Jimin asks with a smirk.

Wonwoo coughs out a laugh—a loud bark that draws all eyes to him.

He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“He’s in love with her,” Maya says, ever-direct. “Has been for as long as I’ve known them. Probably longer. But he’s too afraid to make a move.”

Mingyu sighs in understanding at her side. “Ahh, been there.”

“You have?”

He turns his head and regards her warily, like he didn’t quite mean to say that and he’s just remembered that he’s in the presence of a relative stranger. “Uh, yeah. With one of my friends in high school.”

“What happened?”

He hesitates, picking through his words carefully. “I spent freshman year of college gathering up the courage to tell her how I felt once we were both home for summer break.” A shrug flows down his back. “She rejected me.”

“Aw, Mingyu, I’m sorry,” Maya coos, and the enamored look on her face makes Jungkook nauseous.

“It’s fine. I moved on,” Mingyu says (A shame, Jungkook thinks). “But I can understand your friend’s predicament. Maybe it will work out for him though.”

A rush of boldness floods Jungkook’s veins, and he leans forward, looking deliberately at Maya. “It could definitely work out for him,” he insists, “because Y/N has been hurt in the past, and Tae understands that. He wants her to know that things could be different, but she just needs to let him in. That’s the problem.”

Maya’s eyes flash, clearly catching the double entendre of what he’s saying. “The problem,” she spits, “is that people have a pattern. And Tae’s pattern is that he’s far too scared to take a risk. Abandonment issues run deep, but some people don’t understand and respect that.”

“I und—“

“Tae has his reasons,” Jimin jumps in, defending his friend. “He just needs time.”

Maya snorts, and Jungkook can tell he’s hit a nerve as she continues her rant, the rest of the group quietly looking on in a mix of unease or confusion. “Time? Give me a break. He’s had almost twenty years worth of time.” She crosses her arms as she rolls her eyes to the heavens, scoffing a laugh of defeat. “Honestly? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that people don’t change. People who sleep around will continue to sleep around.” She pierces Jungkook with a look he feels in the marrow of his bones. “And guys like Tae will always have a reason to be afraid.”

Her head shakes, and Jungkook thinks she might be holding back tears.

“At this rate, we’ll all be dead before he makes a move.”

Taehyung’s mouth is relentless.

From the moment you lean forward, his lips chase yours—desperately seeking—and barely even give you the time and space to breathe. Like he no longer sees use for oxygen.

If someone had asked you a week ago what you thought kissing Taehyung would be like, you would've said careful and calculated, just like he usually is during the day-to-day. But instead, you're getting all fire and a hunger you didn't know he was capable of—urgency in the rough pace of his mouth and the frantic ministrations of his hands digging into the nape of your neck, angling you towards him.

For what it's worth, you meet him beat for beat, nipping at his lower lip, sliding your tongue against his, and tangling your fingers into the thick mane of his hair. A groan emanates from someone's throat—you're not even sure whose—and suddenly, he's gripping you around the waist to drag you across his lap with a growl until you're straddling his hips, crowding him against the headboard as he clutches you to him tightly.

You press closer, closer, closer, crushing your lips together for a bruising kiss and savoring the feel of his arms banded across your back, and the only thing you can think is that you can’t believe you didn’t do this sooner. He’s heaven incarnate, the taste of him ambrosia and nectar, and you can’t get enough.

It’s not enough.

You finally pull away for air, and his lips, still seeking skin, trace a path across your jawline and down the column of your neck as your fingers find their way to the buttons on his shirt. You’re frenzied, fumbling as you undo them one-by-one and let out a gasp of relief as the fabric falls open and allows you access to the warm skin underneath. You greedily run your hands over his chest and stomach, desperate for more, more, more, and he responds in kind, slipping his own palms under the cotton of your pajamas as he continues to nibble at your neck and groaning when he finds you bra-less.

Warm palms cup your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over perked nipples, and you move to push his shirt down his shoulders, immediately leaning in to bite and suck at the protrusion of his collarbone.

His head falls back against the headboard, and for the first time since you kissed him, he rasps out, “Y/N, my God.”

It sets your blood on fire, the guttural, fucked-out sound of his voice. But you miss the feel of his lips. “Don’t stop,” you murmur, stripping yourself of your own top and diving forward to kiss him again.

He moans once more, the vibrations dancing along your tongue, and the thought repeats that you should’ve been kissing this man every damn day. Should’ve been embracing him at every chance like your life depended on it.

From here on out, you think it just might.

You trail your hands down his torso, and he bucks his hips underneath you, drawing your attention to the hardness pressed against your pelvis.

“Tae,” you gasp, breaking away, and he takes the opportunity to arch his back and pull a nipple into his mouth. “Taehyung.”

But he’s not listening, purely focused on the mounds of your breasts, and so you take it upon yourself to torque your body, flipping the two of you until you’re on your back, and his weight is digging you into the mattress.

The change in position causes a temporary slow in movement, affording you new skin to explore as you roam the expanse of his back, Taehyung’s fingers reverently tracing the lines of your ribcage. It’s not long, however, before your motions ramp back up as you work to shimmy off your pants and clumsily free him of his own.

Finally bare to him, you slow down for real this time as his own touches become tentative, the warm air of the hotel room on his skin seeming to sober him up a fraction. He pauses with a hand on your hip, his other arm braced at the side of your head, not seeming to know what to do next.

Bold and eager—yet sure of your next move—you wrap your fingers around the smooth length of him, relishing the sharp intake of breath you feel at your ear.

“Need you,” you whisper. “Need you, Tae.”

He hesitates only a second longer before his fingers are dipping down between your legs, the two of you sighing in sync at the feeling. You line him up, raising your head to brush a gentle kiss to his mouth, trying to transmit confidence as you fold your legs around his waist.

A stoppage in time as he bumps his nose against yours. Flutters soft breath across your cheeks.

And then he pushes in.

Your lungs cease to function, every cell in your body focused on that single point of connection. You're whole. Full. Complete. Amazed at the ease with which you fit together—two puzzle pieces finding their match. And Taehyung is certainly not unaffected himself as he pulls back to look at you, emotion swimming in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours, his lips still ghosting your skin. And it could be a trick of the light, a haze brought on by the hormones currently coursing through your body, but his eyes look wet. “My angel.”

He kisses you then, slow and deep, taking his time as you both adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. You've never felt this comfortable with anyone before, never trusted someone so fully to see you at your most intimate and vulnerable. And he may have called you an angel, but with him above you like this—hovering, ethereal, and burning against you—you think it might actually be him who's heaven-sent. Your beautiful, beautiful man.

His hand charts a course up your body, guiding your arm upwards until it's resting by your head and he can lace your fingers together with a sigh. One more press of his mouth to yours, a gentle nip at your ear, and then he pulls his hips back—only to gradually ease back in centimeter by centimeter.

The process repeats, the pace slow but not lazy, deliberate intent behind every controlled thrust of his hips. It drives you crazy—the unhurried drag of him, the way he's allowing both of you to savor every nerve and inch of flesh until nothing is taken for granted. Your free hand maps his back, legs wrapping around him even more tightly, and he hitches your thigh to his waist so he can push deeper.

Stars circle through your vision, every sense overwhelmed by him: the press of his hips, the scattered kisses across your neck, the symphony of your mewls and his moans.

It's perfect—he's perfect—and before you even realize it, you're riding the edge of your high, entire body tensing in anticipation.

He notices, dropping his hand low again to rub at your clit and turning the stars you're seeing into constellations.

“Let go. I've got you, baby,” he murmurs. “I've got you.”

It's the low timbre of his voice that ultimately does it, and you fall apart, trembling so forcefully that he releases your hand to wrap his arms around your torso, locking the two of you together. He rides it out with you until he tips over the edge himself, spilling inside with a rumble in his chest like thunder.

One, two, three breaths in.

And it’s over.

