#too much. too much effort into this. far too much. why. why.... i know why pointless to qsk its becwuse i didnt want to do things irl

[liketolaugh-writes]

Dimly, it occurred to Danny that it probably would have been less painful to let his core stay out.

As soon as the star shards had pulled back together into one clean orb, Danny phased it back into his chest, sighing with relief as it seamlessly filled the open wound in his psychogenic ghost half. That relief only lasted for a split second before the pain set back in, reminding him why his core had splintered in the first place.

Danny curled down with a moan, his hands already creeping back to his chest. His core twisted and spasmed in agony, sending waves of stress and frustration through him, and instinctively he wanted to try and physically comfort it, like he would a broken wrist.

"Fuck!" Red Hood cursed, grabbing both his hands to keep him from ripping his physical wound back open. Danny didn't resist, but his hands trembled in Hood's as he tried to breathe through the pain. "I thought that thing was supposed to help you?"

Danny drew in a shaky, hitching breath and nodded without lifting his head.

"Need it," he rasped, trying to reassure Hood - a guardian spirit, he must be, it was the only thing he'd shown an interest in so far. "It's mine, need it inside me, it's- it's part of me. Holds me together." He dragged in another shuddering, difficult breath. It had never taken so much effort just to breathe. "Just- injured. Hurts."

"Alright." Nightwing was back, meeting Danny's eyes with a calm certainty that Danny wished he could achieve with civilians. "Is it because it was broken? Is that why it hurts?" Danny shook his head. "Can you tell us why it's hurting? Is there something you need?"

"I need to go back," Danny blurted out. His core spasmed, and he tried to pull his hands back and reach for his chest again. Hood didn't let him, and Danny quickly gave up, trembling. He'd felt his core throb and shudder in frustration before - when the Nasty Burger exploded, when Pariah Dark pulled Amity into the Ghost Zone - but never this bad, he had no idea it could hurt this much. "I need to get the other ghosts out, I need to protect them."

All of them went still at the ghostly resonance in his voice, and one of them, Nightwing, glanced at Hood.

"We'll do that," Nightwing said at last, meeting Danny's eyes again with confidence. "We're not going to leave them there. But we're trying to help you right now, okay? Is there something that would help your chest? Another dose of painkillers, maybe?"

"I need to protect them!" Danny insisted, his voice coming out echoey even in his human form, and then all but collapsed forward as his head spun in protest, darkness threatening to creep in at the corners of his eyes. "Just left them there to get cut open, experimented on, all of those..." He shuddered, nearly choking on his next breath.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Red Hood said, catching Danny and pushing him to lay down altogether. Danny let him, too weak and dazed to put up a proper fight. "We're going to help them, okay, kid? I promise. They're gonna be okay."

Danny nodded shakily, finding that it was easy to believe Hood. He was a guardian spirit; he'd keep his word. "Doesn't hurt as much when I can't hear them screaming," he admitted shamefully, thinking of the near-convulsions of anguish that made him scream alongside the ghost being tortured. "But please. Please. I need to help them."

"I know, kid," Hood said, unexpectedly soft. "That cop ghost said to remind you that you could come back for them when you healed. That makes sense, doesn't it? Can't help them if you're still split like a fish."

Yes. That made sense. Danny nodded jerkily, his breath easing a bit.

"So you're in pain because you need to help," Red Robin deduced, frowning at him thoughtfully. "You have a physical need to help."

Danny nodded, reached for his chest again, was stopped again, this time by Orphan, who simply grabbed his hands and held them. "It's my obsession," he explained, strained and feeling exhaustion set in anew. "It's... what holds me together as a ghost. Walker, the cop ghost, he enforces rules. Youngblood needs to play. I... I keep people from getting hurt. But..." He shuddered, a weak noise of pain escaping him. "But you protect people too, don't you? You can help."

He meant all of them, really - they were obviously heroes - but he was looking at Hood, who just nodded.

"I protect kids," he said, and then looked surprised at his own response. All of the others looked at him too, with varying degrees of worry and alarm. "What was that?"

Danny cocked his head. "You're liminal, right? You've been around ectoplasm before, or maybe had a really close call with death." Red Hood's expression shuttered. "It's okay. You've just... already decided what's most important to you. It feels good, doesn't it? It feels right." Unreadable now. "And that's... why you took me, isn't it? I get it now. You had to take a kid because you couldn't take an adult when there were kids that needed you."

"Wouldn't be right," Hood said gruffly, though the unsettled look didn't leave his face.

"'S okay," Danny said, letting his eyes fluttered shut in exhaustion. "We're all like that."

Nightwing cleared his throat, drawing Danny's attention back to him. "So you have a physical need that's not being met. Is there something that would help just a little bit? Something that doesn't mean letting you rip open all your injuries?"

"...Space?" Danny suggested tentatively, hopefully. "Can we watch a space documentary maybe? I like space too."

Nightwing grinned at him. "Easy."

Prompt: Prison Break

Walker wouldn't have expected it, but one of the worst parts of being imprisoned by the GIW was watching Phantom suffer through the descending stages of violent obsession failure.

All of them were feeling it, obviously, but for most of them it was a slow decline - the pull of longing, developing over days and weeks into a sharp ache. Ember, ignored and silenced, was lashing out, kicking the glass walls and screaming for attention, even when it hurt. Johnny and Kitty, kept out of each other's sight, pressed against the walls closest together. Walker's whole body throbbed with frustration and self-loathing, needing to return to his territory and drag everyone back with him, away from this place of torture.

But Phantom, not three years dead and with an obsession that demanded that he keep everyone completely unharmed, had declined rapidly. Sure, for the first week or so, he'd been preoccupied with troubles of his own, strapped constantly to a table with hands digging through his insides. But then they'd started to spread out their attention.

At first, Phantom didn't seem to realize what was happening. He cried out in anguish and fear, trying to break open his cell and being punished for it, collapsing under the shock collar's control. Walker could almost see when he figured it out, when he started to clutch at his chest, and scribble constellations onto the walls and floor in his dripping ectoplasm with hands that trembled, trying to ease the pain in his core.

Then he started to curl up and choke on his tears, shuddering in pain whenever screams echoed down the hall. Finally, in between his own turns on the table, he started to shove his hand into his open chest, clutching his burning core directly, moans of pain rising into yells in nearly perfect unison with whoever else was the victim this time.

