#we’re getting there

[ricky-mortis]

Here’s a silly little Holy Bastard sketch as I’m still getting over a spell of burnout :)

[send-me-a-puffalope]

Drew a little masc Vanessa for a little thing @ender--slime is putting together 😁 Rejoice lesbians !!!

[unnierzmovedtozunckerz]

redraw based off convo with quartizinedaze

[csbat]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 — 𝐒𝐑.

▸ PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!Reader

▸ SUMMARY: Simon wanted you, even when he pushed you away. Even when you left because of it. Even when he let you.

▸ CONTENT WARNING: Hurt/no comfort, explicit sex

▸ WORD COUNT: 1,320

Simon was a voracious man, and he’d eat himself to perdition just to have a taste of you.

When he buried himself in your neck, tasting your supple skin with an ephemeral greed, he wasn’t apologetic. He chased the soft sounds spilling from your mouth, swallowing them with scarred lips. Canorous. Dulcet.

He took what you gave him, and then he took more, digging for scraps when you arched against his palm.

Pretty little thing, trapped in the throes of his maw, pragmatic as he tore you apart and put you back together. He was rotten work, he knew that, selfish when he burrowed into you, finding home in the heat that burned him to the touch. It was never more, fleeting intimacy hidden in vicious thrusts, rough palms. Demeaning. Better for the both of you.

“This is the last time,” you drew, your voice ripping down the crest of his stomach. There was a finality in the line between your eyebrows, pulled together with disdain as you kissed his shoulder. “I’ll let you go after that.” It was biting, and it tore through him.

You didn’t lean into his calloused hand, and you didn’t look him in the eye. Distance. Detachment. A mere release of frustration, a carcass without the spark.

If it was what you wanted, it was what he would pour out. Anything, all of it, behind a veil of derisory. Leaking from his chest, from his fingertips when he pulled you into him.

Neither of you could withstand the weight of something more than what you had. Forever too wishful, too good for someone like him. Maybe if he was different. If he was made to hold something other than the hilt of a knife, the barrel of a gun.

He didn’t mean to get caught up, really, didn’t mean to brush your hair behind your ear with such reverence. He liked you this way, mused. His. Where he could keep you caged in his ribcage, where you could make a home out of him. You were written in his blood, even as you bit it from his lip. He’d let you devour him, would let you crawl inside of his skin until you got tangled up. Until he couldn’t separate from you.

When he pushed inside of you, it didn’t cure the ache in his bones. He held your bleeding heart in his palm, your blood on his hands when he bottomed out. It felt like hearing your favorite song, like driving through the night. It felt like black coffee, like heavy rain against his skin, like a breeze on a scalding day.

A superposition.

“This could’a been more,” he breathed, a finger pushing at your jawline, his hands spanning to your temple. Tiny little thing. It forced your head back against him. Forced you to acknowledge him as he hooked his chin over your shoulder. Pliable. Malleable.

His chest was pushed against your back, curling over you, keeping you caged in like a sheep to slaughter, a bird to catch. You were his to detain.

A hand slipped under your hip, sliding up your chest to push you back against him, his free hand pinned above your head. You wouldn’t escape him. He wouldn’t let you.

“You could’a been mine.” His dick pulsed inside of you like a heartbeat, watching as you sucked him in like a breath.

You met his lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue as you clashed, indecision painted in every line of your body. You held onto his voice, held onto something you thought was empty. He’d never been more honest. There was too much between you, irremediable even when he snapped his hips into yours like it mattered. Like it’d change your mind.

They could’ve had a nice house in a field, somewhere the stars were visible so you could watch them from the porch. A big room where the sun filtered in so you could bathe in the light every morning. You’d curl into his chest, searching, and he’d pull you into him with a hand on your spine. You’d trace his tattoos, and he’d trace the column of your throat.

“Could’a had you,” he mumbled into your sweat-slicked skin, pushing you down into the bed with a hand between your shoulders.

You looked back at him with a wide-eyed gaze, allowing him to lay you on your back, hooking a thigh over his shoulder. A catharsis as he kissed your jawline. Your cheek. Your eyelid.

You made him feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. Like he was too big for his body. You were burning his wings. Like he would let you if you stayed.

“Could’a loved you,” he whispered into your ear, a confession shared between gritted teeth, as if it fought its way out of his throat. A bolted lock. Rusted metal, acidic to the touch. Rotting away with every thrust inside of you.

It was cruel, and he knew it. You both did.