Everything stills, the two of you a heaping pile of sweaty skin and heaving chests. And while your head is mostly empty, wiped clean by the experience you just shared with him—perhaps, now, the most important thing you've ever shared with him—a single fact of your new reality persists.

You want him. You need him.

You love him.

He pulls out with a groan and rolls off you, tugging you into his side. You know you should head to the bathroom, should clean up, but the emotional and physical exhaustion and the lure of his skin has you cuddling at his chest.

As your eyelids droop, the promise of sleep looming, he mumbles something, the words blending together in a tangle. You lift your head, heart jolting at the sight of his blissed out face.

“What?”

But he's already fallen asleep, tiny puffs of air slipping through his lips.

You think about nudging him back awake, think about asking him what he just said, where this leaves you, what you’re feeling yourself. But you decide against it, the expression on his face too peaceful to disturb.

It’s been seventeen years leading to this moment, right?

What’s one more day?

a/n: they finally got there :) but there's still a lot of story left! pls consider liking, reblogging, leaving a comment, or sending an ask in the meantime!

[canirove]

Ben Chilwell Imagine| two

Author’s note:  This is something I got requested on Wattpad. They wanted something with either Chilly or Pulisic, and where the reader was a Manchester United supporter. The rest was up to me 😁

Little summary: Throwback to Chilly and his knee injury. He just had surgery, and you are the nurse taking care of him and his wound.

Masterlist

"Good morning, Mr. Chilwell."

"Good morning, nurse. I thought I had told you that you can call me Ben."

"And I already told you I can't do that while working. I must be professional" I say while I get everything ready to check his wound.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. But if you weren't working... Ouch."

"Sorry."

"It's ok. If you weren't working, will you call me Ben?"

"I will, yes."

"And if your shift was over but you still were at the hospital?"

"That's and odd question" I chuckle.

"If your shift was over and you... I don't know, were seen hanging out with a patient, will that get you in trouble?"

"What are you asking me, Mr. Chilwell?"

"There is a Chelsea-United tomorrow night. And you don't work night shifts, do you?"

"I do not, no."

"I was thinking... That maybe... Since you are a United supporter and I am a Chelsea player..." he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Yes?" I ask, arching a brow.

"I was wondering if you would like to watch the game with me. Here on my room. I have a laptop, so we could... I don't know" he shrugs.

"Mr. Chilwell, are you asking me on a date?"

"Maybe? Am I getting you in trouble if I do?"

"Once my shift is over, I'm allowed to do whatever I want. Besides, this wound is healing really well. They'll probably send you home in a couple of days."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"You put the laptop and the game, and I'll bring the food. Do you fancy anything special? Chinese perhaps?" 

"Chi... Oh, you know. You know!" he laughs.

"I do" I shrug. "Chinese, then?"

"Chinese" he replies with a smile.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"Evening, nurse."

"Evening... Ben" I say as I walk into his room, a big smile showing on his face when he hears his name. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, good. Did anyone tell you anything about coming here?"

"Nope, nothing. Don't worry."

"Great. That smells really good" he says, pointing at the bags I'm carrying.

"And it tastes even better, you'll see. How do we do it?" I say as I move one of the tables that you can put over the bed. "We eat while we watch the game, eat during the break, after the game..."

"I'm quite hungry right now" Ben says. "Maybe we could start eating some bits now?"

"Of course. I brought a bit of everything so you can try them all and see what you like and what you don't like."

"Perfect. Where do you want to sit? The bed is big enough for both of us" he says with a little smirk. "And I think we'll be more comfortable that way to watch the game."

"Yeah, comfortable" I chuckle.

"Comfort is all I'm thinking about these days " he says as he moves so I can sit next to him. "So..."

"So" I repeat.

"Who do you think is gonna win?"

"Us, of course."

"So confident" Ben laughs. "Buy I think we will win."

"Ha!"

"Wanna bet?" he asks with a teasing smile.

"Ok, let's bet" I say, moving a bit to face him while trying to not touch his bad leg. 

"If we win..." Ben says, licking his lips and making me feel weird things on my stomach. "If we win, I'll buy you dinner. But somewhere nice."

"And if we win?"

"If you win, you buy me dinner."

"Again?" I laugh. 

"Ok, then lunch. Breakfast. Brunch. Whatever you fancy."

"And if it is a draw?"

"We'll think of something. Do we have a deal?" Ben says, offering me his hand.

"We do" I say as I take it, our eyes meeting and making those weird things I'm feeling on my stomach go crazy. "Should we start eating?"

"Yeah, sure" he says, letting go of my hand.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"We should have won."

"We, should have won. You stole a penalty from us."

"That wasn't a penalty."

"It was, Ben. It was" I say as I get up from the bed. Turns out that sitting together like that, was indeed very comfortable, and by the end of the game I had found myself cuddling against him, his arm around my shoulders.

"Puli barely touched him!"

"I beg to differ" I shrug.

"Are you leaving already?" he asks while I pick what is left of our dinner.

"We both have early mornings tomorrow. They are sending you home."

"Will you be there when they discharge me?" 

"If you want me to..."

"Of course I do! You are my favourite nurse" he says with a cheeky smile.

"Thank you" I reply, feeling my cheeks get warm.

"What are we going to do about our bet?"

"I don't know... I'll guess we'll have to buy each other dinner."

"That's two more dates."

"Or one if I buy you your dinner, and you buy me mine."

"I thought we had had fun tonight..." he says, looking down.

"We have!" I quickly say, moving to take his hand. "We have, Ben. I was just teasing you."

"Rude" he chuckles.

"Sorry" I smile while his thumb does small circles on my skin. "Do you want to meet again, then?"

"I do. So you better start thinking about what we are going to be eating."

"Italian? And we can watch my game against City."

"A Manchester derby and Italian food sounds perfect. But just try not to throw your pasta at me if you lose" Ben says with a teasing smile.

"We aren't going to lose. And I am very chill when I watch football."

"Definitely" he laughs.

"Meh, meh, meh" I say, rolling my eyes but not being available to contain a smile. "And I better go. See you tomorrow?"

"You know where to find me. It's not like I'm running away or anything" he shrugs, making both of us laugh.

"Goodnight, Mr. Chilwell" I say, kissing his cheek and letting go of his hand.

"Goodnight, favourite nurse" he replies, the biggest smile on his face as I leave the room.

[patheticbatman]

Last day for my Win A Commission contest! It’ll end at 11:59pm EST on May 12th. If you guess the book story, you’ll win a drawing :)

The book cover usually depicts these two sisters, Addie and Meryl, as white, but a friend of mine used to headcanon that they were her sister and herself. So I’m drawing her vision!

But as this scene is not very identifiable, I’ve included some hints. You can check out the first and second day’s hints as well.

1. Addie, the younger girl, has to save her sister from the plague wrecking her land. However, she is the ‘cowardly’ sister of the two, so she never suspected she’d be the one saving the other.

2. Addie falls in love with Rhys, a sorcerer, which is a slightly different species in this world.

3. I’ll give you the author and most of the title. Gail Carson Levine’s The Two Princesses of [blank]

Also, unrelated, I originally planned four pictures total for this story - 1 title and 3 in-story. But then I lost the phot I took of the last picture, and I didn’t think I had the physical copy anymore (I draw on paper first), so I ended up drawing this one. But guess what I found! I’m including a picture of the old one below. I think I’ll include them all in the final story :).

Here you can see how the older sister (Meryl) is more white passing than her sister (Addie) who is very much not. My friend M and her older sister had a very similar dynamic.

And to be honest, people don’t recognize my brother as my relative unless we’re both standing next to my mom, our shared parent. And when his dad, my stepdad since I was four and whom I love, is with us, they try to color code separate us. Which is frustrating, to say the least.

Interracial families have been a thing forever!!! Throwback kids have also been a thing forever!!! Families aren’t all one ethnicity or the same expression of an race!!!

So raise one up for families that don’t get recognized as families. I’ve been trying to put this into words for days and across several posts lol.