(Sidney had declined in nearly perfectly unison with Phantom, which a part of Walker hoped the punk hadn't noticed.)

If Phantom wasn't a halfa, he probably would've shattered into dust by now. It probably would've been a mercy.

When the yelling started, Walker almost didn't notice. Phantom, delirious with pain, for sure didn't. But before long, most of the rest of them had stirred to alertness, dragging themselves closer to the glass to peer down the hall. A troop of GIW stormed down the hall without glancing at any of them, and an alarm started going off. Phantom whined and rolled over, his hand buried in his autopsy wound while he shivered. (The scientists had tried stitching it closed, but Phantom just clawed it blindly open.)

"What's happening?" the Lunch Lady croaked. (Youngblood and Phantom were starving, and it was doing her no favors.)

"Prison break," Walker rasped. He recognized the signs. "Someone's here." He'd never imagined that it would be a relief.

[snoopyhq]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ eres mi regalo mejor, querido

type: viktor x reader

summary: viktor with a reader whose love language is gift giving

word count: 1250

First of all, why?

Not that he’s ungrateful or anything! Far from it, in fact

See, he just isn’t used to receiving gifts “just because”

Growing up in Zaun, moving to Piltover, and now dedicating his life to Hextech meant that he doesn’t exactly have time to enjoy the little things. He has no desire to be speaking in front of crowds. His comfort zone is being in the lab, his focus on his latest passion project, and he has control over what he’s doing and what he knows

Also, he’s not used to surprises. Didn’t reckon he would ever be fond of them

And I’m totally projecting here, but Viktor is also one of those people with the really awkward reaction to receiving gifts. He doesn’t know what to do or say that would seem appropriate enough, you know? He’s extremely touched that you thought of him and not just that, but saw it fit to get/make him something

Over time, accepting that he’s loved through the means of gifts becomes easier

He’s not the best at it to start with, because most his purchases have strictly been on a “necessity” basis

But he isn’t one of Piltover’s brightest minds for nothing

Babygirl’s hypothesizing, observing, and applying. Got that scientific method approach when he’s getting you gifts

Overall, you’re both doting on each other now in your ritualistic exchanges of presents

It’s a mix of hand-made and bought, and both forms of acquisition doesn’t matter when the thought behind the choice is explained with such love 💕

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ DRABBLE TIME !!!

While the holiday season was a time of rest and relaxation for most people, things within Piltover's labratories were in complete mayhem. The department's end of season party was quickly approaching, which meant Viktor and Jayce were consumed with decorating the halls. That was their assigned task, and they were determined to do a good job.

Sky had went home to her family a week earlier. You and the boys had bid her a sweet farewell, sending her home with a collaborative handmade stopwatch. It had a GPS built in (thank you, Viktor), a widget for the weather and traffic predictions (shoutout Jayce), and you had drawn up the blueprint for its internal mechanics.

Viktor returned home a little after 6:00 PM today. It was well beyond dark outside, even with the lamps lighting up the streets. This was the last breather before the actual event in about three hours.

"Here, eat something," you encouraged, handing him a bowl of soup you'd made earlier.

"Thank you. You always know just what I need," he smiled wearily.

While he got to work on the meal, you went about getting ready. You were Viktor's plus-one, and while most of the department knew your name and face from your frequent visits to see your beloved, you were still nervous. Even so, you were determined to enjoy yourself, and hopefully Viktor would too.

He wasn't too fond of crowds, and for the first time in your life, you found yourself the people person in a duo. That was working out well. You have slowly gotten better at getting out of your shell, and Viktor too, began to pick up on your mannerisms when around others. He has now talked to a handful of people of his own accord, an accomplishment you were extremely proud of, and him pleased.

"Oh, and before we go! Our gift exchange," you piped up. That caught Viktor's full attention.

Right! Your gift exchange was today. He was nervously excited, despite himself. He had put in much thought and effort into your gifts, and while you would never have a negative reaction, he couldn't help the small anxieties that repeated in his mind. But it would be alright.

You went first. Handing him a deep green paper bag with white snowflakes around the border, you waited with bated breath.

"This was the color you said looked good on me, yes?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yep! Ok, now open your gifts," you encouraged.

He did, eyes widening in delight. There was a clothing set, made in soft, fine material that felt like flowing water between his fingers. There was a rich, brown dress shirt, with forest green silk vest, a black leather belt with silver gear buckles, and brown pants to match the dress shirt. While those articles were commissioned from a local tailor, you had added in a handmade lapel in the shape of narcisscus. The flower for his birth month.

That wasn't all. You had included a candle scented with coffee and a muted hint of pine. Then there was a copy of a philosophy book, writtern by an academic you knew he was fond of. The author had done a recent meet and greet at one of the bookstores downtown, and you had made sure to clear your schedule that day in order to attend.

"Look on the inside!"

He did, and nearly cried. There was a note in the author's handwriting, signed off too.

To Viktor,

I was heard that you were fond of my works. I hope this latest volume of mine brings you as much joy as I felt knowing I had such a devoted reader like yourself. Best Wishes!

"How did you even- I mean, the event was all booked when I tried to get a spot," he laughed breathlessly.

"Why did you think I stayed up all night?" you grinned.

"All of this is so much," he whispered. "God, I feel so...,"

"No, none of that now," you chided. "Whatever you got me will be just as wonderful because it's from you. Don't compare your hard work to mine, Viktor."

He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"Thank you. Will you open your presents now, love?"

You were more than ready. The bag he handed you was a simple brown one, belying the efforts within. The first thing you got was a copy of a newly released book, one you had been eyeing for ages. Not only that, there were stickers and tabs throughout, and when you opened to a random page, you were met with his familiar handwriting, meticulously annotating in the margins with his commentary. It was a dream. You basically get to read this treasure alongside his thoughts. You've mentioned on multiple occasion how you wanted to start annotating your books, but never quite found the time. Now Viktor had went above and beyond.

"Viktor. Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Not waiting for his response, you reverently set the book down and went to open the rest. There was a custom CD! The tracklist was accompanied by another note, explaining that he wanted to chronicle the love he has for you through music. Jayce, Mel, and Sky had been great helps in finding him some of the songs and getting it all burned and made into a disk.

