#why are there so many fucking VOWELS

[regaeliabyeeeee]

spell out your url using characters you love from any media. then, tag as many people as there are letters in your url (or however many you'd like!) inspired by the song titles dashboard game.

R - ren amamiya — persona 5 E - ellie williams — the last of us G - goro akechi — persona 5 A - aloy — horizon zero dawn E - elizabeth comstock — bioshock: infinite L - leon kenedy — resident evil I - ignis scientia — final fantasy xv A - astarion acunin — baldur's gate iii

tagged by : @lunabrae (( i want u )) tagging: baddies only

[n04s]

there's a character named secretary in my game nad it doesnt even look like a real word to me anymore

[saintemry]

the more i learn bits and pieces of other languages the more annoyed i get with english

[mercutiodidntdieforthis]

Sorry to use this account as a diary, but anyways, I've decided I'm gonna try and restart being weirdly nice to the point it seems like I take things too seriously or I'm overly friendly, I'd rather that than seeming apathetic and disingenuous

[hamiltonfc]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆⭒˚｡⋆ MOTH TO A FLAME; JUDE BELLINGHAM (Chapter One)

➤ Summary: Kaia tells Jude about her new beau, throwing yet another spanner in the works of their already complicated relationship.

➤ Pairing: Jude Bellingham x F!OC

➤ Warnings: Swearing, Food mention.

➤ Discussion tag: #my works: moth to a flame (if you ever have any questions about the story, release schedule, etc. my inbox is always open.)

➤ Word Count: 2,254

TAGLIST | SERIES PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Kaia’s POV

The dial tone wasn’t unfamiliar when it came to my relationship with Jude. Over the past few years, phone calls between us have been the main way of communicating with my best friend. With him away in either Germany or Spain, or with myself at my home in London, or away on a film set somewhere, phone calls or long text threads were the best I could get. 

But this call was different. Jude was finally back home in England. Not for long, just for a week or so during the winter break in the Spanish season. It just so happened that I had made the journey up from Surrey to be home with my family for Christmas, so it was only a matter of time before I picked up my phone, ready to call him. 

“Hello?” I heard at the other end of the line when Jude picked up. “Who’s this? The number kinda looked like this girl who last spoke to me about three weeks ago, but, you know, I could be mistaken.”

“Jude,” I say, deadpan. “I swear to God, the day you answer a phone call in a somewhat normal way, that’s when I’ll know the aliens have invaded.”

“I find offence in the fact that’s not the first time you’ve referred to aliens when talking about me,” his smirk was obvious through the way he spoke, it’s not like I’d never heard him speak that way before. “Anyway, stranger, what’s up? Miss my pretty face?”

“Always. But no, I need you to come over,” I stand up from where I was lying on my bed and walk over to my desk, taking a seat on the chair in front of it. 

“You need me to, huh? You should’ve said, Baby, I’d have been over already.” 

“Jesus,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, slumping further back into the chair in feigned annoyance. 

“My name’s Jude, actually, but close enough.”

“Please, Jude. I need to tell you something,” I twist my body, swinging the desk chair side to side a little, nerves creeping up to my heart, which is pounding in my chest. 

“God, I love it when you beg,” Jude whispers, voice a little more serious than it had been before. “Sorry, uhm, I’ll be over in ten. See you soon, Darling.”

****

*knock knock knock*

“FBI, open up!” Jude yells, in the worst American accent I might’ve ever heard (and I’ve been an actor my whole life so I’ve heard some terrible ones), from the other side of my door. He swings the door open, and his beaming face is the first thing I see when he’s revealed. 

I furrow my brows, staring at him with a disappointed look on my face for a few seconds. “Remind me, Jude, why the fuck are we friends?”

Jude places his hand against his chest, mouth open in fake, way too dramatic, offence. “Because we love each other, duh? Did you like it, though? It’s like that show you like, Criminal Brains or whatever it’s called.” He throws himself onto the bed beside me, landing on his stomach, before pushing up onto his forearms, leaning in towards me with only one thing on his mind.

“No,” I whisper, my hand gently placed on his collarbone as I push him back. “I need to talk to you first.”

“Oh,” Jude says with a nod. He grabs one of the many pillows on my bed and tucks it under his head, getting into a more comfortable position so he can look at me properly. Before Jude speaks, I see a look pass across his face, one that I can read instantly. “It’s serious enough that you don’t want to kiss me? Okay,” he drags out the vowels, chocolate brown eyes landing on mine, and at that moment I can do nothing but stare into them. 

My eyes flutter away from his, too scared to look at him during what I’m about to tell him, the weight of his gaze upon me enough to knock my mind off balance. 

“We can’t do this anymore,” I say softly, lips barely moving, but they fall loud and clear upon Jude’s ears. 

“We can’t do what anymore?” He knows. I knew he’d know what I would tell him when I refused to kiss him. But that’s what Jude is like, he is always going to give me space to tell him in my own time. He knows that’s how I want this to go. 

“Whatever we’ve been doing for the past however many years,” it’s then when I look at him, the image of his face etched into my brain of what I imagined he looked like in the moment, and I wasn’t wrong. 

Jude shakes his head, breaking eye contact, his jaw tight, before looking right back at me. “Why?”