He couldn’t stop, even when you looked up at him like that. Like it meant something. Like you knew. Like he was everything you ever wanted. Like he was the one thing that could’ve been yours. He did this, he knew, but he held you with a shaking fist. He kissed your tear-stained cheeks, held them as if it was his last chance at heaven.

You shied away with a broken sob, but Simon wouldn’t let you. Not now. Not like this. Not when it could be the last time, when he was losing you before he had the chance to recognize that he had you in the first place. Simon needed to burn this into his head, he needed to remember something other than blood and decay. Something other than nothing. “Don’ hide from me,” he muttered, pushing his chest into you to keep you rooted.

He worshiped every part of you, even those he couldn’t see. Smart little thing, clenching around him in that way he liked, dick scraping against your walls.

He could’ve been better for you. Would fight his way out of the dark void in himself, the one that sucked the life out of you. He saw it when you looked at him. This was ruining you both, but he’d let you rip him to the bone, make a mess out of him. Use him as you wanted, he wouldn’t complain.

Incoherent moans fell from your lips, something that sounded like I love you. It made his muscles tense, made it hard to hold back, to taint your insides with his spend. You said it like it was a goodbye, like it would be the first and the last time he pulled it out of your chest. Fuckin’ hell.

“Say it like I’m not losin’ you,” he bit, rough palms gripping your hips to push you down on his cock. “Like your mine,” he continued, breaths rugged against the skin of your breast. His tongue slid over the bud, teeth scraping against the peak.

“I love you now,” you whimpered, broken, hands tangling in his hair, pulling his head back to look at you, “and I’ll love you when I let you go.” His pace stuttered, his hands rough as he gripped the sheet above you.

He could feel it before he saw it, your pretty pussy gripping him, your toes curling. You came around him, and he realized with a brief moment of horror that you were dragging him down with you.

Not yet, he wasn’t ready.

And God, you were a sight. Skin riddled with sweat, eyelashes kissing your cheek, hair mused and sprawled around you. You were a mess, and he wanted it all. Cupping a firefly in his palms, chasing an unending stream. Simon wasn’t ready, and he would never be. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

He never did see you again.

▸ A/N: WHAT IS UP GUYS!!!!! i genuinely have not written anything in so fucking long, so i apologize if this is absolutely shit, but if you got this far i suppose it was okay. life has been absolutely bonkers, but i had this idea and wanted to get it out of me and actually do something with it. little short, would like to make it longer but my brain is absolutely frriiieeeddd. now that i think about it i don’t think i’ve ever let simon be peaceful… oh well!! shawty loves a little angst

[murdrdocs]

thinking abt how ebon has curly hair 😵‍💫

[skoulsons]

okay so we know that, to some extent, Joel, at least a little bit, is a note writer. We see in game on the fridge that he wrote a note to Sarah. I’m going to be home late tonight. Go ahead and order food. See you in the morning. Dad

Joel has definitely left notes for Ellie around the house to some degree

Now MAYBE this is super cringey, but I was just envisioning a moment of him writing a note for her, for whatever reason, and the J in his name is kind of wonky looking because, out of habit, he started to write Dad and wrote the vertical line and started on the downward curve of the D before realizing and freezing briefly as he stared at half of the letter. He corrected, elongating the vertical line into the curve of the J and and topping the letter off with the horizontal line across the top

It’s messy and looks rushed and reminds Joel of all the times before when he didn’t have to think about what to write at the bottom of those notes. Dad. It’s always just been Dad.

But now its not. Not anymore. He’s every description of the word. Protector, leader, comforter. He’s honest, dependable, loving

The desire to be called Dad again makes his heart burn, but a part of him believes he failed at deserving that role over twenty years ago.

[treluna4]

Snippet Sunday

I was tagged by @indestructibleheart

It’s been all triplet fic all the time over here and progress is slow. Im working my way through the draft to find spots I need to fix/write and there are many, so here’s a snippet that I might have shared before:

……………

In the next quiet moment, when Ellen is in the other room changing Elijah’s diaper, Henry brings it up again as he and Alex are each feeding Finn and Matteo. They’re once again sitting side-by-side on the couch, arms pressed together. Henry nudges his husband.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you at the usual time this morning,” Henry says, “You’re right, we are a team. We should be splitting duties 50/50.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Alex says, “for the way I reacted. I was panicking because I thought something was wrong, then I was panicking because I thought I wasn’t doing enough to help with the babies, and that led me to panic about a bunch of other shit. But that’s not your fault.”