And then there was his letter. Beautiful swirls and some words crossed out, the multi-page declaration of adoration was something you couldn't wait to sit down and read fully.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt Viktor's hand around yours.

"Before we go to the party tonight, I want to tell you that you will always be my greatest gift. I may not be perfect at showing it to you quite yet, but I have found myself more and more at ease in this love we share. Happy holidays, moje miláčku."

[dollarbils]

nothing like your tattoos | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. when you spend the night together, billie never fails to leave in a hurry.

warnings. angst, kind of suggestive, little bit of fluff (this is SO dramatic i’m sorry 🤧) not proof read

masterlist

her skin was sweaty as you traced her tattoos, baby hairs sticking to her forehead, and her chest beating up and down, to the softening rhythm of her breath, reminding you of previous events.

“okay, i gotta go baby, that alright?” even though she spoke as if it was, it wasn’t a question. but regardless, she made no attempt to move, no effort to escape your grasp.

“what do you think about me?” she raised her eyebrows, clearly confused.

“what do you mean?” riddled with your words, she awaited clarification. but when you didn’t speak, she grew worried.

“baby? what’s wrong?” her genuine concern never failed to fool you, trick you into believing her words of comfort. but the result was always the same. her absence.

“what am i to you?” she clearly didn’t like the sound of that question. unsure of its proper answer and naturally, of a response that would satisfy you.

“why would you ask me that?” disappointment spread across your features, unmistakably.

“you’re nothing like your tattoos.” she seemed amused now, puzzled by your misleading words.

“what do you mean?” she turned to look at you, careful not to move her hand as you traced the fairies that littered it.

“there’s nothing permanent about you.” her expression faded, a sense of sadness taking place instead.

“hey,” she caressed your face before speaking, demanding your attention, “i’ll stay, if you want me to.” and you knew it was honest. she would, she’d do it for you, but never of her own accord.

“that’s not what i want.” you sat up, and out of her grasp as she followed.

“then what do you want?” the question was too complicated for a simple response.

“i want you to want me.” her breath hitched slightly, almost faint enough to miss.

“i do want you.” she brought her hand to your face in attempt to comfort you. but her words were empty, meaningless. because she was never clear about her true feelings behind them.

“no you don’t, not really. i’m just a good fuck to you.” you said it like you were disgusted, disappointed in yourself for letting it get this far.

“good? don’t underestimate yourself babe, you’re a whole lot more than good.” a hint of humour could be found in her tone but it wasn’t amusing. not to you, not under the circumstances.

“billie, that’s not the point.” your saddened expression gave her the hint that the humour was misplaced.

“sorry, i just- i guess i just don’t know what you want from me.” she was lying through her teeth, fully aware of what you desired.

“oh please! you know exactly what i’m talking about.” she looked away for a second, taking a moment to think.

“i’m just not one for relationships. it’s too much for me.” she rubbed your cheek with her thumb, sending a river of mixed signals and emotions.

“well this,” you gestured between the two of you, “it’s too little for me. i can’t do this with you anymore.” you made a move to get up, shifting away from her, but she pulled you back by the arm.

“wait, no. i can’t lose you.” she seemed surprised by her own words, as if it was more of a reflex rather than a conscious expression of her feelings.

“that’s tough then, billie. because you’re not even willing to try.” when she didn’t say anything, nothing to confirm nor deny, you grew frustrated.

“whatever bils, I’m sorry i can’t keep this up. but it just hurts too much.” her eyes were teary when you turned away from her, your own tears now spilling down your face.

“i can’t promise permanence but i can promise you i’ll try.” she said it all at once, a desperate plea. you almost didn’t catch her words.

“what?” you turned around to look at her. her eyes were big, her lips plump. it was so hard not to fall in love with her.

“i just want to be with you. i don’t care how, i just need you in my life.” she chewed on her lip, a physical expression of her stomach churning out of anticipation.

“really?” your emotions neared disbelief. not quite sure if anything was real.

“yeah. please let me stay. i want to stay.” you nodded and she kissed you like you were hers. she kissed you like she wanted the feeling tattooed on to her lips forever.

taglist @adinda-eilish @ijustlovemaths @sweetcherriexs @jaxon-nathaniel-drake @mybluebossanova @diceroll65 @tothediner @st0nerlesb0 @bilssturns

[aniesvision]

𐂂 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕- 𝑪.𝑺

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑

𝚊/𝚗: 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒄 𝒊 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!!

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

1079 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠

I look at him from the other side of the room. With his friends and his brothers he seems so happy, free. Talks about whatever comes to mind, enjoying himself and making everyone feel included. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him, seeing how great he treats others.

But it's not the same when he's with me.

Whenever is just the two of us, I feel invisible. Even though he made an effort to keep me close enough to make me his girlfriend, now that I am it looks like he doesn't want me anymore. He's always too busy, he finds stuff to do when I'm around so he won't have to talk to me. He never gives me gifts, or tells me how much he loves me, or makes me feel wanted.

When I realized just how bad I was, I tried to distance myself. I didn't call him so much, didn't text him, I made excuses not to go see him, and he never seemed to care.

It's been three weeks since we last saw each other. I tried so hard to tell myself that he's just reserved, he's not so outgoing because I'm not one of the boys, he's not a gift type of boyfriend and he just... He's just bad at showing his emotions.

When he asked me to come over for the second time after so many days I wondered if things could be different. If he missed me and my presence, if he was going to finally give me the attention I crave so badly. So I got ready, even though I had no strength to make myself look pretty or even healthy, I thought he wouldn't care if my eyes looked swollen and red and if my body looked skinnier since I hadn't been eating too much.

When I got there and knocked on his door I felt a wave of anxiety hit me. He opened the door looking as unbothered as ever, not even saying anything. He steps back, giving me space to walk in, immediately walking to the living room couch.

-Hi. -I whisper, nervously, looking at him.

-Hey. -He turns on the tv, like I wasn't even there. -So, avoiding me now, aren't you?

My heart breaks with his tone, so cold and so distant, almost accusatory. I sigh, taking a seat on the other side of the couch. Normally I wouldn't sit so far away from him, but right now I just couldn't bring myself to be any closer.

-I was just trying to spend more time with my thoughts. -I explain, hoping he'd get it.