Additionally, I wanted to include a multitude of hairstyles for Addie, the sister with 4c hair. From an Afro with a headband to twists to braids. And also, sleep bonnets. They’re important for hair health and management, and are stigmatized/hidden in a lot of media. I hope that changes soon - God knows how many times I haven’t had the time or desire to mess with my hair when I wake up, so I just throw a bandana on to keep it private.

Everyone should be able to do that! No one type of person should have to be more ‘presentable’ at more/all times to be accepted. Especially when it affects one’s hair health!

[scottsummersevents]

For the Sexy Days of Summers Event happening right now we've invited Scott Summers (Cyclops) fans to take part in spreading more love for him out there on the internet by creating fanfiction, fanart, fan works, etc. to celebrate our favorite X-Men leader and the possibility of what if. For the duration of this challenge so far we've received some really incredible submissions with super rare pairings that are new to us. For the month of September we'd like to share some of those and also share some various fandom creations along the way in terms of content. Some might be an old favorite pairing while others might be something in terms of shipping you've never considered before.

Today's spotlight pairing is a throwback to the original X-Men exploring Scott and Warren's relationship and the possibilities that surround it!

Below under the cut you can take a look at some works for this pairing and see what it has in store for you!

Also if you have a favorite Scott pairing and a fanfic that you've written or that you love, then feel free to drop us a note and let us know so we can showcase it in the future!

Stay tuned for more duo spotlights coming soon!

If this is what we've got, then what we've got is gold by StormXPadme (Rated E) In which Warren invites Scott to a luxury trip on a family yacht for spring break. They find ways to kill the time.

drinking it in. by bibereangelum (Rated E) Warren looks at him through the mirror adjacent to the crappy hotel bed. Yellowed sheets spill off of one side, shoved haphazardly out of the way by his careless hand a mere half hour ago. Jean picked a good spot. Secluded enough so they wouldn’t draw attention yet crappy enough to irritate Warren and Bobby endlessly. Tomorrow morning, they’d fly back to Westchester and pretend none of this ever happened.

His eyes, purple to Scott, blue (so he’s been told.) Aren’t focused on his face. Warren’s gaze lowers, fixated on Scott’s bare chest. They’re both barechested. It’s too hot to even think about wearing a shirt, nevertheless staying in uniform. Scott wishes he thought far enough ahead to have slipped one on before Warren dumped him onto the bed for ‘nurse duty’. Jean could have stuck him with Hank, or Bobby, or left him by himself.

But he’s with Warren

Vertical Garden and Angels by GammaGaze What happens when a certain red-eyed mutant stands underneath a mistletoe?

Love, War and Refreshments by GammaGaze Scott's living on the Island of Krakoa and is always one step ahead of his opponents. But what happens when the war that will take place intertwines with the love he just found with Warren? Will his initial estimations save him or be his greatest downfall?

X-Drabbles by GammaGaze A series of one-shots between Scott and Warren.

Scott's X-Force by GammaGaze A series of drabbles between Scott and Warren's time at X-Force showing love and friendship.

Summer Sickness by Hirose (Rated G) After what feels like an unending torrent of work, missions, and complaints from the professor about how his work ethic is slipping (god forbid), Scott is reasonably overwhelmed. He’s tired, underfed, running on too few hours of sleep, and a small gust of wind would be more than able to push him over.

Happy Holidays by AngelGirl4212 (Rated M) Scott and Warren are left alone in the school for the Christmas holidays.

Pivot by diamondgore (Rated T) Eye Contact is a dangerous thing.

A Toast to Innocence, a Toast to Time by Duck_Life (Rated G) Jean has a talk with Warren Worthington III, Nate Grey's "Angel of Life."

going home for the holidays by mothicalcreatures (Rated G) Scott, Warren, and Pietro discuss their plans for winter break.

And for more head over to AO3 and check out their Scott/Warren section!!!

[etes-secrecy-post]

No #OnThisDay throwback post, only exclusive for super secret blog(s).

Me 🇵🇭: You and Radar (from Astroblast 🚀🥤) had a lot in common when it comes to primates. And yes, I did make a drawing of Radar during CNY's Year of the Monkey celebration. 😊🐒🏮 Here's hoping, I'll draw Marco and Radar celebrating their CNY, in the coming years. 🙂

Me 🇵🇭: (Meanwhile) Heck yeah! They're READY to SMASH, alright?! 😁👊💥🎮 Whether they're brawl each other or saving the fictional world from a certain evil sinister! (Even though, our fam haven't owned any Nintendo games/console, yet. 😅)

[metalchairz]

ships to draw: erisol and/or erikat ? :)

Had to go with the throwback boys. They were basically my only m/m ship that I was passionate about.

[metaphysicpareidolic]

OPINION TIME because i need to know i'm not the only one who feels this way:

i'm gonna be perfectly honest and many of you might hate me for this but. i. did not like good omens season 2. so if you don't want to read, i'll just write my essay under the break dlsjfdh

OKAY.

i mean i understand why people like it, the two (mostly) male-presenting characters that everyone has been smashing together like barbie dolls for decades finally get a canon kiss, great. yeah, as a trans gay guy, i can't deny that i love seeing any kind of queer representation, especially from such a popular show, from such an influential author. but this? did not. feel good to watch. and it's not just because of the soul-destroying cliffhanger ending.

i lived and breathed good omens when the show first came out, it was one of the most intense hyperfixations of my life, i was completely obsessed with it and i recommended it to everyone i knew, both the show and the book. it's the entire reason i got tumblr in the first place and the first fandom i actually participated in. quite a good portion of my waking thoughts were consumed by the ineffable husbands and all the other characters. i was a young teenager at the time and this story shaped my view of the world for over a year, and i will always love it. but even then, i hoped to god (ha) that they wouldn't make a second season. but inevitably, they did.

i went into the first episode hoping i was wrong, and i finished it just feeling disappointed. i kept watching and got through the whole thing, hoping it would get better as the season went on, but it just got worse and worse. granted, i did enjoy the little historical throwbacks (i think the entire second season should have just been aziraphale and crowley through the centuries with michael and david improvising the whole thing like that one post) but the actual plot was bland, the characters had lost all their depth, and on top of that the budget was obviously cut by a lot so the rich visuals that were so captivating in the first season were gone, as well. that and issues with sound, which probably were more noticeable cause i was wearing headphones, but this is one of the most popular and profitable shows on a leading streaming service owned by one of the biggest fucking companies in the world. shouldn't they be putting money into it?

i'm not upset that beelzebub was recast. i'm upset that their entire character and personality was forgotten in favour of a romantic side plot, which exists, why? again?? to somehow emphasize a point already made by the other rushed romantic side plot?? that has barely anything to do with the actual story other than being accidentally dragged into it by aziraphale, whose entire character development from the first season has been entirely pushed aside because we need a third season, because we want more money! hehe they are kissing, gay people kissing ooh look, give us your money and attention so you can see them kiss consensually this time! i could continue but i will spare you the entirety of my spiel because i could write. PAGES. about how much this season hurt my soul not because Oh No They Broke Up but because i believed in this world and i believed in these characters and i don't like seeing them like this, wrung out and milked for cash and fanservice. everything that made the first season good is dampened by the knowledge that i now have to consider this fucking thing canon, that this is what the story turns into.

neil gaiman i love you but for the love of god get off of tumblr. he just wrote a fucking fanfiction of his and terry pratchett's work because he knew he would get money from it. and we are eating it up, because we love the story, we love the characters, and we love the author and we always want more. if you want more, draw fanart. write fanfiction. create your own version of a story. please, don't give your money to a company just because it's Officially Legit Canon when you could create a much better, more compelling, and more satisfying ending for yourself, for free. i lied earlier, i don't understand the appeal of this season. i don't understand why people like it. it feels fake. it feels wrong. it feels like an entirely different universe than the first season, and the book, and that wouldn't necessarily even be a bad thing if it was at least done with some level of concern for quality and consistency.

i know not everyone wants to be critical of their favourite show and would prefer to just enjoy it for what it is. i understand that, at least. i don't want to ruin anyone's fun. if you enjoyed this season, good. i'm glad you did and i love seeing all the fanart and fanfictions happening everywhere. i just really wanted to talk about this and maybe spark a little discussion if anyone's interested. anyways if you read all of this, thank you.

tl;dr: i hate capitalism, i hate streaming services

[mochimuses-a]

“Why don’t we wear two jackets, with one facing out to keep our chests and stomachs warm?”