“I have a boyfriend.” Silence washes over the room. Only sounds of our breathing can be heard and the ruffling of the bedding when I shift my body towards Jude. “We, uhm, we met on set a few months back and we hit it off, so… yeah. We’re now together.”

I give Jude a tight-lipped smile. He nods slowly in response, eyes wandering around my room. “I’m happy for you.” There it is. Four simple words, but they’re exactly what I expected him to say. He is so predictable. 

“So,” Jude slaps his thighs as he moves to sit up, almost falling backwards due to the lack of support from the mattress underneath him, but his strong core just about manages to complete the manoeuvre. “What’s your mom cooking?”

“A roast, but ab-”

“A roast? Oh, get in, I fucking love your mom’s roasts. Don’t tell my mom but, if I’m being completely honest, I prefer your mom’s Yorkshire puddings,” he smiles, but I can tell in the way he’s moving, his body language, the way his eyes can’t hold contact with mine for longer than three seconds, that he’s trying to distract himself from everything that’s going through his mind. “Mine does do better roast potatoes, though. They’re crispier.” 

“Jude,” I say sharply, placing a hand on his thigh in an attempt to bring him back to reality a little, as I stare at his heaving chest. “Slow the fuck down, yeah?” My stare is wide and long as my hand moves up and down his thigh, the only thing separating our skin are his grey sweatpants. “Take a breath, next time.”

He nods, his hand instinctually moving to grasp mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go, knowing that if he held on any longer he wouldn’t want to let go at all. “Quick question,” his eyes meet mine. “Why are we having a roast when you’re coming round mine for Christmas dinner in three days?”

I shrug. “Think of it as a pre-roast. You know how my mum gets when she’s not hosting, she can’t sit still to save her life, the roast dinner is just a product of that.”

“Cool,” Jude nods. “Two roast dinners in a week is a lot better than all the nutritional shit I have to eat throughout the season, anyway.”

I let out a quiet laugh, pulling my hand out from underneath his. “Anyway,” I take a deep breath. “As I was trying to say, about the dinner, Noah, my boyfriend, is coming over to eat with us.”

“Okay,” Jude’s voice fades out as he says, a confused look on his face.

“I mean,” I tell him. “It’s up to you, you can stay and meet him if you want, I don’t mind. Like I understand if you don’t want to, but, like I said, it’s completely up to you.”

Jude scoffs. “And like I said, I want that roast dinner. Of course, I’m staying.”

“Right then, I get up from my bed, stretching and letting out a yawn, catching Jude looking at the sliver of my belly that appears when I raise my hands over my head. “We best get downstairs and set the table, because we both know that sister of mine won’t have done it.” 

****

“You do know you have legs, right?” I say to my fifteen-year-old sister, Olivia, as soon as I enter the dining room only to find that the table hadn’t already been set like I had previously hoped. 

My sister only lets out a grunt and shrugs at my words. 

“You alright, Liv?” Jude grabs the coasters, placing one in front of each chair, making sure to count one extra than usual for Noah.

Olivia gives Jude the same grunt as the one that she gave me. 

“Remember when we were like that?” I nudge Jude with my elbow, setting up everyone’s cutlery. 

“What, when we hated everyone and everything that wasn’t on our phones? Yeah, that was rough,” a reminiscent look passes across Jude’s face before I slap him in the tummy with the placemats. 

“Come on, slacker, you going to put them down before I whack you round the head with them, or what?” I giggle, making my way into the kitchen to see if my mum needs any help. 

I see Jude smile at me over my shoulder as he watches me walk away. “You alright, Mum? Need help with anything?”

“No, I’m alright, thanks, Love. You go and sit down, I’ll bring the food through in a bit,” she flashes a smile at me before opening the oven up, and checking on the beef and potatoes. 

I turn on my heel, walking back into the dining room when my little brother appears at the doorway. “Judey!” he yells as soon as he spots my best friend. 

My youngest sibling, Leo, runs at Jude, causing him to stop everything he’s doing before he leans down to pick up the little boy. 

“Hello, little man, how are you doing?” Jude squeezes him as tight as he can. In the time that Jude and Leo had known each other, which was the entirety of Leo’s seven years on the planet, they had built up an amazing relationship. Leo considered Jude to be one of his best friends and even went as far as saying that Jude loved him more than me. If he only knew. 

“I’m not too good,” I watch as Leo pouts up at Jude after he’s placed him back on the ground. 

“Why not, Kid?” Jude’s brows furrow, continuing his work setting the table while also giving the small boy as much attention as he can. 

“I’ve been doing my homework all day because Mummy said I had to and if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to play Roblox later.” 

“Well, we can’t be having that, can we?” Jude smiles when Leo shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh. “So, did you get it all done?”

“I did,” Leo nods, a proud smile on his face. 

“Good kid,” Jude ruffles his hair before he spots me, leaning against the doorframe, watching their interaction. 

“Go and take a seat, Leo,” soft thuds against the floor can be heard as he runs to his chair next to his older sister. “Mum says dinner will be ready soon.”

I sit down in my usual spot, with Jude going to take the seat right next to me before changing his mind and walking around the table to sit in the seat directly across from me instead. 