He scoffs, sarcastically, but not even look at me. I feel one more pang in my heart.

-Yeah, right.

All I wanted was for him to understand me, to be here for me, to want to listen to me. I wanted him to act like the label he placed on himself, like my boyfriend, not like a stranger.

I wonder if it's best for me to feel the emptiness, to be alone, to feel like I felt for the past three weeks without him, than to feel like I feel when I'm next to him. To feel like I'm so unimportant. It makes me look like I'm begging for something I'll never have.

-How have you been? -I ask, in an attempt to change the subject, maybe have a decent conversation with him.

-If you wanted to know you wouldn't shut me off. -He shrugs.

Ouch.

I couldn't hold back the tears anymore, the amount of sadness in my body, how upset and disappointed I was with myself for knowing I'd feel worse coming here and coming here anyway.

-Yeah, you're right, sorry. -I whisper, looking down at my legs.

For a second, I think he realized how harsh he was being, moving closer to me.

-Why are you distancing yourself? -He asks, his voice calmer, but still not giving away any emotions.

-I thought it would be best.

He turned my head so I could look at him, his eyes studying mine. It was so clear to know exactly what I was thinking about, but Chris was impossible to read.

-For me or you? -One more accusatory tone, one of his eyebrows arching.

-For us.

The sad smile was inevitable, I couldn't smile if it wasn't a sad one, but it was my way of trying to keep the conversation as calm as possible, I couldn't handle arguments.

He immediately drops his hand, nodding and clenching his jaw.

-Like that, huh? Just gonna distance yourself until there's nothing left? Is that what you want?

If there's any way of feeling your heart physically shuttering then I felt it right there. It doesn't only hurt psychologically, it hurts physically, everything hurts. Am I the wrong one? Am I so bad for trying to feel better? Is it hurting him too? If so, why doesn't he try to keep us together? He could've called, texted me, knocked on my door, asked me out on a date. But we haven't been on a date for ages...

-I don't know. -I swallow, looking away from him. -What do you want?

My vision was blurred by the tears, my stomach was swirling in the worst way possible, my body felt heavy and tired, and my head was spinning. Even being scared of breaking up, I feel like being alone is starting to look better than being with him. A relationship shouldn't feel so exhausting. It should be good, happy, calm. He should make me feel loved and cared about, talk to me, want me close. Instead, I feel like I'm useless.

-I don't know. -He responds, indifferent.

-I'm going home. -I say, even though I didn't stay for five solid minutes.

Chris's head snapped up at my announcement, a flicker of panic crossing his face before he quickly masked it with the same unbothered expression he always has.

-Yeah? Go ahead then. -He replied with a casual shrug.

I nod, standing up and walking to the front door, my hands shaking with my emotions. I stop with my hand on the handle, the door half open, and look back at him.

-I just wish one day you make me feel like you want me as much as I want you. -I say, not staying long enough to hear a response, closing the door behind me and making my way to my car.

➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @chrisxcherry @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @larallott @stqrnlvs @sssoniaswiftt @s1ut4chris @lovingregulusblack @sturnslutz @star-yawnznn @jupiter-rebel @courta13 @emely9274

[factual-fantasy]

24 Asks! Thank you! :}} 🐷

I don't think I'm understanding.. I cant turn my FNAF AU designs into full on OCs, (Original Characters) because.. well Freddy Fazbear and the gang are NOT my original characters. I just made my own AU (Alternate Universe) for them and redesigned them.

Unless that's not what you meant..? I'm sorry for misunderstanding you if that's the case <:(

(In response to this post)

I'm keeping it in mind.. I gotta get to the root of the problem and figure out what needs to be replaced. Once I can figure that out I'll probably set one up 🥹🙏🙏

Well imagine if you were in his shoes. You are transported to some kind of unknown world. And absolutely no one arounds you speaks the same language as you.

Sneep has no way of knowing this is a digital plane. He has no idea if the people around him are real or not, he cant remember his name and no one can explain to him why that is. His body looks different, he feels different, no one around him looks to be a human.. just imagine how scary that is. Not having the comfort of things being explained to you in this situation. Not having the comfort of someone telling you "everything will be okay".

Yeah, I'd lose my mind pretty quick too 💀

@ardent-38

XD No worries! And yeah I started playing Warframe for the first time these past few days. Its been fun so far, Mag being my favorite. (She's the only frame I have <XDD)

I have my eyes out for Titania Prime, Trinity Prime, Mag prime and Mirage Prime. I'm thinking Titania might be my new favorite if I can snag one!

This game is fun, but the longer I play it? The more I miss OG Overwatch 😅 I tried playing TF2 again today and it just isn't the same 😔💔

@chromchill

I am new, but my favorite frame so far is Mag, because she's the only one I have <XDD

But I've got my eyes out for Titania Prime.. and judging by her abilities, she might just become my new favorite 👀👀

@chickenmilk120

What I really would like is just more interactions and comments with my artwork <:( I get bummed when I put a lot of effort into something only to get 3 comments in the end...

I have not <:(( but I've heard many good things about those games! :00

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD That's all very kind of you to say! :}}

And as for Cici and Gerald, you can find their origin comic here! :00

@lordvonbunnyv

Yes please 🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏

@quillsinkwell

Awe! :DD Thank you! They did have a certain charm to them didn't they? :}}

They would have been much better off drawing that mattress character I swear XDD

@neo-metalscottic (Referencing this post)

Hello! So far my tablet is still alive. Although I'm looking into getting my laptop checked out and maybe replacing somethings... 😔

And it was fun to draw Bibi again! I should really draw the fam more often <XD

Not sure what resolutions they'd have.. but one of mine is to be cured of this condition. Or at least get to a point where I can actually function normally again. There's a lot of things planned for 2025 and if I don't get better soon? I'm gonna miss out on all of it. 💔

Yeah, my head just used to be a normal scribble. But now its become a full on blob hasn't it? <XD

There's 2 reasons for this. 1 being that I have been battling some very limiting health conditions for about 8 months now. So drawing my sona all goopy and sickly is to represent how I've felt through this trial 🥲🥲

But the second reason isn't so bad. That being that its just fun to draw my sona like that XD

@bored-animator

Indeed I have! Deltarune too! Just search up "undertale or "deltarune" in my blogs search bar and you're sure to find a lot of it! :))

Thank you so much!! :DD And sure! Send me any game recommendations you'd like! :}}}

@ramiel-hourglass

Thank you so much! :DD But no need to go to the dumpster! <:(( I'll make you something to eat instead, yeah? :)

I use FireAlpaca. And I used to use the pencil brush for line art and the pen for coloring. But lately I've been using the little pixel brush for sketching and line art :00

(This thingy 👇)

I saw it, and I don't really know how to feel about the blue shelled Koopa.. it feels kinda weird to see a Mario kart item brought to life suddenly 😅

I gotta think of stuff to do wither her... 😓😓

First thing that came to mind was Roxanne from FNAF: Security Breach <XDD

@howaboutsomeketchul

Idk how they would celebrate Christmas, since they might not have a good way to gauge the passage of time..