[sparklingchim]

long way home drabble

word count: 1.1k i swear this was supposed to be shorter

warnings: jk giving oc a hickey, oc is like kinda obsessed w tae

a/n: just a little throwback to oc's & jk's highschool time 😙 n them once again not behaving like best friends should behave 😐but who's surprised at this point

long way home masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"Hey, Jungkook?"

Pushing your textbooks to the side and getting up from Jungkook's bed you walk to his desk where he is doing his biology homework.

"Mhm?" He is too focused on writing something down than to raise his head.

"Can you do me a favour?"

" 'm not drawing your art homework for you again."

"No need to do that. I did it myself this time."

"Really? What did you have to draw?"

"A still-life. It looked pretty good, not gonna lie."

"Can I see?" Now he raised his head, anticipation shining in his eyes.

"Later, you need to do something for me first."

"Spill," he says, back at continuing to write. "Hold on, what was the difference between hydrophilic and hydrophobic again?"

You groan. "Hydrophilic loves water, hydrophobic hates water."

"Thanks." Jungkook finishes writing his sentence before he drops the pen on his desk "What kind of favour?" he asks, turning to you on his swivel chair. His hands land on your waist, pulling you closer to make you stand between his legs.

You're not one to shy away from saying something to Jungkook since he is your best friend and you basically tell him everything. However, you still find yourself hesitating before the words leave your lips.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

The silence that follows is loud and Jungkook's eyes have a vacant look in them.

So you cock your head, raising your brows expectantly.

"You...want me to give you a hickey?"

Crossing your arms over your chest you say, "Yeah."

"And...for what exactly?"

"Just..." you look over his head, trying to find the perfect words for a explanation, but...there really are none that could help you to explain the little idea that popped into your head some time ago when you were doing your homework on his bed. "I wanna make someone jealous," you finally answer after setting your eyes back at him.

"Like, who?" He sees your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, a shy smile hiding behind it. "Fuck, you wanna make Taehyung jealous?"

You've been having a crush on Taehyung lately. Much to Jungkook's dismay cause sometimes you can't shut up talking about how handsome he is and then Jungkook would get annoyed cause he couldn't fucking care less about how stupidly handsome Taehyung's stupid fucking face looks like. So you tried not to talk about Taehyung that much.

"Isn't this gonna make it worse, though? Like, he's gonna see that you're with someone which will obviously make him lose interest."

"Yeah but, the whole point is to find out if there was even interest in the first place," you explain.

Jungkook's jaw twitches. "I can't fucking believe you."

"Please, Kook?" You're hands are on his shoulders and you look at him with the most innocent and pure expression that you could summon on your face. "I can't just ask him if he's interested in me. That's just...no, I can't do that." There's no way you're making the first move.

"Yeah, cause that'd be too normal for you to do." He pulls you closer. "C'mere," he finally says, though reluctantly. Jungkook pulls you on his lap, you're back facing him. You turn your head, making it easier to access your neck. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, his hand tilting your head.

"Just a small one, nothing big," you instruct. "But not too tiny either. Big enough to see it from afar but not too exaggerated, okay?"

"Baby," he says, his voice soft. It makes you turn your head to him. "This isn't a tattoo you're getting. I don't have much influence on how it'll look like."

"Make it pretty."

He sighs, but you hear the slight chuckle.

You feel his lips coming closer, his breath fanning over your skin. It tickles so you grasp the wrist of his hand, that is softly enveloping your thigh, to not jerk away.

Okay, this might be your first time having someone about to kiss your neck and give you a hickey. You didn't let any boy get close to you cause most boys are stupid and you're not interested in them.

Feeling Jungkook's plush lips against your neck pulls you out from your thoughts. He kisses your skin a few times. That simple gesture makes you feel millions of butterflies buzz around in your tummy. You squirm a little on his lap, the feather light kisses so light and yet so overwhelming. His fingers around your thigh tighten and you stop yourself from moving, sitting still on his lap.

His other hand sneaks into your hair when he starts sucking. You press your lips together, fearing that you'll accidentally utter a tone that will make you regret having suggested this idea to him in the first place.

Jungkook is more experienced than you, which is not that hard to achieve since you have absolutely no experience at all, but you'd be lying if you denied that you're a little shocked at how expertly he is handling the situation.

You'd also be lying if you denied that you're throat feels a little dry because you're shocked at how much you're enjoying having Jungkook suck your skin between his lips, but you restrain from paying attention to those thoughts.

The grip on your thigh slackens as Jungkook's mouth slowly lets go from your flesh.

Your mind feels foggy and you need to swallow before you speak because dry throat and all that, but you still manage to act nonchalant and feign annoyance as you ask, "Was your hand in my hair really necessary?"

His lips look plumper than before and you keep your eyes from looking at them because they just look so kissable right now.

Jungkook clears his throat. "You wouldn't stop moving." He withdraws his fingers from you hair, brushing through them to flatten the mess he made.

"I didn't move," you deny a little sulky, the heat rushing in your cheeks. Jungkook swipes across your neck with his thumb, cleaning his spit. "Does it look good?"

"Give it a few minutes," he says, giving your neck a last final look before patting your back to shoo you away. "Gotta do my biology homework."

You mutter a "thanks" under you breath as you stand up and walk back towards his bed. You let yourself fall on the mattress, grabbing your phone to look at the bruise on your neck.

Gingerly, you skim over your skin with your finger. It's slightly pinkish, not much of a hickey to be seen yet.

"How are you gonna hide it?"

Inspecting the hickey through your phone camera you ask, "Watchu mean hide it ? I wouldn't have asked you to give me a hickey if my intention was to hide it."

"So like, you're not gonna hide it from your parents?"

Your phone drops on Jungkook's bed. With your lips slowly parting, you stare at him in apprehension.

"Fuck."

Perhaps you haven't thought this plan through so thoroughly after all.

[pseudonympls]

Taking Centre Stage

Rating: Explicit. 18+ only.

Era: Eighth Grade Era AU where Bo becomes a theatre director.

CW: explicit sex. sex on a piano. fingering. unprotected sex but he pulls out. sex on a stage but the theatre is empty. theatre-director!bo. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. very-soft-dom!bo

Bo Burnham x AFAB Reader. She/her pronouns.

Word count: 5k

A/N: I procrastinated writing Love Blooms by writing this...idk what to tell you other than I clearly have A Problem™️

Thanks to @oh-bo for this find and the gorgeous edit 🥰🖤

* * *

Sighing, you walked through the wings, noting the sheer height of the ceiling, the pulleys connecting the curtains to the master carrier. You peeked around the luxurious velvet, seeing the theatre completely empty. The rumbling in your belly told you that it was time for dinner, but it was a signal you blithely ignored, opting for a slow, steady tour throughout the theatre you would be calling home for the next few months. How you thrived on being on stage; the attention; the nerves; the adrenaline. Fuel to your frankly dwindling fire, as of late.

With jobs few and far between recently, you told yourself you should be grateful to receive any kind of work at all - even if it went largely unpaid. It lined your pockets with experience and kudos from the local art critics, instead, a currency you were sorely lacking in. Now centre stage, you felt huge - massive even. On a stage with no audience, anyone could be a star. Taking a deep breath, the scale of things came back into focus, the far reaching, impossibly high circle up ahead, intricate gold and red appliqué that lined the walls, the ceiling - a throwback to the extravagance and overindulgence of the 1920’s. How the past one hundred years had weathered this building: wars had been fought, styles had slid in and out of fashion - but the appeal, the draw of decadence of years gone by still held fast, still pulled at a thread in your chest, drawing you inexplicably nearer to chaos.