Jude and I engage in barely thirty seconds of conversation before it’s broken up by the sound of the doorbell ringing. I feel my expression change immediately, to one full of nerves. Jude notices that immediately, watching me in anticipation as I get up from my seat. 

“That’ll be him,” I say, leaving no room for Jude to reply because I’m out of the room in seconds, making my way towards the door. 

“Hey, Babe,” Noah says in his thick American accent as soon as I open the door. 

I move to the side, signalling for him to come in. “Hi,” I say, my words a lot more muted than the bubbly voice that he’s used to. 

Noah shrugs his coat off as he steps inside and I grab it from him, turning to hang it on one of the hooks beside the door. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss on my lips. “You okay?” His brows furrow together as he analyses my face. 

“Yeah,” I nod, smiling up at him. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet,” I tell him, leading him into the dining room after about a minute of being gone. 

As soon as Noah and I enter the room, I notice Jude look Noah up and down the moment his eyes land on him. He takes in his outfit, his tanned skin and his blonde hair. I can practically see the moment where he acknowledges that he’s not my type, no that that matters, he doesn’t know my type to be anything other than himself. 

“Noah,” I turn to him, a slight smile on my face. “You’ve already met my brother and sister,” I can feel Jude watching me as I point at the kids beside him. I can also see his face change slightly, most likely to show his disdain at the fact that I let Noah into my house before ever telling him about our relationship. “And this,” My gaze falls upon Jude, prompting Noah to look at him for the first time this evening. “Is Jude. My best friend.”

Taglist: @eunoiasgoal @4evermyownmuse

If you would like to support my work make sure to like and reblog this post, and if you're able, consider buying me a pastry! (I also take writing commissions if anyone would like one).

[themuseofaphrodite]

do you get deja vu? ✧ FC43 / CS55 

summary: you are at a masquerade ball in buenos aires, argentina, and you have garnered the attention of a certain argentinian driver. little does he know that a year ago, you were living a mirror image life with a different spanish driver.

trigger warnings: angst, suggestive content, mentions of alcohol, descriptions of depression, cheating

note: phrases and sentences in the spanish language are utilized throughout; keep a translator accessible

word count: 1.9k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Parties were the only thing that quieted the whirlwind in your head. Getting drunk, dressing in fancy attire, pretending to be someone you were not, helped fix your fucked-up mind, even if it was just for a handful of hours. Ever since your break up with Carlos Sainz Jr., you had fallen down a rabbit hole of despair and heartbreak, muting your feelings with Bacchian revelries. Nothing else you did helped – you tried meditating, yoga, spin class, journaling…yet nothing gave you peace like parties did.

You nursed the glass of white wine in your hand, sipping it casually as you perused the ballroom, scanning the crowd for someone worthwhile. Another reason why you enjoyed parties is because it was the best hunting ground for a one-night stand. Most people who went to these festivities were looking to find hook-up partners, which is exactly what you needed. 

Everyone’s face was obscured with masks, and you could tell a lot about someone based off of their disguises. Those who wore fanciful designs were vain and egotistical, those who preferred muted designs were insecure. You needed someone showy but not extravagant – and that’s when you found the perfect mark.

He was already staring at you, his piercing olive eyes honed in on you. His light brown hair sloped in gentle waves over his forehead, his muscular build concealed by a tight-fitting tuxedo. Sun-kissed freckles dotted the lower portion of his face.

He was everything you needed to take your mind off of Carlos. Or so you thought.

“Buenas noches,” you murmured to him when you stood beside him, your head tilted to the side, scouring for details previously missed. He smelled like caramel and sea salt mixed with expensive cologne, and he carried himself like he was a prince. “¿Cómo ha sido tu noche?”

He craned his neck down to look at you, a smirk curling at his top lip. “Mejor ahora que has venido a charlar.”

“Hm,” you hummed under your breath. “Pensaría que un chico lindo como tú tendría las agallas de hablar con una chica.”

“¿Y quién dijo que no?” he inquired, one eyebrow raised.

“My name is Y/N,” you responded, not caring to stay on the same topic of conversation anymore and switching to English, the language you were more fluent in. Carlos had been the one to teach you Spanish so you could understand what his family was saying when you visited them, but you still felt unsure when speaking it. “And yours is?”

He chuckled. “Franco Colapinto.” A soft accent tilted the edges of his vowels, and it sent a spark of electricity racing through your veins. Just like Carlos. You forced yourself to take your mind off of your ex – thinking about him would not do anything. Carlos had someone better, and soon you would too.

Franco’s name sounded vaguely familiar, but you had far too many drinks to remember exactly why. “Ah. You���ve been looking at me all night. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” you�� crooned playfully.

“Yes,” he responded, his tone just as mischievous. “And would you like to tell me something as well? Don’t think I haven’t seen you staring at me, hermosa.”

“You first,” you pressed, taking a sip of your white wine.

“I was thinking how surprising it is that una chica impresionante like you would not have a date to such an event,” Franco mused. “Do you have someone?”

You shook your head, swallowing roughly. “No.”

“Then it would be my pleasure to accompany you, querida.” Franco looped his arm through yours, pulling you close to his body. He was warm, toned muscle, and you suppressed a groan at the contact. “¿Te gustaría encontrar un lugar más...privado?”