Just search "team fortress 2" in my blogs search bar and you're sure to find most of it! :)

While I see what you're cooking, I don't think my Caine would create a Momigoo NPC for the fast food adventure <:/

The thing that upsets Gummigoo isn't just that his mom isn't real necessarily, its that his memories of her aren't real too. He remembers all these experiences with this person but the memories aren't real...

And the whole reason why Caine let the brothers stay was because he hoped it would help Pomni adjust to the circus. Just like Bella did for Gangle. Bringing up NPCs or things from the Gators adventure could upset or confuse them so Caine wouldn't want to risk it. <:(

@wolfie-777

Merry Christmas and a Happy new year! :DD Sorry for the late reply <XD

@cartoon-fan

Oh I get a lot stolen from those other fandoms too. Octonauts has just been the most frustrating. Constant tracings, theft, copycats, disrespect, its was nuts.

I don't think I'll post Octonauts again anytime soon. I've just had enough of the constant pushing of my boundaries and the boat loads of all kinds of theft.

[yallthemwitches]

“Hi! I just wanted to say I’m absolutely in love with your stories—they’re amazing! If you ever feel inspired, I’d love to see a spicy James/Lily fic with some light bondage (doesn’t matter who ties up who). Just an idea from an obsessed fan!”

Love! ❤️

Thank you so so much! This is very sweet of you to say! As for the spicy fic suggestion:

Short Answer: Yes! I'd love to!

Long Answer: Here it is! (all 4k words of it...whew)

I'm going to add it to my smut prompt collection on AO3, Crash Into Me or you can read it under the cut!

Thanks for the idea! I love getting sent things people would like to read, it gets me out of my own head and forces me to write things I might have put off doing! It was super fun and I'm kinda shocked I haven't done something like this sooner.

Enjoy! (AO3 Link Here)

She’s infuriating him and she knows it. 

What's worse is that it’s exactly what she wants, hoping to break him down until he’s just a little puddle at her feet. All of their Heads’ duties together have started to devolve into this: a silly game they play to see how far they can make it before someone inevitably gets pushed up against a wall or led into an abandoned classroom. He doesn’t really know who wins, but it doesn’t matter. Both of them want the same thing. 

He should have expected it when McGonagall left them both alone in her office after their monthly check-in--as soon as the lock clicks on the door Lily is in action, moving from her seat to stand in front of him with a coy smile.

“Hey you.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, sliding so she faces him on his lap, her thighs pressing against his to dangle on the sides of the chair. 

“What are you up to?” He hums, arching an eyebrow. Even after months of having her this close, he is still amazed that he has the cognitive function to tease her. Her body against his does dangerous things to his mental capacity. 

“Oh, waiting for you to finish so we can patrol,” she murmurs. Her body language says she has absolutely no interest in heads’ work, arms curling around his neck to press soft fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter closed in response, trying to keep composure while his trousers already start to strain. 

It takes all his strength to call her bluff but he forces his eyes back to the schedule. She doubles her efforts, planting slow, languid kisses against his pressure point until she reaches the hollow of his throat and starts the path over again. It’s a clear sign: the game has started. You are my willing participant. 

“Evans–” He doesn’t know when his hand had stilled, but the schedule now bears a jagged black line where his writing had gone slack with distraction. “I can’t focus.”

“Then try to push me off.”

The request isn’t completely out of left field, but it still makes him want to laugh. The first time she had ever asked him to fight back against her, he had laughed, almost crazed when she pouted and writhed against him in persistence. “Why would I ever want to get away from you, Evans?” He had said, “ Most days, I’m fighting to be as close to you as humanly possible.”

They both know that it would take next to nothing for him to remove her from his lap, but that isn’t the point–it isn’t the game. What she is really asking for is the struggle, the power play that in earlier years came in the form of verbal dueling, but is now distilled into physical touch. 

He puts down the quill slowly, mulling over all possible scenarios this might go. They didn’t know how long McGonagall would be gone, nor did they have the time seeing as their patrol started in five minutes, but that was the big issue wasn’t it: he didn’t care--and apparently neither did she.

“You realize all I need to do is stand up and you lose, right?” He says, an arm wrapping around her waist under the guise of being ready to tug. Instead it pulls her closer. Her eyes blink up at him, decidedly wicked in nature. She lifts back up to place a soft, contemplative kiss on his lips. 

“You’re right—too easy,” she concedes, giving him a deeper kiss this time. “New objective then: If I make it to the door we have to do patrols, but if you can stop me in time…”

She doesn’t even need to say what the stakes are, the answer already hangs heavy like fog in the room. Then you can shag me, right here. Right in McGonnagall’s bloody office. 

Now that was a game he was dying to win. 

It makes him lose his head, eyes too busy scanning the room for all the many ways and places he can take her, that by the time she says ‘ go’ he is already frighteningly hard for her.  

She jumps off his lap, taking small, timid steps towards the back of the room, turning each time to shoot him a smile. He could get up and pull her back right now without even taking more than a large step but he knows that’s not what she wants. She wants him to actually play along, to make it interesting for her. 

So he waits, leaning back in his seat and ignoring the ache that comes from just the anticipation of the inevitable–because it was inevitable. He was going to have her whether he won or not. 