Lazily walking over to the black baby grand centre left stage, your fingers grazed the propped up lid. Lifting the fallboard your fingers felt magnetised toward the keys. Your hand assumed the position, finding middle C, the piano lessons you’d had as a child flooded back to your brain. The thrumming in your head was so loud, that you didn’t hear the tentative footsteps behind you, not until the owner of them cleared their throat loudly.

Adrenaline shot up your spine as you whirled around, one of the impossibly tall, blond theatre directors was leaning against the wing - a smug smile plastered across his face. 

“I thought this place was shut for the night” he mused, not moving from his position, his prepotant stance keeping you frozen in place, too.

It was the theatre director from the audition, the one with the kind eyes. On closer inspection, he was a feast for the eyes, as well. At least six foot six, lanky but with a gentle grace about him - short but lightly ruffled blond locks, and a quarter inch of delicious stubble wrapped around his jaw. His lower half was draped in simple black jeans that he made look anything but simple. A thin, white button up shirt covered his top half, dangerously see through - and if you’d have known better, you’d have tried harder to avoid the plum shadows on his chest where his nipples lay beneath the fabric. 

“M-me too, s-sorry” you stuttered through the words “I told security that I was starting a production next week and I-um, just wanted to see the place empty, I guess” 

“That’s right, our leading lady, is that correct?” He cocked his head to the side, his disposition clear, cool and calm. Stark contrast to your jangling nerves, the way they shook and trembled every pore in your skin. 

A flicker of recognition fluttered through your chest, “Y-yeah, you-you remembered?” 

He scoffed, shaking his head lightly “how could I forget the audition with the monologue from that British show, Fleabag, wasn’t it?”  

You swallowed deeply, casting your mind back to the audition - the terribly hot, sticky afternoon spent sweating it out in your trash heap of a car, hands slick on the steering wheel - willing yourself to go into the theatre. Small steps, you had told yourself. First: unbuckle your seatbelt, then, open the car door. Before you knew it you’d be on stage, at your first audition in months, perhaps even coming up to a year now? The thought trickled like battery acid through your mind, numbing every one of your atoms into a stillness - maybe then, you’d at least stop sweating. 

You breezed through their script like a dream. You had spent the last week poring over it like it contained the cure for cancer, after all, so it wasn’t any surprise when the directors nodded slightly, and made notes on their pads of paper in front of them - the blond on the left pausing only to whisper something in the casting directors ear.

“And now it’s time to show us what you’re made of”, the art director said, gesticulating wildly with her hands “Get creative, show us why you’re right for this role, for this company, convince us that you’re the one for us. Your quirks, your personality - hell - even your flaws, we want to see them” her frigid smile inspired little confidence - her cold demeanour sent chills up your spine, and not the positive kind, but the blond to her left had kind eyes, and it was all you could do to avoid his gaze as you spiralled into your tirade.

“I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning.” you shook your head, a slanted smile pulled at your lips, as you waited the appropriate beat for the other character's line that would never come. “No, I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat. What to like. What to hate. What to rage about. What to listen to. What band to like. What to buy tickets for.” you shook your head with every other word, getting faster and faster as you spoke, your legs trembled on the stage, betraying your nervousness - hoping it would come off as in-character, intrinsic to her floundering. “What to joke about. What not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and who to love and how to...tell them” your bottom lip quivered - right on cue - you thought, pulling the words from the deep recesses you had hidden them, just as you had hid the blindsiding sorrow of finding your pet bunny - Forest - dead at the tender age of seven. Just as you had quashed those dreaded memories of mother calling you up in the dead of night, to tell you that grammy had passed after her long battle with cancer. The silence rang loud in your ears as you left a pause, and you didn’t dare look back at the table below the stage. “I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far, I think I’ve been getting it wrong.” you bit back tears, just enough to make it believable. “And I know that’s why people want someone like you in their lives, because you just tell them how to do it.” you curled your lip, letting some of your own iron tasting bitterness flow out, a peek of yourself shine through the lies “You just tell them what to do, and what they’ll get out of the end of it, even though I don’t believe your bullshit” you pointed your finger like a dagger toward your invisible stage partner and hissed the final few words “and I know that scientifically nothing that I do makes any difference in the end, anyway, I’m still scared. Why am I still scared?” you gave up hiding the tears now, the restraint gone, the scene almost done, you let them spill down your cheeks, almost in relief “So just, tell me what to do. Just fucking tell me what to do, Father.”

Their response hadn’t filled you with confidence, a wry smile had spread across the blond’s face, but the other two’s expressions remained stony, totally unreadable.

“Th-thats right” you blushed under his scrutiny, one-on-one seeming so much more anxiety inducing than three-on-one. He took a pause, and you couldn’t help but think that he was running your audition back through his mind - how your face had dropped as you exited the stage - how you had thought you were making an utter fool of yourself. You were more than surprised when you got the call back - astounded even, that they’d taken a punt on such a wild card.

He didn’t linger on the matter, as he folded his arms and nodded his head at the baby grand next to you “Do you play?”

Taken aback, for a moment you wondered what he meant, until reality dissolved back in around you “Piano? Oh, I used to, y-years ago, not for a long time now, though” your voice quietened as you spoke, your confidence dwindled with the volume.

“Just as well your character doesn’t play then, I suppose” he joked, a pithy attempt to lighten the air - lift the atmosphere.

“Oh, absolutely, to say that I’m rusty would be an overstatement” you threw back, and the resulting silence bit the air like the cool breeze of the air-con that filled the stage. A beat passed, and he unfolded his arms - just as you noticed how obscenely long they were, how long all of him was, he walked toward you, making light work of the several feet between you both.

“How about we do a little rehearsal, while we’re here? Hmm?” he clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms slightly.

“I…um” you paused, feeling a little surprised. You did not imagine rehearsing today, but, always eager to please, you travelled to the closet in your mind where the script for the show was kept, and agreed on it, “Y-yes sir”. 

He chuckled darkly “Please, just call me Bo,” and you hid the somersaulting of your belly, as you slid into character: the ailing belle, long suffering wife of the brute, who would come to an untimely end. “Please, you’re hurting me, your negligence hurts me, whether or not you mean it doesn’t fucking matter, I’m withering over here” you pressed your fingers into your chest for emphasis, inwardly cringing at the scene Bo had chosen - knowing how it ended.

“Doll, I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up, I’ve had it up to here” Bo lifted a large hand to his brow “With your shit.” he followed the blocking and went to turn around, before doubling back and squaring up to you “You know, there’s only so much a man can take before-” 

“Ryan, please, we need to talk about this, talk it out, I’m sure we can make it work someho-” Bo made eye contact seconds before he interjected, preparing you. 

“Fuck no, I’ve fucking had it, shut the fuck up!” he screamed in your face “or else I’ll make you” - he startled you, his sheer size, raw energy and charisma sent warmth between your legs in a way you could have never anticipated. His blue eyes, once calm and kind - radiated a passion, a hate, so strong it elicited almost a real fear response from you. 

“Ryan, please,” you whimpered after him, crossing the breadth of the stage in your begging, and suddenly, the heat of the day crashed down on you, the lack of food in your belly made you lightheaded. It was all you could do not to collapse on stage right there and then.

Breaking character, Bo turned around, his gait returning to his soft, natural state - not the hypermasculine, defensive stance that Ryan took on. “That was great, but um, could you give me a bit more?” 

You faltered for a split second, before nodding slowly, and took a few deep breaths in order to immerse yourself in the role completely. “Ryan please, please just listen to me” you continued, trying desperately to inject more emotion into the words, into your performance.

Bo resumed Ryan’s toxic stance, and continued walking away from you, but briefly turned around as Bo whispered “More!” out of the corner of his mouth.