Henry leans over and kisses his shoulder, the closest bit he can reach with a baby in his arms. Alex tilts his head until it taps gently against his husband’s.

“The extra sleep really did help,” Alex says, “I feel much better today.”

“Good. I love you, Alex.” Henry mutters.

“I love you, too.”

Finn cries out, “no, of course not as much as I love you,” Alex coos back. Henry sits back, eyes half open, watching the two of them have a conversation consisting mostly of exchanged vowel sounds. He glances down at Matteo, fast asleep in his arms with the bottle still in his mouth.

“It’s a really good thing they’re so cute,” Henry says.

“No kidding,” Alex scrubs a hand over his own face as he yawns again, “I was just thinking the other day that if anyone else treated me like this I’d lose it on them.”

“Like Hunter?”

“Oh god, I haven’t thought of him in forever. Yeah, fuck that guy. But this guy,” he says, switching voices again, “I can’t believe how much I fucking love this little peanut.”

“At this rate his first word is going to be an expletive, darling,”

[marichanmari]

So far I’ve lost 29 lbs 😛

[m3gumibear]

GUCUCYCSJDNSNWKXJWNXJDND

KELLEN LIKED MY COMMENT AH-

[corpsentry]

black eyes

[i-eat-worlds]

today on radicalizing my mother….

[scudevils]

5 red flags in one quali!!

[saetoru]

omg tomorrow i get to post prof! gojo how exciting

[askhomestuckeveryone]

Is Calliope included in this????? I need to know this is absolute crucial information

The Alpha kids are now open for asks! UuU

(⬅️. ➡️)

[pupyuj]

HII!! I just wanted to say I'm new here and this is the first time a writer on tumblr has given me so much inspo to write! I used to compete in essay and short story competitions so I'm used to writing but I had recently given up writing cuz the major I'm in, in uni is completely unrelated.

Your mean girl! Wony had me going ballistic like I'm in love! I wanted to give writing another shot so I tried it out but it's really giving essay and I feel like it's just too serious!

My whole idea was trainee!reader x wonyoung who's legit about to screw over her entire debut just because she got rejected but I'm at the smut part and I'm blanking like what do I do?!

Also I really went from writing about socialism to wonyoung smut and it's killing me lmao!!

Can I be 🛌 anon please (with the arrow please!!) also sorry for this long ass ask I really need to stfu lmao!!

AAAAAA OMG ANON I’M SO SORRY I’M LATE?! 😭😭😣💔

there’s nothing wrong w a fic that’s ‘too serious’, anon! 😼 smuts don’t always have to have a dash of humor or anything like that and if your style is more of a straightforward approach then you do you!! there’s an audience for everything and best believe we’re going to enjoy any wony smut that’s thrown at us 😭‼️ so dw about that part anon :3 anyways I LOVE YOUR IDEA??? there’s so much room for so many dynamics! if you want my advice, you can totally steer it into dark content territory (only if you’re comfortable writing that kind of stuff ofc!!) bcs come on… there’s a whole lot of possibilities w mean girl wony 😋😋 if dark content isn’t rlly your thing then i don’t think a little hate sex action would hurt 👁️👁️ but that’s just my opinion! 😘 do whatever you feel is perfect anon, i believe in you! 🥰❤️‍🔥

[technically-ghostly-collection]

OKAY PART 3, I’m trying to narrow this down to 5 parts so this is going to be pretty long. Just 2 parts left. I have a LOT of story because I was writing uncontrollably for like… 2 weeks but I don’t want to drag this out. Either way, I’m hoping y’all enjoy and I was asked about a tag list on part 2 and I am so sorry… I have no idea how to do that. BUT YOUR SUPPORT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME SO THANK YOU.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warnings: Depiction of depression and paranoia.

Word count: 10.8K

————————————————————————

It’s been about two months since you’ve left the apartment, you’ve been too paranoid to leave because you’re afraid of your stalker, after the window was fixed it’s been permanently locked and bolted. Groceries have been far between, you get them delivered every few weeks if you have the money for it but since you’ve secluded yourself your work has been docking your pay. Even though you’ve put in the same amount of work, just at home instead of in the office.

You’re sitting in bed and wrapped in a blanket, working on your next big article when the phone starts ringing, you look down and immediately recognize the caller id. It’s Miguel, you pick up, your blood boiling.