He watches her with a smug smile until she’s made it a couple of meters to the door before standing up, walking at a deliberately slow pace like an animal in hunt. His approach ignites something in her and a bubble of laughter escapes, a beautiful, frantic noise that holds as much joy in it as desire. Her energy surges and she catches speed, only needing to cross a meter to touch the wood of the door…

Her fingers barely reach out for the finish line when he wraps an arm around her waist and spins her against the wall directly beside the door. An impatience takes over and his mouth is on hers, tongue demanding entrance while his hands move rabid downwards to hitch under her skirt. 

Meanwhile, she continues to laugh, shrieking and pushing at him to move just centimeters to the right to where the grain of the door frame begins, but her squirming just makes it easier for him to part her legs and slot himself against her, pressing her firm against stone. 

“No fair!” She squeals between peals of laughter. She continues to giggle and wiggle against him until his hand finds the band of her knickers. Her attempts to push past him falter, moans taking over and filling the room with their deep, velvet sound. 

“C’mon Evans,” he breathes into her ear, “You’re so close. Try to win.” 

She gives a lackluster push to his chest and he catches both her hands in one of his own, lifting them above her head. His brain is swimming, all thought in a freefall with only one end in sight. 

“Baby—” Her eyes close, back arching so her bottom half presses closer into the stilled hand just above her pelvic bone. “ Please.”

“You have to say it, Evans,” he says. The grip on her hands tightens and she interlaces her fingers. “Tell me what you want, please. I need to hear it.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“How?”

It makes her writhe, her impatience starting to seep in. Her hips buck underneath him and it zaps pleasure straight into his erection, making it nearly unbearable to not just grind back into her. 

“With your fingers, tongue, cock. All of it. James— please.”

They are words that will haunt him forever. 

He gives her at least one of the things she asked for and drops his fingers between her legs, finding the fabric there sticky and thick. 

“Merlin, Lily. You’re soaked,” he gasps, fingers sliding under to drift through her folds. It makes him dizzy how easy he slips inside, hand practically dripping already just from contact. 

“Were you wet like this in our meeting?”

“Since before even,” she gasps, hips rolling into the palm of his hand. “But the way you looked just now, right before you got me against the wall. Jesus, Potter. You looked like you wanted to devour me.”

He slides another finger in and her head bends forward, leaning against his chest. Her breath is hot against his shirt and makes the white become transparent against his skin. 

“I want to devour you–,” he corrects, “--present tense.” 

She pulls back and her eyes burn at him, almost resembling the cross expression she would wear when they used to row. He twists his fingers and her eyes flutter, her bottom lip disappearing against white teeth. 

“Go on then, do it.”

He enters some sort of fugue state, pulling his soaked hand out of her and clawing at her skirt until it becomes a pool at their feet. His teeth find the knot in her tie and yank it loose, trailing her own wetness through her blouse to fiddle with the buttons. 

She follows suit, releasing her hands from above her head to untuck his shirt, breathing heavily against him when she cups him through his pants to unbutton his trousers. Her touch knocks him back into reality and his hips instinctually grind to get closer to her touch. 

“I want to lick you against this wall,” he tells her, voice low and rough. Underneath her palm his cock aches, clenching all the muscles in his body like it’s ready to go into shock unless he gets to her now. “I want to get you so close to coming with my mouth that you are dripping down your leg. I want to carry you back to Mcgonagall's desk and take you right on top of those bloody schedules. I want to watch your tits bounce from my cock pumping inside you. Fuck, I want— I need– to hear you scream my name.”

He drops to his knees in the pool of their collective clothing, placing a hand against the flat plane of her stomach until she is flush with the wall. Her hands grab for his hair, tugging him forwards while her body arches to meet him and he grabs hold of a thigh to drape over his shoulder, opening her up further. She’s so wet between her legs the fabric of her knickers are discolored. Her center is a deep pool of green surrounded by a sheen painted to her thighs. 

“I want that too. Do whatever you want. You won.”

It’s enough to make him short circuit.

He’s shocked at his restraint, mouth and cock literally watering at the view of her. But as much as he wants to bite her knickers away and press his tongue inside her, he wants to hear her say it more. 

“Tell me again.”

She lets out a frustrated gasp as he stalls, pulling his head back enough to make eye contact with her. Gazing down at him she looks utterly crazed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.He wants to remember it forever.

When she doesn’t respond, he hooks a finger around the inside of her knickers, the contact with her center making her mewl with pleasure. He pulls back the fabric and his mouth drops open. It’s not the first time he has looked at her like this but to see her swollen and yearning and dripping like that? It’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

“Tell me.” He prods, holding her knickers against her thigh. 

“You git, you just want me to beg,” she says, her face contorting into a frown. 

It wasn’t what he was fishing for, but now it’s all he wanted. 

“Yes– oh fuck– yes.”

She tries again to arch her body towards his face, but the hand on her stomach keeps her against the wall, giving no other choice. 

“Touch me, Potter,” she cries, exasperated. He’s got her to the breaking point, that sweet spot where her desire and her anger are too overlapped to be distinguishable. At the beginning of their relationship it was the only sensation she had for him, unable to disconnect their years of annoyance with how much she wanted him. It only made him want her more. 

“Let me come on your tongue, then—christ— then hold me down and fuck me. Fuck me until I don’t even know where I am anymore. Fuck me until I can’t even think—”

“Shit, yes.”

He surges upwards and she lets out a gasp of satisfaction. Her body melts under his tongue, head falling back against the stone wall and fingers pressing him closer into her as he begins his ministrations. The sounds begin falling from her lips and he knows how to keep them coming, having spent one glorious afternoon months ago taking turns going down on the other, coaching on what pressure to give where and what spot makes them unravel almost immediately. 

His tongue paints against her, slipping easily through her folds and dipping inside until her hand shakes against his skull. The noises make way for words, an endless string of them that shoot from his eardrums right to the center of his cock, getting him so close without even being touched. 

“James, baby. I can’t stand how fit you look, how bloody good you make me feel,” she says, giving a shallow moan when he gasps right into her. “I have no idea what McGonagall was saying in that meeting–I couldn’t stop imagining you bending me over that desk. That’s all I can think about these days. In class, at meetings, touching myself at night. Just sitting in the same room as you makes me wet— fuck.”

Fuck is right. Her words make him press farther, edging on aggressive. To say he wanted to devour her was right too. He wants every last drop of her.

She’s close, her body giving the telltale quivers that mean she is just at the edge. He slows, giving long pressured strokes that have always made her unravel. 