“We’re fucking done, do you hear me? All this bullshit” Bo paused, “You, pretending that you love me - and me, pretending that you’re all I’ll ever need, all I’ll ever want, practically forcing me into another girl’s arms. Well I’ve had enough of it, I’ve had enough of you, Jess. We’re done”

“Ryan please, I’m-” you paused, willing the tears to begin flowing, your knees dropped to the floor so hard they’d likely be bruised, but your weary mind wouldn’t allow the pain to bleed through your mind - not during the performance, “I’m pregnant”.  

“Give it some more, I know you can do it” Bo’s voice was encouraging, but there was an edge to it now, sharp as a blade.

“Ryan please!” you screamed, “I’m pregnant” you forced the tears from their hiding place, but they felt wrong, premature. A hot blush crept across your cheeks as you felt his gaze settle on your head.

“More!” Bo chanted, his voice heavy with demand.

That’s when you crumbled, “I’m sorry-I-I can’t!!” You screamed, tears now smattering your cheeks and chin with their downpour. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry” Bo saw through the madness and knelt beside you, “I should’a known better not to push you, especially during an unofficial rehearsal like this, fuck” he swore undreneath his breath again as his palms came to your shoulders.

“Are-are you okay?” he sighed, “To be honest, you’re such a good actor I can barely tell what is acting and what is real, if-if that makes you feel any better” he laughed breathily, and you finally plucked up the courage to look at him instead of the ground.

“I’m-” you breathed “I’ll be okay” you half smiled at him, letting your heartbeat return to normal, and the adrenaline to still its course in your veins.

You both stood up, knees aching from the ground, and you finally made eye contact. His blue eyes searched yours for the truth, before settling on an idea “Will ice cream make it better? Ice cream always makes things better” he sighed with a smile, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, teetering from one foot to the other. 

“Y-yeah, I guess, sorry, I don’t usually get this emotional” you stilled your palm against your roaring chest, feeling your heartbeat finally resembling a normal rhythm.

“N-no it’s good, it’s an incredibly emotional role, and that was exactly the kind of emotion I was looking for but…I feel like I’ve just fucking pulled a Stanley Kubrick on the set of The Shining…or something” he wrenched a hand out of his pocket and pressed it to his face, his expression strained with frustration.  

“N-no, Bo - I’m fine - really I am” you reached out to lower his hand from his face - and it made pinpricks of electricity erupt all over the contact points. You froze again like a deer in the headlights when you realised what you’d done. “I’m sorry” 

His own breath hitched in his throat “No, it’s okay” 

The tension had built between you both like fog on a winter morning, kept you surrounded until neither of you could see anything but one another. He eclipsed everything else, and despite being the only other person in the room, you felt like that may become a permanent feeling - even with the theatre full to the rafters. His other hand reached for yours, circling his fingers around your wrist he lowered both his and your hand down “Is this okay…” his eyes punctuated the question.

“Y-yes” your voice caught on the word, hoarse with the rising atmosphere you had cultivated between you both. His grip loosened a little on your wrist as he filled the gap between you both in one long stride. 

“Is this okay?” He sighed, and you could almost taste the sweet tang of his last coffee on his breath. Words weren’t an option, and you answered his question with your kiss. Your neck unnaturally tilted upward to meet his lumbering height, his lips responded in kind, searching, pulling and pushing, as his hands found the safety of your waist. At this proximity you could smell his scent; deep, woody and faintly floral, noticing that only this close could you breathe it in - it felt intimate, close, like he was wearing it for you and you alone. Startled by his hands, you took a step back, and he followed you gladly, step after step until you’d likely fall off the edge of the world together, and in all honesty - you wouldn’t mind.

Instead, your lower back found the baby grand, an innocent bystander to your tryst - Bo pressed you harder into the piano, and it didn’t budge, didn’t even make a sound against your bodies, quickly becoming entangled against the instrument. Bo’s hand found your hair, gripping into it harshly, before releasing you. He pulled apart from you only briefly as his eyes looked up toward the piano with devilish intent. Separating from you for a moment he made short work of the lid, lowering it quickly and quietly. He turned back to you and bruised your lips with a kiss, before his arms gripped your waist, and with a squeal, he lifted you on to the baby grand.

Childish grins spread between you both as he walked in between your legs, before a dark cloud rolled in over his features. “I-I don’t do this very often, I don’t, uhm” he bowed his head, partly in shame “I don’t have a condom” a blush stained his cheeks as his mouth tilted into a grimace. Normally, you wouldn’t be so reckless, but the thought that if you didn’t have him now - that you never would - just about consumed you entirely. 

“It’s-its okay, you can just pull out” you relented, giving into your urges, so entirely caught up in the moment - in him.

“Is it fucked up, that I wanted you to say that?” he smirked, shades of shame still colouring his expression.

“N-no” you stuttered, as he flashed a dazzling smile up to you, before his hands found new pathways to traverse beneath your waist.

You fought back a heady sigh as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, “Ohshit” He breathed as his fingers parted your folds. “You’re soaked, sweetie” he marvelled - and it pained you to admit how much that little smidge of praise heated you further.

“I-I don’t do this very often, either” you admitted behind your own blush, your voice straining on the final word as Bo sank two fingers deep into you.

“Fuck, that feel good?” you quivered on his fingers - so sublimely thick and long, that your mind wandered to what else may hold such qualities.

“Mmhmm” you nodded, your eyelids threatening to shut out the scene unfolding in front of you. Bo, towering over you even with your hips propped up on the piano - his tongue pressed into his bottom lip in concentration as he finger fucked you on the baby grand. The whole theatre, spread out before you both, completely empty, not a soul to be seen, as you were spread before Bo just as eagerly, he - the only audience to your performance. 

“N-no, tell me how good it feels,” Your eyelids snapped open, to see Bo’s gaze squarely on you, an impish quality to his eyes, the mischievousness he had hidden so well - until now.  Suddenly any vocabulary fell out of your head as he increased his pace. “How about this, then?” His elbow moved back slightly as he changed angle, his wrist crooked, his fingers rocking against the tender spot inside of you, pushing a gasp from your lungs for good measure. “How’s that?” he teased. 

“I-uhhmmmn” you managed, as he slowed it down to a pace that was wholly unsatisfying, your hips straining against the pressure.

“Come on, don’t be shy, I’ve seen how you are with words, why don’t you run that pretty little mouth, huh?” he coaxed, and you turned your head to look away from him - from the entire situation, as you finally found your voice.

“God that feels so fucking good” You blurted out, any thought was knocked out of your mind as you spat out a pure description of how he was making you feel.

“Alright then” he whispered, and cruelly removed his fingers from you. You’re sure you must’ve looked comical, spread on that piano, mouth aghast with his cruel removal of his hand - it was with the last remaining tinge of shame that you didn’t chase his fingers with your lips.

“P-please” you whined, fingertips sliding on the varnished wood behind you, unsure of just how much more teasing you could take. 

He closed in on you, pulling your form against him with one hand - lifting your behind off the piano for but a moment, just long enough to relieve you of your underwear.

“Don’t worry sweetie,” He swiftly undid his jeans button, the tautness of the zipper sliding down by itself did nothing to allay your burgeoning anticipation. Your mouth hung open, and you had to suck in the small pool of saliva that collected there, before it slid down your chin. The grating sound of the zipper sliding open seemed to echo around the theatre, and it was all you could hear as your cunt clenched in anticipation of what was to come. His thumbs found the waistband and pushed gently down, exposing his light grey boxer briefs, and your eye was drawn to the dark patch that bloomed near the apex of his thighs, you felt yourself shiver from within to even look at it. 

You should have known better - the guy was over six and a half feet tall, one of his fingers equalled two of yours - it was a matter of proportion that he’d also have a freakishly large cock. The impending reveal set off a chain reaction of panic that exploded across every inch of your body. You were about to see it unclothed, and in the flesh. Once the jeans and his underwear were around his ankles, you would have done well to have extra support on that piano - because you almost fell off of it. It had been so long since you’d even had sex, nevermind with someone as well endowed as Bo - you swallowed hard, and he must’ve seen the trepidation written all over your face.