“Funny that you told me not to bother you, It’s 3 in the morning. Why are you calling me?” You pull the phone away as the line hangs up, giving it a confused look. ‘Great, I guess he’s into prank calls’ you think to yourself, going back to your laptop to continue typing up the article.

You continue on for a few more minutes before hearing your doorbell ring, your blood turns ice cold as panic claws at your skin. You sit frozen on your bed before it rings a second time, finally getting up on shaky legs with bat in hand. You make it to the front door as the doorbell rings one more time, looking through the peephole and you groan. You open the door, bat still in hand just in case it’s a trick.

“Again, it’s 3 in the fucking morning, why’d you call me? I thought breaking and entering was your thing”

Miguel sighs, he honestly looks a little defeated and you give him a confused look, “your apartment is starting to smell like a corpse, I can smell it from below you because it’s so strong. Honestly thought you’d killed over.”

“Again, your charm never fails to shine through, I’ll plug in my wax warmer or something, happy?”

“Far from it,” he says, glaring down at you. “Also, your mailbox is flooded, I think the mail person got confused and can’t fit anymore in there so they put your shit in my box.”

You curse at yourself under your breath. “Of course they did, why would they read the names on the mail boxes?” you sigh softly, rubbing your face. “I’ll take care of it, now please get the hell out of here, you appeased your curiosity, I am in fact still alive. Have a nice night.” You go to close the door before Miguel stops you.

“Listen,” Miguel sighs “I don’t like people, I don’t like talking to people, but I want to help you out. Your apartment smells like a health hazard, and I don’t want to have to be subjected to it anymore. Also I’m sure your wrist is a hindrance.” He points out the cast still encasing your wrist.

Even though he’s already seen it you still tuck your wrist behind your back, blocking the entrance to your apartment. “Okay, let me put this differently, I do not want your help, this shouldn’t matter so much to you, I’m an adult and I can take care of myself.”

He grimaces and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God you’re infuriating, the only reason I’m concerned about what’s going on is because I barely hear your footsteps anymore, I can hear your alarm go off for HOURS before you stop it, I damn well thought you were dead! Your alarm is annoying, the smells are annoying, I. Am. Annoyed!”

You feel the dam start to break, your eyes prickling with tears as you look down. He’s so harsh to you and in your fragile mental state you have a hard time controlling your emotions. You wipe your eyes softly. “Okay fine, I get it, can you just leave? Please? I don’t need to be scolded and talked down to right now and I’d appreciate it if you could leave me alone.” You try to close the door again but he holds the door open easily. You could swear his eyes are glowing a deep red as he looks down at you.

“I won’t make you pay to have my seat professionally cleaned if you let me help you clean your apartment” he bargains. Half of you thinks he’s joking.

“I don’t need your help Miguel, I don’t need you to baby me and treat me like I’m fucking fragile!”

“It’s gonna cost you $5,000 to clean the seats, they’re custom made and incredibly difficult to clean”

You go wide eyed at the price, that’s the equivalent of your rent. You sigh softly, “I… I’ll pay for it, I don’t need your help, especially since you’re just going to degrade me…”

“You obviously do need my help! Your apartment is a wreck, so I’m going to help you out, I’ll hold back on the insults. Whatever it takes to make you clean this goddamn place and actually get some human interaction! I’m helping, end. of. story.”

You can feel the tears starting to fall down your face now and a sob block up your throat. “I don’t want you here Miguel! I want you out of here, now! It’s 3 in the morning, I don’t know why you care so fucking much! There’s not much to care about!” Your voice keeps cracking and your throat feels almost weak. “Can you please just leave?!”

You watch him take a deep breath. “I’m coming back here tomorrow to help you clean up, I’m not going to give up on you like you’ve given up on yourself. I’ll be here at 8”

“God I hate you right now, I don’t want you here tomorrow. We’re not friends, we’re just neighbors who were unfortunate enough to cross paths”

“And that’s fine, but I’m coming back here tomorrow, we don’t have to be friends for me to help you” he glares at you one last time before moving out of the way.

You don’t waste a second and slam the door shut behind him, locking it and wiping your eyes some more. ‘God I fucking hate nosey neighbors’ you think as you shuffle back to your room. You climb back into bed and wrap back up in your blanket, turning your laptop back on and continue on working.

Time passes by so quickly when you’re distracted from the world, before you know it it’s 8:30 am and there’s no sign of Miguel. ‘Maybe he’s not coming back’ you assume, you climb out of bed and shuffle over to your bathroom. You look in the mirror and immediately feel worse about your situation.