A private area…just what you needed. You bobbed your head in agreement, and Franco tugged you towards a small alcove, away from the eyes of partygoers. “Tell me why you’re here,” you pushed. “Do you not have a date?”

“No date. I was hoping that I would stumble upon a beautiful girl like you, though,” Franco flirted casually. The way he had with words alerted you to the fact that he honed his charm like a weapon, and it intrigued you. “Gracias a Dios que mis deseos se hicieron realidad.”

“You’re such a smooth talker,” you teased, tugging gently on his mask and causing him to make a disapproving noise at you. “How many girls have you picked up with those same lines?” You appraised him, scanning his stature from head to toe. “Eres un espectador.”

Franco laughed. “Tú también.”

You stepped forward, encasing his shoulders with your arms. Angling your face up, you kissed him deeply on the lips, a moan escaping your lips at the sensation of how soft he was. It was deceiving, the way he looked – strong, hewn stone, but his lips were like a cloud. Franco immediately intensified the kiss, his tongue battling with yours for dominance, his arms snaking down your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Fuck,” you murmured when you broke apart. “Someone knows how to make out.”

Franco grinned and pecked you on your cheek. “I’ll gladly continue, amor. Just give me the word.”

You kissed him again – this time more fervently, like you were trying to etch him into your memory and erase every flashback you had of Carlos.

Madrid, Spain

Carlos Sainz Jr. sucked in a breath as you spun around the room in your lavish pink ballgown. “Fuck, cariña, you look so good.” You beamed back at him. “We have to go to more parties now. You look absolutely stunning.”

“Yeah?” you cocked your head. “Says the sexiest man alive.”

Carlos laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Te amo mucho, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re perfect.”

You scoffed. “If you say so.”

Carlos clucked his tongue, picking you up and setting you down on the edge of the bed. “I know so, amor.”

“Hm.”

He kissed you, making you topple over onto the bed and screech in surprise. “Trust me, cariña, you drive me crazy.” Carlos crawled on top of you, pinning you down and kissing you again passionately. “My fucking ángel sent from the heavens.”

“Except you know I’m anything but an angel,” you retorted, and he quieted you with another kiss. “Carlos, come on, we’re going to be late.” He huffed angrily but extricated himself from you, brushing invisible specks of dust off of his lapel. 

“Do you have your mask, Y/N?”

You nodded, sitting up from where you were lying and pointing at the shiny rose gold masquerade mask that was resting on the vanity table. “That’s mine.”

“OK. Everything else done?” Carlos inquired, and you nodded once more. “Then come here and vamos.”

You were extremely excited to go with Carlos to your first ever masquerade ball. You’d spent weeks agonizing over what color scheme to choose for your dress so that it would match up with your mask, whereas Carlos had selected a simple black-and-white tuxedo with a stormy gray mask. “I want you to stand out, amor. I don’t care what I wear. I want everyone to be looking at my beautiful girlfriend, not me.”

Forty-five minutes later and you were in the ballroom, your jaw gaping open in awe. A large gilded chandelier hung suspended over the crowd, a thousand candles flickering vividly. The floor was a plush red carpet and the walls were filled with ancient portraits. You could swear that some of them were alive, and that they were staring at you.

Hopefully not judging you…

Carlos signaled a waiter over and ordered a glass of wine for the both of you. “I need to use the restroom,” he told you. “Don’t drink my wine, ¿OK, cariña?”

You nodded and gave him a peck on his cheek, watching him disappear through the crowds. A few moments later, your wine appeared and you took a gulp, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for Carlos to return.

Minutes ticked by and still Carlos had not come back. Maybe he got caught up talking to someone, you assured yourself. He’s fine. 

But even after the belltower chimed eleven, Carlos was nowhere to be seen. You began a frenzied search for him, asking people frantically if they knew his whereabouts. Everything was a dead end, until…

The familiar tall, bronzed body with his fingers twisted through another woman’s hair, his lips plastered against hers like they were glued together.

Your breath stuttered in shock, tears pricking your eyes like knives.

Without another second wasted, you turned your back on him and fled the scene where your heart was torn into a million pieces.

Buenos Aires, Argentina

“So, what do you do for a living?” you asked Franco a few hours later as the sun was descending into the horizon. You had left the ball an hour previously, finding your way into a small cafe where you two had been chatting and sipping on green tea. 

“Oh, I drive cars,” Franco responded, his eyes lighting up. “I’m a Formula One driver.”

Your heart spasmed in your chest and you fought to remain still. “Really? What team?”

“Williams,” he specified, one shoulder shrugging nonchalantly. 

The same team Carlos was heading to after the end of this year. God liked to play cruel games on you, that was for sure. “Interesting.” You tapped your fingers against the wooden table. “Do you enjoy it?”

Franco bowed his head. “Very much. I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t.”

“How long have you been racing?” you inquired.

“In Formula One? Since the start of this season. I was pulled in because a different driver wasn’t doing well. Mejor para mi, supongo.”

At least he didn’t have years of experience like Carlos did. Franco was getting newly acquainted with the lifestyle and demands that was Formula One, which was all the more reason that you should stay away. If Carlos could not resist the temptations, Franco would break in an instant. That much you could tell already from the way that he had effortlessly flirted with you, like it was second nature. “I hope you stay longer.” You gave him a smile, suddenly nauseous and desperate to leave. “But I think that I must say goodnight and go home.”