“H-hey,” his fingertips came to your chin, pulling up your gaze to his eyes. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just-just” you glanced down to the bulk of him, standing proud in the gap between you.

“We can stop if you want to,” he breathed, and his cock gave a gentle bob - if almost in agreement. 

Suddenly, with those words on his lips, stopping was the last thing on your mind. You shook your head “no” and pulled him in for a harsh kiss, managing to whisper up against his lips “Just be gentle with me, okay?” 

With a groan, Bo whispered into your mouth “Fuck, okay” 

Your thighs hugged him close, almost through necessity as he lined himself up. You thanked god for artists’ ability to multitask as he slowly bit up your neck - nothing that a good splash of makeup couldn’t cover - plenty of it - actually, as he delivered one particularly bruising nick to the tender flesh of your throat. Teasingly, temptingly, he drew what felt like a figure eight on your throbbing pussy, grazing your clit with one swoop and dipping into your entrance with the next. His other hand found your behind and pinched it for good measure as he braced himself - and you - as he eased inside. Ever thankful for the acoustics, your helpless scream echoed around the theatre, bouncing off the seats, the concession stands and the walls, before making its way back to you - the absence of bodies in the room that would usually soak up the sound, created a gigantic echo chamber. “You sound so fucking pretty, echoing around the room like that” Bo grunted, still not even half way in “But I need you to be louder,” he breathed deep, barely moving “They can’t hear you in the back row” he muttered into your ear as his hips snapped his full length into you - your scream satisfying his request as he stretched your insides out so thoroughly, so harshly.

“That’s better” he praised, sending sharp shoots of pleasure up and down your spine. Sweat coated both of your bodies, even as the air conditioner blew fresh licks on to your exposed skin, you willed it to cool, to feel some semblance of relief. Bo’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ as he gazed down to where your bodies joined, how obscenely full you must’ve looked, stretched to the max, but he only breathed out a puff of air, seemingly in satisfaction, as he brought one hand up to push at your chest. “Lean back, sweetie, you’ll only fall down later, anyways” he smirked, and you heeded his request, letting your elbows sink further into the polished wood - the wet marks where your palms had been aiding in your descent. The new angle tested your every boundary, it felt like he was pushing your internal organs around, so stuffed full of him that with one wrong move - you’d surely burst open. “I-I know I can be a lot…for-for some people” he started, his voice more nasally now than before, more strained. “But I knew when you walked across that stage at your audition, I had a feeling you were something special” one of his hands remained on your hip, his grip not faltering as the other came up to your face. His long, pale fingers gripped your chin, “Look at me while I fuck you, sweetie” 

You did just that as his hand left your face, trailing down your body, lifting up your t-shirt just enough to graze along your nipples - and you thanked past-you for neglecting to put on a bra that morning. Heavy hands made light work, as his fingertips slipped past your belly button and down to your core. His thumb brushed up against your clit, and you tensed at the feeling, tendrils of pleasure wound through your body, emanating from that spot between you both. “P-please” you begged, your body tensed, ready for everything and anything he would give it - fully on the edge.

Starting with slow circles that practically had you bucking up against him, his hips began the dance slowly emptying you, and then - with precise control, filling you once more, his thumb exacting devastatingly precise pressure on that sweet spot. His thumb began to quicken, every pass pushing another sweet moan from your mouth, and sent it echoing around the room. His composure began to falter, the way his hair stuck to his forehead, the feathering of his jaw, all an indication of his restraint.

“P-please, Bo, I’m gonna c-” but you had spoken too late, his thrusts got shorter, more erratic and his thumb must’ve been numb from the movement but you couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about anything as your orgasm took hold - wrapping you in its warm embrace - the pumping of blood through your ears was the only thing you could hear, the faint cries leaving your lips sounded as if they were in another room - wholly separated, and yet nearby. Your vision returned to seeing Bo panting above you, his hand resting on your pussy, thumb off the throttle for one moment - he scrunched his eyes shut as he saw you come-to, and returned to massaging your clit as he relentlessly pounded into you. “N-no Bo, I can’t-can’t do it”

“Yes you can, sweetie, come on, for me” his words were feather light, but his tone was demanding, and you struggled under the weight of him. Your body bristled with the tension of yet another peak, building rapidly - your hand came to grip Bo’s wrist, still working against you, but instead of removing his hand, you kept it there - every atom in your body was begging for it to stop, the overstimulation too much, but you had never been a quitter. This time you kept your eyes open, willed your vision to remain, to stay present so that you could look at him, feel all of him, every facet. It seemed impossible, almost painful, but he sent you over the precipice once again, and then all of a sudden you were falling, drifting through a second peak much stronger than the last. Clenching so hard on him that he released a strangled moan, and he tried his hardest to fuck you through your second orgasm, the pleasure roiling through your body like a hurricaine - and then he gave in.

Your hand acted before you even had time to realise, as you pushed the fabric of your skirt up and out the way, and he took his cue. He pumped inside you once, twice more, his hips struggled, when finally he pulled out of you - even his massive hand looked small in comparison to what he was working with, as he spilled hot ropes of come on to your stomach. You instinctively sat up, hoping to help with the effort, but he kept his eyes firmly on you, on your heaving chest, your body - spread for him on the piano, as he emptied onto your belly. His face was flushed, contorted with his pleasure, and you before him, doubly thankful for his abundance.

When the white-hot peak subsided, Bo rustled around in his jeans pocket, bunched up around his ankles “Apparently, I don’t carry condoms, but I do carry tissues?” he chuckled under his breath as he ripped one out of the packet and began cleaning you up. “Here, let me-” he scooped you up off the piano, and - more shakily than before, lowered you to the ground. He knelt down as if to retrieve something, and words were stolen from your mouth as he remained on the floor. He found your panties, discarded beneath the piano and looked up at you “One foot” he whispered, sliding the wet lace up one leg, “Other foot” he answered himself as you raised the other foot off the floor to allow him to re-dress you. Astounded by his sweetness, the generosity after the carnality, you laughed out of sheer surprise, and his expression took a downturn. “S-sorry, just thought it’d be nice to-uh-give you a hand” he rose from his knees, slowly surpassing your own height and once again, your neck began to ache from the difference.

“N-no, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you began, shifting from one foot to the next, nervously. “It was lovely, I mean-I know I said I don’t do this” you gestured wildly to yourself, to him, to the room at large  “a lot, but when I have, guys have been, uhm, less than gracious about getting the fuck outta the situation” 

The light flicked back on in Bo’s eyes again, the sweetness returned.  “Do you still wanna go for that ice cream?” he said, the pink blush finally receding from his cheeks.

“I would kill for ice cream, right now, actually” you swept your sweaty bangs from your brow, collecting yourself amidst the fervour that was the last hour - your body sweet but your mind fizzled with electricity, abuzz with possibility, with what your first rehearsal would bring. 

[sometimesartmostlychaos]

Throwback to all the Rick and Morty art I did about 5 years ago, I feel like my level of obsession is captured and expressed well in these (I actually drew backgrounds what the fuck!?)

I would actually love to draw my R&M ocs again for old times sake (Cyberpunk Rick and Morty, as well as Polymath/Botanist Rick and Cacti/succulent Collector Morty, they aren't shown here but I have sketches of them somewhere), as well as maybe some redraws of old screencap fanart :3

[newmusickarl]

Album & EP Recommendations

Last Night In The Bittersweet by Paolo Nutini

I must admit I had completely forgotten all about Paolo Nutini’s existence. It may have only been eight years since the Scottish singer-songwriter last released an album, but that was long enough for him to fade out of my memory altogether. That’s not for disliking his music either – although I wasn’t overly keen on his debut These Streets, there were plenty of moments on his subsequent releases, Sunny Side Up and Caustic Love, that I played a lot at the time. However, in today’s current climate of hypersonic music release schedules, taking eight years out is a big risk as there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to get back the same spot that you left behind. Thankfully for Paolo though, just a few songs were all it took to instantly remind me of why he was always such a heralded songwriter.