“God maybe I should shower…” you say as you let your hair out of the headband holding it back. You’re about halfway through before you hear a knock at the door and practically jump out of your skin. ‘Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me’ you look at the counter and realize your phone isn’t here with you, groaning and trying to finish up as fast as possible while the door bell is spammed a few more times.

“I’M COMING! CALM YOUR SHIT!” You yell towards the door, climbing out of the shower and drying off. You slip a robe on and dry your hair before rushing out to the front door, you look through the peephole and unlock all three locks, two of which you installed soon after you came home a long two months ago. You open your door just a sliver and poke your head out. “I told you not to come back.”

“And I told you I was,” Miguel shrugs, holding a bucket full of cleaning supplies and gloves. “Now where are we starting?”

It took the both of you about a month to clean your apartment well enough to where the smell faded, you had to throw many dishes out as well as half the items in your fridge. Slowly, Miguel starts being less intense and starts to actually talk to you instead of insulting you. You didn’t like having to see him so often at first but he eventually grew on you. You had to confess that it was nice to see his face, his stupidly handsome face. He must have liked spending time with you as well because another month passes and he’s still coming over, less frequently but still often enough to where you feel comfortable letting him in now. You sit down on your couch to relax before hearing a knock on the door, Miguel then comes in for your weekly movie night. He quickly pieced together that you were seriously lacking in friends and ‘it’s important that you interact with people’. You have the same response every time ‘maybe you should practice what you preach’. You look over the back of the couch at him.

“Breaking and entering yet again?” You jest.

“You know me, I love breaking into places” he says with the same flat tone as always. He comes in with two grocery bags of take out. “I went to the Mexican food place down by Park, they seem authentic and since I really don’t feel like cooking tonight, I just decided to pick something up for us.”

“Well shit okay, yeah let’s try it, I’m excited” you smile at him, patting the cushion next to you and takes one of the bags as he sits down. “What exactly did you get?” You ask as you take the box out of the bag.

“Empanadas, Carne Asada, fresh tortillas, good old fashion tacos, and some tamales, only the best stuff for movie night”

You snort, “so already better the Taco Hell” Miguel made up that little nickname after you mentioned how often you eat there during one late night movie session.

“Yes, SO much better then Taco Hell”

You laugh “okay, my main argument is that you don’t go to Taco Hell for authentic Mexican food, you go there for half assed food that’s got white people levels of spice”

And that’s when it happened, the side of Miguel’s mouth twitched, was that a smile? “That’s a horrible joke” his gaze moves from you to the sauce dripping onto his hand and down his arm from the taco he’s holding. You watch as he takes one big bite before licking up his own arm, you’re almost shocked by his actions before he glances back over at you. You look away with a blush and take a bite out of an empanada.

“What were you looking at?” Miguel asks

“I could have sworn that Mr. icy cold exterior just smiled at my joke.” You take another bite of your food, “also you just licked up your arm, it’s hard not to stare at something like that”

“I didn’t smile. You must be mistaken. And sorry for my lack of manners?” He continues to eat. “So are we gonna turn on a movie or something? Or just listen to ourselves chew?”

“What? You don’t like hearing me chew? You don’t like ASMR?” at this point you’re purposely speaking with puffed cheeks full of food just to gross him out. He rolls his eyes.

“See? I don’t know why I apologized for a lack of manners when you’re talking with your mouth full, anyway, pick a movie, let's turn something on” he grabs the remote, “and no, we’re not watching twilight.”

You were dead asleep halfway through the movie you both decided on, curled up on the arm of the couch and covered in a giant quilt. At some point Miguel left, you wake up a few hours later to a note and a clean table.

The hand writing is probably the most elegant thing you��ve seen in a while. ‘Hey, I put the left overs in your fridge, I’m sure they’ll still be good when you nuke them later. I’ll see you next week, same time. Miguel.’ You smile at the note, it’s been a long time since you’ve had a friend and you definitely didn’t expect to have such an attractive and caring one. You stick the note on your fridge and yawn, starting to shuffle towards your bedroom in a haze. Stomach full and feeling good you climb into your sheets and easily fall to sleep.

————————————————————————

Full disclosure, I based this off of how I handled my depression/paranoia before I started taking meds and going to therapy. So it’s not everyone’s experience! But I tried to keep it authentic to the source material. Anyway! Hope y’all enjoy. I’ll figure out a tag list eventually…