Franco pouted. “Lo siento. I gave you my number. Stay in contact with me, por favor.”

“I will,” you promised, although you did not have any intentions to do so. The ghosts of Formula One had to remain in the past, and you couldn’t move on if you dated a driver from the same future team as your ex. “Goodnight.” “Buenas noches.”

It was so strange how life was. You had never believed in predestination; you always thought that life was constantly changing. There was no such thing as fate or destiny, but the more you thought about it, it seemed like there was only one road for you to travel down. 

Deja vu was everywhere, and God forbid you if you succumbed to its miseries.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[backwards360]

tell me about your headcanons about the cultural differences between layers plss

- your favourite sister ever

takes a deep deep deep breath. hello niki. my beloved sister. my favoritest sister ever.

the noob layer (before the evil champion)

very very community oriented

block parties (get it) are really popular!!

a lot of sharing and stuff going on

music!! music is a really big thing!!

accent sounds a bit like theyre singing, almost like theyre dancing with words!! they dont pronounce their vowels fully!!

the noob layer (after the evil champion)

community??? no chance, everyone dies before you get to even know their name (which is why evbo never bothers asking anyone)

really the only sharing they do is when someone is sick or theres a child and occasionally family units share food

cannibalism. yeah. its normal for people to go insane, the noobs probably refer to it as some kind of curse or something bc thats fun

the pro layer (before the evil champion)

everyones neighbors!! less community oriented than the noob layer

more focused on helping each other get better!! regularly helping each other learn fun new parkour things

their accent is kinda like. how do i explain this. their voices tend to be softer and tbh i wanna say they sound like a weird mix of southern and british. dont ask questions.

i dont have much for the pro layer if yall have fun things hand 'em over

the pro layer (after the evil champion)

music is HUGE here between moral boosting events and also playing songs for parkour !!

community oriented but more in the way where family units stick together and everyone else is like. a coworker. like you might be friends and occasionally you might get close with someone but like. ehhhhh

mostly just like. yeah i work in the same general area as this guy

the fighter later (before they were banished)

this layer has the most people because its so hard to rank up so its the one with the most stuff going on!!

libraries!! this is the layer of scholars and shit!!

theres so many people here that the masters come down and hang out here a lot too!!

this is where everyone learns things, theres no schools on the other layers because everyone has the chance to rank up !!

this ones just fun, its got a mix of everything because its the most populated \o/

they have a fun accent i think, tbh i wanna say its similar to new york? idk

the fighter layer (after the banishment)

devoid of basically everything that made it what it was

the most sparsely populated now

everyone is hostile as fuck, by the point we see it in canon everything's been combed over tens of hundreds of times so if someone sees someone else its safe to assume one of them is getting mugged

unless its a seawatt situation but whatever

some bonds still remain and theyre as strong as ever now

everyone either has fashioned masks out of their clothes or just has the most fucked up throat from the frequent sandstorms.

the master layer (before the evil champion)

not much going on up here!! they normally hang out on the fighter layer

huuuuuge showoffs but like in a fun way!! performances!!! wow!!!

theyve got a bit of twang in their voice i think bc yes.

the master layer (after the evil champion)

showoffs but in a bad way

big on spreading rumors

really reclusive, never visit lower levels or each other

battling is common for any reason, the more people youve defeated in a battle the higher up you are on the social ladder

ok heres some!! i hope u like it it took me like 45 minutes to write all this bc i kept getting distracted

[ask-the-nine-links]

Fun fact anon!

Twilight adventure was going to be winds' second adventure in development, so wind was at first going to turn into Wolfe, and Tetra has a modal of her "riding" wolfe she's actually t-posing but whatever.

The reason why she was in fours hyrule in the beta was because she was going to be the host of a mini game in his hyrule she would call out who ever was in the lead by whatever letter they chose but because English is dumb and the Vowels had more then one sounds (unlike in jp) they cut it

Can tetra stop appearing in other links hyrule. I swear..

Warriors: I second keeping Tetra away from other worlds. Confine her to her own.

Wind: No offense Twi, but thank fuck I did not become Wolfie. Imagine trying to go anywhere in the Great Ocean. And Tetra would never let me live it down!

Twilight: None taken. It is weird though how many of our adventures almost were the exact same.

[astralnymphh]

Omg Ellie showing her kid savage starlight comics for the first time and geeking the fuck out when her kid loves it

♡♱— DON'T GET ME STARTED. this is what i mean by domestic!ellie being the best trope. she is quite literally the epitome of perfect parenting where bonding is stationed high upon a pedestal. can you imagine: nigh past midnight, a soft darkness blanketing each and every pane of glass, impelling the flash-lit orb brightening two expressions— one speckled, and one youthful— to sit in that gloaming. ellie had either indulged with excess enthusiasm or forgotten how swift time streaks by because the giggles and drama-worthy storytelling unquestionably narrated by she herself has kept her out of your shared bed— and in your child's. lain there, laxly tossed blanket to cover, limning the galactic world presented in the first savage starlight comic ellie was heavily (and obviously) disposed to read aloud. it does not matter how long you've been leaning against the doorframe, cracked just enough to contemplate every hand gesture, every vowel mouthed, every tooth that reveals under her tugging lips; heartfelt details emblematic of how much bliss this nighttime joy brings— why would you stop her now?