“James—holy fuck —James.”

Her body shakes and under his mouth he can feel her contract. He continues his path, carrying her through it until the overstimulation makes her yank back at the roots of his hair. Spent, she slides against the wall to the ground, her legs jutted out in opposite directions and head tilted back. 

“Jesus Christ, Potter,” she pants, catching her breath. Her hair frames her face like a halo, eyes open. Some of the frenzy has lessened but the burning in her irises remains. Her tongue flicks out and licks at the bottom of her lip, unhinging part of his nervous system. 

“You are so lovely—so unbelievable,” he says, caressing her ankle which had shifted onto his lap. She closes her eyes at his touch, shaking her head against the wall for a moment before picking herself up and leaning inwards to fall cradled into his arms. 

“We still have patrols to do—” she whispers into his chest. A finger outlines the contours of his muscles, dragging down to his stomach. “--but I still want you…if you still want to—”

The finger descends, finding him still very much throbbing for her under his pants. They both moan at the contact, his arms encircling and finding her bum to press her fully onto his lap. 

“If I still want to what?” He whispers, pulling her legs to wrap around him. He’s already heard her say it once, but he wants the reminder, wants to hear it as many times as he can coax out of her until she makes him implode. 

“I want you to tie me up and fuck me on the desk.”

All of his cognitive function ceases to exist. 

“What?” His tone must have been of utter shock because she immediately flushes red, lowering her face away from him. 

“No, look at me Evans–Lily. Seriously. I just…I just need you to say it again to make sure I am absolutely certain I heard you correctly because, holy shit—”

A thousand images swirl into his mind. They had done some wild things in the past–certainly led a more exploratory sex life than most of the other couples around–but never before something so outright kinky as that. Sure, they loved a good semi-public touching or stray finger from behind when the moment struck, but this. This request opened a whole new door for them and she wanted it. 

Frankly, he could come right then and there, just by the thought of it. No further actions needed. 

She lets out a little squeak, hands balling at the base of his neck. He can feel her heart beating out of her ribcage against him and he places a soft kiss on her lips, encouraging her to continue. 

“I just…I liked it earlier when you held my hands above me on the wall.”

Yes, yes, yes. Oh Merlin, fuck yes. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” he says quickly, his enthusiasm taking control. “You need to lead the way though because– fuck— I want whatever you want so badly, but I also don’t want to go too far.”

She does something unexpected and laughs, her body shaking against his. “James I don’t think you’re capable of–”

“No, I mean it,” he says, voice cracking. “It’s one thing when we are just pushing each other and having a laugh—I know those limits. But something like–” he voice cuts off, brain flooding with all sorts of visuals of her held down, screaming his name, “--like that. I don’t trust myself. You need to walk me through it.”

She presses her lips to the hollow of his collar bone, hot breath billowing against him. His mind can’t stop racing, his heart like a canon shooting off endlessly in his ribcage. 

“Well, then. I guess for starters, you should get me on the table.”

He can feel her amused smile against him, but he doesn’t care. She can tease him for taking it seriously all she wants, but he wants this to be done right. 

Carrying her over to the table would have been a lot easier if it wasn’t for the way her entrance pressed right into him. The mixture of her wetness and his saliva seeping right into his pants and making his cock ache in agony. 

“I’m telling you now Evans. I’m going to last five seconds—real amateur hour. Just the thought of you tied up…I don’t know what it’s doing to my brain but I’m fucked. I’m going to be a fucking mess. ”

He lays her down on the table, pushing aside his quill but otherwise not caring about the parchments of scheduling lying under her. She stretches out like a cat, legs slightly bent but her hands going over her head, making her breasts jut out. 

Godric help me.  

He lowers himself over her, pressing his cock into her hip bone and waving forward to release some of the tension that has been building up. She gasps, her arms stretching higher until she intertwines her fingers again like she did on the wall. He kisses her, letting his tongue lap into her slowly so she can taste the lingering wetness of her climax coated to his lips. 

“Use a tie.”

 When she pants it into his mouth, his whole body reacts—a frantic jerk forward that creaks the wood of the table. 

“Fuck Evans— you are a dream come true. You are everything.” He pulls at the tie that flaps helpless around her neck alongside her opened blouse and it flutters in his hand. Surely this will ruin uniforms for him forever. He won’t be able look at a Hogwarts tie without thinking about her naked body flushed underneath him on the desk. He will have to start practicing his illusion charms, otherwise he’ll be cursed with an erection during school hours for the rest of his life. 

He looks at her for approval and she stares up at him with unbridled anticipation, irises glittering with excitement. Pulling the tie around her wrists, he makes a hesitant knot and attempts to tug her hands away from each other, testing to make sure it’s tight enough to hold but not digging in. 

“I know I’m absolutely inflating your ego, but it’s just unfair how fit you look without a shirt,” she says under him. “Like, Jesus. If this goes well I want to tie you up next and kiss every inch of you.” 

“Fuck, Promise?” He doesn’t realize he has said it out loud until her laugh echoes around the room. The shake of the table now doing dangerous things to his leaking cock. 

“One thing at a time, Potter,” she says, pulling up to give him a kiss. “I need you to fuck me now…and judging from the look of your pants, you really need that too.”

He doesn’t need to hear it twice. Pulling off the table, he shucks his pants off without looking, eyes unable to tear away from the absolute feast of the senses laying against the table with tits and hips arched upwards and ready.

With no hesitation, he crawls up on the table until he is level with her, his cock dragging slowly up her thigh. 

“Again, Lily. I’ll apologize now. You are just so so lovely. I can’t believe you even let me touch you much less tie you up and—”

“For chrissake James. Stop talking and shag me.”

It’s the best thing she’s ever said to him. 

His cock slides into her easily and her walls immediately contract around him. They both gasp in tandem, her body practically levitating off the table from how much she arches. The pebble of her tits brush against his chest and he dips down to take one in his mouth, not removing a hand from where her hands are bound above her head. 

It’s like going back in time. The slow gentle rock of his hips testing out the waters to make sure she is ok before going any deeper. He pulls back to watch his cock slip in and out, unable to keep his focus there or where her upper body writhes helpless, wanting to do its usual ministrations of carding through his hair or clawing at his back but unable to do so. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants as his thrusts speed up. The new movement rocks the desk and her tits bounce with it, beautiful and round and poised just for him. Her eyes don’t leave his, watching him with a glazed over expression as her mouth hangs wide, giving him instructions and praises in the same breath. 