Whilst his last two records saw him evolve from his soul-pop origins to explore more diverse sonic landscapes, bringing in elements of jazz, country and R&B, Paolo takes things even further on his fourth album, Last Night In The Bittersweet. Across the album’s expansive sixteen track odyssey that clocks in well over an hour, he bounces between those previously deployed stylistic traits, but also throws in a few new ones as well – most notably new wave, indie rock and ambient electronica. It all makes for a dazzling, eclectic and richly textured listen, however it’s not without a few niggles.

That said, none of those niggles appear in the first part of the record, which is simply one of the best opening six track runs you’ll hear all year. Opener Afterneath begins ominously before Paolo’s vocal screeches engulf the space, carrying with them strong shades of Zeppelin-era Robert Plant. From there the track rumbles on like a freeform jam session, overlaid with Paolo’s hypnotic spoken verse and snippets of 1993 classic crime film True Romance (which Tarantino even gets a songwriting credit for here). It’s a startling beginning to the record, as Paolo then brings things back to more familiar territory with stunning soulful rock track Radio, with its glistening guitars and spine-tingling, repeated cries of “I want love.”

Lead single Through The Echoes is up next, an exquisitely crafted, stripped back love song where Paolo’s heartfelt vocals are the star of the show. Acid Eyes then might be my early favourite from the record, with its instantly memorable refrain and jangly melancholic guitars, sounding a bit like Because of the Times-era Kings of Leon. Stranded Words is then branded as an interlude but is a great track in itself, with Paolo’s Celtic tones speaking softly in a hymnal-like way over some quiet synths. Subsequent track Lose It then rounds off this incredible opening run, entering from the other end of the spectrum as a raucous guitar-driven rock track but with a tinge of gospel thrown in too.

After that though, the album does become decisively more hit and miss. Although some people will enjoy the playful throwback sounds of Petrified In Love, I really can’t get on with it at all. And then whilst tracks like Abigail, Heart Filled Up, Shine A Light and Julianne all have their moments too, they don’t light up the record in ways not already generated by the other tracks.

However, there are still plenty of gems lurking in the mid-latter half of the record too. Everywhere starts off quiet and subdued before erupting into a huge crescendo of soaring guitar riffs and soulful cries. Children of The Stars is then a wonderfully mesmeric bluesy number whilst Desperation is a pulsating Strokes-esque jittery rock track, which culminates in probably the album’s finest guitar passage. The album then eventually draws to a close with epic penultimate track, the seven-minute-long ballad Take Me Take Mine. Once your ears have wandered through its labyrinth of spacey synths and dreamy guitars, Dylan-inspired acoustic track Writer then ends the record on a heartfelt and reflective note.

My overall takeaway from this record is that you get the sense Paolo is just having fun with different sounds, and this album reflects that. The album art is even Paolo sat in a room with an array of instruments around him and that really is the record’s whole vibe - like you’re sat in a room with him as he’s playing you these songs. As a result, it can often feel more like a collection of songs than a cohesive body of work, with a strong sense of Paolo essentially just showing you what he’s been making in his time off, sometimes jumping between styles in a quite jarring fashion - but these are ultimately only minor issues.

Whilst it may be a little too long and far from perfect, on the 11 or 12 tracks where it does hit, you’ll be completely swept away by the raw brilliance of Paolo’s vocal and songwriting talents. In a quiet week for album releases, you can do much worse than an hour or so with Last Night In The Bittersweet.

Listen here

Seven Psalms by Nick Cave

Elsewhere this week, Nick Cave finally released his EP of Psalms that he wrote over lockdown. Whilst it may just be Cave sharing his words of wisdom with some subtle sonic backing from Warren Ellis for 10 minutes, fans of the pair will still no doubt enjoy these short but sweet compositions.

Listen here

Tracks of the Week

Part of the Band by The 1975

The big return this week was that of indie-pop superstars The 1975 with the first intriguing taster to their upcoming new album, Being Funny In a Foreign Language. When the lead single to their last record turned out to be the heavy 90s punk inspired track People, it did seem to open the door for the Manchester outfit to really make whatever songs they wanted – they weren’t just an indie-pop band anymore.

That said, I was still very much expecting this new single to be more in keeping with their traditional sound, especially given the mixed reception to their last album, Notes On A Conditional Form. But keeping true to themselves, this one is yet another sharp left turn – an artsy, string-tinged and quite understated track, with frontman Matty Healy lyrically found in a contemplative and nostalgic mood. If you heard this on chart radio you would probably think it was a mistake, as it is far from the typical return single you’d expect from one of the biggest pop bands on the planet.

And whilst I’m not completely enamoured with the song yet, I’m just grateful that The 1975 continue to throw curveballs like this, ignoring conventional troupes and defying public expectations at every chance they get. One thing is for certain, I’m keen to hear what’s next.

Listen here

Hate by Loyle Carner

Also making his highly anticipated comeback this week was UK rap superstar Loyle Carner, with his hard-hitting new single, Hate. Usually friendly, calm and collected, this song finds Loyle in an angry and defiant mood, as he puts the world to rights over racial inequality and injustice against an infectious piano-driven beat.

Listen here

Can’t Forget by Low Island

Over the last 12 months, there has arguably been no new band killing it quite like Low Island. Having delivered one of the best debut albums of 2021, they kept that strong momentum going with their excellent Just Another Dreamer EP released earlier this year. Now this week saw them release the brilliant first single from their forthcoming sophomore album, Life In Miniature. Charged with their electro-pop sound and lyrics surrounding the fear of growing up, it all eventually erupts into a scintillating guitar solo at the song’s climax. A sensational track from a band presently operating at the absolute top of their game.

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Eleanor by Hot Chip

Also out this week, Hot Chip continue the build to their forthcoming eighth studio album, Freakout/Release. This one features a typically playful melody, catchy chorus and some trancey dance synths, but with dark lyrics at the heart about suffering through unimaginable pain. Eight albums in and Hot Chip continue to sound as fresh and vibrant as ever.

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Passenger by Boston Manor

And finally this week, Blackpool rockers Boston Manor served up the infectious second single to their upcoming new album Datura and it is a typically rapturous anthem built on a huge chorus and some blistering heavy riffs.

Listen here

[virginiagreene]

3: Winter Birds of the East Coast The end of 2015 found me a lot more confident and a lot happier. The end of my masters was in sight, with all my research trials (or so I thought, haha) behind me and one long semester of writing ahead. My work-wife and best buddy Sarah and I were killing it every day--teaching in the classroom, doing research in the lab, and getting swole at the gym. (We also enjoyed putting together outfits with whatever we had in our closets, which are some of the earliest things I documented on Instagram.) With more of a handle on things non-art related, I found myself drawing and thinking about art a lot more often. There was a poster in my office in Millington (RIP, the building has since been torn down and only exists in W&M students' memories) that had been left by some long-graduated student titled "Birds of the Garden" by Larry McQueen, of North American birds in winter. If you're not familiar with McQueen's work, definitely look him up! I looked at this poster all the time and loved how the birds in it were ALIVE, going about their business in the snow even as their species names hovered beside them. As I started thinking about that year's holiday card, I wondered--what if I did that, but silly? And here we are. This is still one of the most popular cards I've ever done, and I still sell packs of them to friends and family. It spun into card "sequels", as I did Birds of the East Coast for the other three seasons. This card also led in part to one of the greatest adventures and turning points of my life--but that's getting ahead of myself. ;) PS - Sarah, if you're reading this, I love you! #happyholidays #throwback #advent #birdart #whimsical #throwback #watercolorbirds #winterbirds #birdartist https://www.instagram.com/p/CXO11SKFZRj/?utm_medium=tumblr