♡♱— in fact, it was so heartfelt, so moving, you quite literally begin to move towards the bed without the visible notice of ellie.. until the mattress begins to dip with your added weight sidling behind her turned body, "oh, is mama joinin' storytime?" snipping her last sentence to steer quiet attention towards you, who lifted heavying lids barely to catch the turn of her wrinkled-eye smile, and feel the gentle mount of her left hand nudging your thigh in little shakes; a comforting habit. "we we're just getting to the good part. actually, i think you'll remember this scene babe— however many times i read it to you."

too bad you fell asleep to even attempt remembering. ♡

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

open your mouth for me, sugar

NSFW (this is literally just porn) - part of the Steddie Upside-Down AU universe, but can be read as a standalone

“What are you doing, Munson?” Steve asks, tone teasing enough to keep away the sting of being last-named by his boyfriend.

The carpet’s rough against his knees where they show through the holes in his jeans as he slides forward far enough that he can pillow his head on Steve’s thigh. Steve’s jeans are scratchy, too. Eddie rubs his cheek against the denim, turning his head just enough to catch Steve’s tender gaze.

“I’ve never done this before,” Eddie replies. His cheeks instantly warm at the admission, but their bedroom lights are off, the only light that of the fading day filtering in through the curtains. Maybe Steve won’t notice.

As if in answer, Steve reaches out to caress Eddie’s cheek. He closes his eyes against the feeling, overwhelmed.

“Never done what?” Steve asks.

He runs his fingers up Eddie’s cheekbone and into his hair. His scalp tingles where Steve scratches at it. A high-pitched whine unwillingly slips out of his slack mouth as Steve’s fingers get caught in a tangle at the back of his head.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, opening his eyes just to drown in the dark pools of Steve’s eyes, pupils blown with need. Steve clenches his fist in Eddie’s curls and pulls.

“Never done what?” Steve asks, still pulling at the roots of Eddie’s hair.

Eddie can’t think past the fire on his scalp and the way it somehow flows through his veins straight into his cock. “You know what.” He tries to modulate his voice, but it comes out breathy and desperate.

When they’d first talked about sex, he’d told himself that he’d play it cool. He’d be suave, and sexy, and seduce Steve right off his feet. He should’ve known that one touch from Steve’s wanting hands would be his undoing.

Steve’s smiling down at him, full of sharp edges and sharper teeth. “No, I don’t know,” he says around a smirk. “Why don’t you tell me?”

What comes out of Eddie’s mouth is less words and more a string of consonants and vowels that hold no meaning whatsoever. Because Steve’s not even blinking, and his grip is almost too firm, and if he doesn’t suck Steve Harrington’s dick right now, he might actually die. 

“What was that?” Steve prompts, and it’s all cock-sure King Steve fucking Harrington. He’s never been more in love.

God, this is tripping into so many of Eddie’s forbidden dirty fantasies from before King Steve had become his Angel. Eddie wonders, half-dazed as he inches his cheek closer to the bulge in Steve’s tight jeans, if he can convince Steve to fool around beneath the bleachers before they graduate. Or in the locker room, the boy’s bathroom, on his throne during Hellfire, he’s not picky.

Steve’s still smirking at him with an eyebrow raised, so Eddie moves forward even further. Close enough to exhale slow, hot breath against Steve’s clothed dick as he says, “wanna suck you off.”

He punctuates the request with an open-mouthed kiss to Steve’s bulge. The denim’s rough against Eddie’s tongue and doesn’t taste like much at all. He sucks on the spot, lets all the moisture in his mouth soak into the fabric as he looks up to meet Steve’s hooded gaze.

Holier than thou King Steve has fallen away and something even more holy is left in his place. It’s just Steve, bathed in the dim light of Eddie’s lamp, mouth open and gasping, as he presses Eddie’s face down into his crotch, two points of color high on each cheek.

He wants to draw the scene, paint it in acrylics, snap a photo. He wants to die in this moment, the only points of contact Steve’s hand in his hair and Eddie’s mouth on his dick.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, rolling his hips gently up and onto Eddie’s tongue. Eddie nods, lets his mouth trail up the shaft, unerringly toward Steve’s fly. “Take what you want, Loverboy”

He noses beneath Steve’s loose t-shirt, breathing already shaky as he breathes him in. He smells like skin, and their laundry detergent, and a little bit like sweat. Eddie wants to devour him.

Eddie bites into the soft skin of Steve’s stomach until he gasps, then lathes the spot with his tongue. His view’s obscured by the hem of Steve’s shirt, so he follows the sounds his angel makes moving down, down, down, sucking and licking and biting until his tongue is licking beneath the waistband of his jeans, straining to get lower.

“Eddie, please,” Steve breathes as he presses Eddie’s head down again, like he can’t help himself.

Eddie laughs, hot breath hitting Steve’s damp skin as he squirms on the bed. He pulls back to look up at Steve, pushing against the restraining grip in his hair until his hands gentle in Eddie’s curls.