“ Harder—faster—yes, like that. Christ, James. Thank you—fuck.”

He’s embarrassingly close already. Unbearably so. But what she demands he gives, speeding up his movements, snapping his hips harder until the table groans and starts to splinter. If they have to get McGonagall a new desk, it’s worth it. Everything is worth it to see her like this.

The pressure mounts and he can feel the end drawing near. When he says as much, her eyes open wide, frantic once again with an epiphany.

“Turn me over. Turn me over and fuck me off the side. Fuck, James. Please.”

He swears quietly, a low droning shit as he hooks an arm around her waist and flips her onto her stomach. It takes everything in him to pull out of her so they can resituate, but immediately it becomes worth his while. She slides herself almost off the edge, lifting herself onto her knees so her bum stands into the air while her chest and bound arms lay rested against the tabletop.

The sight alone is indescribable, immediately burned into his memory to be revisited later, but it’s her stare that really does him in. Turning her head against the surface of the table, she stares up at him, the green of her irises reduced to a smoldering emerald. It’s the look of absolute pleading— how could he possibly last from a look like that?

Shaking, he stands behind her, taking in the view down the slope of her back to where the tie keeps her bound. She watches him, tracking his stare with a smile tugging at her lips.

“Nice view?”

It’s a laughable question. “Evans, you have no fucking clue.”

He bends down and gives one solid lick from her bum to her clit and it rewards him with a sharp squeal.

“Holy fuck, no fair!”

Always still a game. A game he hopes they never stop playing.

When he finally pushes in, the angle makes all the difference, hitting deeper into her than he was capable of with her just laying on the table. Unlike before, he doesn’t give any sort of gentle preamble to his movements, thrusting quick and deep inside her like she asked for. The sound of his hips snapping reverberates around the room and the wetness between her legs drips out against her thighs, easily visible now as the backdrop to his cock working inside her.

The pressure that was mounting before accelerates quickly and he thanks Godric he can feel her close too.

“I’m so close, Lily—I want you to come–no– need you to come. I want to feel you squeeze my cock like this.” 

She looks like every fantasy he has ever had mixed into one image. Hair wild against her back, mouth open and panting, eyes— merlin her eyes— still watching him as he all but pounds into her. 

“Come for me then, baby. I’ll come too, I promise. I want to feel you come inside me. Fuck, James. Let me feel—”

Like always, her words are what throws him over the edge. He shudders into a release, keeling over her backside and panting a string of swears as he empties into her. Through his climax, he feels her walls tighten around him and she comes too, hard and swift, with her lips pressing his name into the grain of the table. 

When the fog finally lifts, he isn’t sure how long he remained inside her, but he pulls back, quickly scrambling for the tie. 

“Are you alright? Was that too–”

But the second she has control of her hands again, she turns and pulls him against her, hands roaming as though making up for lost time held away. She presses their lips together, hungry but in a different way from the carnal act they just did. Hungry to show adoration. 

“It was perfect. You are perfect,” she says into his mouth, hands finally carding through his hair. “You’re going to be the death of me really. I want to do everything with you.”

Everything? Everything sounds amazing. 

“Should we start now?” Love rushes over him like a warm breeze, wanting to just hold her and caress every part of her body until he is hard again to do exactly what ‘everything’ entails. She just laughs, pushing away from him and padding over to her wand to clean up the messes between their legs. 

“We can’t just hole up here and—”

“Of course we can,” he cuts her off with a grin, “Need I remind you, you made a lot of promises today that need to be fulfilled. Ones that I am ready to collect at your convenience.”

She laughs again, playfully throwing his clothes at his chest. He should be joking, but he has never been more serious in his life. McGonagall and Heads’ duties be damned. If it was up to him they would never leave this room. 

“We have patrols to finish—-ones we never even started,” she hums, tugging up her skirt. He pouts and she crosses over to kiss it away. She gives one, then another, then he’s dropped his clothes back on the floor to pull her in closer again.

“You’re impossible,” she pants, coming up for air. “We’ve been here too long. If McGonagall decides to come back, we are in serious shit.” But she doesn’t pull away, tongue already tracing against his lower lip.

“Stop, we need to get going…” 

Her hips jut forward and finding him already hardening again she smiles, pressing her lips to his jaw. Eventually she pushes away, but the look in her eyes still stands. A game already on the horizon. 

“I'll make it worth while--we'll keep your tie handy.”

[spoopdeedoop]

real friends have weird greetings that usually involve hitting each other

[horsemeatluvr23]

the juppet !! i just realised he is jerma posing i swear that was unintentional...... i spent so long digging thru muppet concept art and looking at old puppet designs just to end up doing a rly simple drawing but. i love joehills!! i have only been watching them for like 4 years but their videos r so special to me :3

[cent-scratchnsniff]

elaborate self hate and ungodly amounts of yapping. underneath is just the main ones without text on it

[spacebubblehomebase]

Without colors or context, this simple and stupid comic of mine feels so, so tense; It's ominous. The difference from the tone of my last doodle is low-key hilarious though. But please, *insert ace joke here* cause I swear this is nothing serious. I don't even know why I gave in so much effort or show ya'll my progress before finishing, yet here we are. -Bubbly💙

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[quietwingsinthesky]

youtube stop recommending me that five hour long “fall of doctor who” video challenge. there is not a video i could be less interested in watching.

[jaevy]

your room was square

i once noticed from there

in your bed, as you slept

and i held my breath

everything had its own place

and i wondered what space would i take

in the order you kept

[risingsunresistance]

twitter is entering their "rts > likes" phase now that likes are private after they spent years calling us ungrateful for being demotivated by ratios lmao

[fiendishartist2]

[corpocyborg]

it's honestly a tragedy that so few people chose morinth over samara that they didn't even bother putting morinth in me3. like i don't blame the players bc the narrative clearly discourages most players by positioning choosing morinth as the evil choice. but i swear to god if you actually talk to her after choosing her you will see it is not that simple. the situation isn't nearly as clear cut and black & white as they make it out to be and either choice could be justified as the "good" or "evil" choice.