Eddie’s barely touched him, and Steve looks wrecked; his bottom lip’s bitten raw, his eyes are black with lust, and he’s panting like there’s a Demogorgon on his heels.

Eddie smooths his hands up and down Steve’s thighs like he’s soothing a spooked horse as Steve shudders above him. “Please what?” Eddie asks, watching with reverence as Steve’s frustration battles with his mounting need.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs, throat clicking around words that don’t quite make it out of his mouth. Eddie licks his lips, ready to wait him out no matter how much his jaw aches with need, or how hard his own dick is confined in his jeans.

“Please suck my dick,” Steve breathes, fingers clenching into the mussed sheets at the edge of their bed. 

“Of course, Angel,” Eddie says, smiling up at him.

Unable to help himself, he crowds closer, wedging himself firmly between Steve’s parted knees, begging for a kiss.

Steve doesn’t disappoint. He leans down, arms coming around Eddie to pull him closer still as their lips connect. Eddie sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites down until Steve shudders, mouth gasping open.

Eddie swipes his tongue in, just barely delving into the warmth of Steve’s mouth. He shuffles closer, trying to meld their bodies together as Steve retaliates, licking into Eddie’s mouth with singular focus.

Eddie can’t help himself. He sucks down, hard on Steve’s tongue, reaching around to grasp his ass, forcing him to grind against Eddie’s stomach. He does again, and again, and again, following Eddie’s guiding hands like he was born for it.

His goal had been to make Steve desperate, but the feel of his angel, hot and wanting against him has Eddie disconnecting their mouths with a gasp.

He barely hears Steve’s whine as he untangles his arms from their embrace and shuffles back just enough to fumble with Steve’s belt. He’d been planning to go for suave, sure hands unbuckling Steve’s belt and maybe pulling down his underwear using his teeth as Steve begs above him.

But they’ve barely started, and Eddie’s hands are shaking with need. The sound of Steve’s belt clacking against itself is loud as it echoes through the room, silent aside from their breathless panting.

Eddie pulls the zipper down and stuffs his hand into Steve’s underwear. It’s a tight squeeze, and his wrist ends up at an awkward angle as he grasps Steve’s dick, but he’s thrown his head back on a sigh. Eddie looks up at Steve to find the light of the dwindling sun filtering in through the curtain, painting his closed eyelashes in golden light.

“Angel,” Eddie says, soft and reverent.

Steve sighs, eyes cracking open to slits, black with  lust as he gazes down at Eddie. Eddie moves his hand up and down, slow against the dry skin beneath his palm. Steve fists the sheets again. Eddie watches the play of tendons and muscles, clenching and unclenching beneath the skin of his forearms.

Eddie wants to break him.

He loosens his fist, trailing just his fingertips against the warm skin of Steve’s dick as best as he can in the tight confines of his underwear. Steve whines, loud and wanton and needy. Eddie wants to record the sound and play it on loop until the tape disintegrates. He wants to record a song with it, be buried listening to it. He wants to make Steve make that noise again.

Eddie trails his hand down, wrist aching as he rubs Steve’s balls one after another. Steve sighs, thrusting forward on the bed, begging without words for Eddie to touch him firmly, just where he wants.

He doesn’t.

Eddie trails his fingers back up, as light as he can, barely a tickle against Steve’s skin, until Steve’s mouth’s puckered up and his eyebrows are furrowed against his mounting frustration. He thrusts forward again, but Eddie moves with him, still barely touching. Steve whines again, and Eddie shudders, harder than he’s ever been.

“Eddie, please,” Steve moans, eyes dropping closed as his hips unwillingly jerk forward.

That’s all it takes. Eddie pulls his hand free, chafing the back of his hand against the open fly of Steve’s jeans. He doesn’t care, barely even notices as he yanks Steve’s pants and underwear down, Steve raising his ass to help. Eddie trails his fingers down Steve’s flexing thighs, taut calves as he pushes them down, picking each of Steve’s feet up gently as he pulls them off entirely, tossing them somewhere behind him.

Steve’s bare from the waist down. That’s not enough for Eddie, so he reaches out, pushing Steve’s shirt up until he gets with the program and pulls it off entirely.

Steve Harrington sits on the bed that they share, haloed in the golden light of the setting sun, beautiful in all his naked glory. Eddie trails his eyes over arms, pectorals, the gentle softness of his stomach like he’s never seen them before.

In a way, he hasn’t. Not like this, with Steve gazing back with that same wanting fire in his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie says, running his palms up Steve’s bare thighs.

Steve’s eyes close, and he whispers something that sounds a lot like please, wriggling his hips in search of the slightest friction.

Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s ruddy, erect dick before he’s got his mouth on it, sinking down like a drowning man.

He chokes, immediate and all-consuming until Steve threads his fingers through Eddie’s mussed curls and pulls him up and off.

His eyes are watering as Steve uses his grip on Eddie’s hair to pull his head up and meet his gaze. “Slow, Baby,” Steve says, pupils blown all to shit.

Eddie nods, frantic, still, to get his mouth on Steve. He’d barely had a taste.

When Steve loosens his hold, Eddie looks back down at his dick, taking stock of the terrain like an explorer on new land. It’s shorter than Eddie’s but girthier and flushed such a deep red at the tip that Eddie thinks it must hurt.

Eddie licks the head. Steve groans, so Eddie does it again, memorizing his taste. It’s musky and warm with just a hint of salt from the precome already leaking from his tip.

He licks down the side, sucking along the shaft, mapping the textures with his tongue. Steve’s hips are making abortive little thrusts.

Eddie licks back up, and puts his mouth on Steve again, just the tip this time, Steve’s command of slow, Baby ringing through his head as he sucks.

But Steve’s still squirming, and he sinks down a little farther, tongue swirling around all the skin he can reach.

He’s never felt closer to god than in this moment, with his own personal angel bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, cock hard and wanting in Eddie’s mouth. He’s always heard you're supposed to pray on your knees, and the carpet digging into his skin can be his penance.

Eddie stays there for an endless moment, sucking on Steve’s dick, lost in the sensations playing against his tongue. But then Steve grips his hair by the root and every nerve ending Eddie has lights up. He moans, hips twitching as his own dick gets somehow even harder in the confines of his jeans.

Steve curses, vehement and filthy, as he says, “fuck, Eddie your mouth,” and uses his grip on Eddie’s hair to push him down a little farther.

The head of Steve’s cock hits the back of Eddie’s tongue, and he gags around it for a second until Steve pulls him back until it’s just the tip in his mouth again. Eddie whines, and it must feel good because Steve grips his hair even harder and pushes Eddie’s head back down again.

Eddie’s jaw strains around the girth of Steve’s cock, he’s starting to get light-headed as he tries to breathe through only his nose, and he’s one wrong thrust away from gagging again.

He’s never been more turned on in his life.

Steve resists for a second as Eddie tries to lean away, hand clenching almost painfully in his hair before he shakes it free and clenches it back into the sheets instead like he needs something to hold onto.

Eddie’s resistant too, sucking from root to head until it drops from his mouth with a suctioning pop. Eddie looks at it, rapturous. It’s obscenely wet with his spit, and it’s bobbing as Steve flexes his hips like he’s still seeking out the warmth of Eddie’s wanting mouth.

“Please, please, please,” Steve chants, like he’s the one worshiping here, and that won’t do.

“Look at me,” Eddie demands, waiting for Steve’s dark eyes to meet his before he holds up his palm and spits into it, letting the glob of saliva pool in the cup of his palm.

Steve shudders, eyes fluttering closed for a second before he pries them back open to meet Eddie’s gaze once more. Eddie reaches his wet hand out to wrap around the base of Steve’s dick, squeezing hard as he pumps him up and down, once, twice, thrice, Steve writhes above him.

“Keep looking at me,” Eddie commands, and Steve does, eyelashes barely fluttering as Eddie leans forward to sink his mouth back onto Steve’s cock, never stopping the movement of his hand.

It takes a minute for his mouth and hand to move in tandem, all beneath his angel’s wonton gaze. His mouth’s dropped open, and his thighs are twitching like he wants to thrust and take.

Eddie twines his free hand with one of Steve’s, pausing his ministrations as he unclenches Steve’s fingers from the tangled sheets to fist it in the hair at the base of his skull before dropping his hand back to clench against his own thigh.

Steve groans and uses his tight grip on Eddie’s curls to bring Eddie’s head down on his cock again, thrusting his hips up off the bed at the same time. Eddie’s downward slide is stopped when his lips connect with his own hand, still fisted around Steve’s cock.

“Sorry,” Steve says, stilling his hips and pulling Eddie’s head back up before loosening his grip on Eddie’s curls. 

Desperate to not lose this connection, Eddie reaches back behind his own head to clench down around Steve’s hand, hard, forcing his fingers to fist back into Eddie’s hair. Steve’s mouth’s dropped open and he’s panting but he’s still not doing anything. Eddie reaches behind Steve to pull at his ass, forcing him to grind forward into Eddie’s wanting mouth.

He moans, watching in real time as all of Steve’s restraint snaps.

He pulls Eddie back by his hair, then thrusts into his mouth again, pulling Eddie’s head down with the movement until his mouth’s nestled against his own hand again. Eddie gives a few half-hearted jerks of his wrist around the base of Steve’s cock, but then Steve thrusts again, and again, and again, and he loses the plot entirely.

It's all Eddie can do to keep his teeth back and keep sucking as Steve picks up momentum, their shitty mattress squeaking at every roll of his hips.

Desperate and aching, Eddie’s own hips start moving, trying desperately to get any friction at all against his aching cock. He whines around Steve’s dick, hips flexing uselessly against air.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, and then Steve’s leg is pressed up against Eddie’s groin. “Take what you need.”

He does, movements stilted as he writhes against Steve’s leg as his angel fucks up into his mouth. It almost hurts as he rubs his dick against the inside of his jeans, friction rubbing him raw. He feels like a dog in heat, lost to the salty skin on his tongue, and the feel of Steve’s leg against his dick. Nothing’s ever felt better.

But then Steve’s thrusts grow rougher, something desperate in the way he grinds Eddie��s head down, and he mutters, “shit, shit, baby, I’m gonna—” right before he spills, hot and salty into Eddie’s mouth.

It’s almost overwhelming, a musty tang on Eddie’s tongue that should gross him out. But Steve Harrington’s just come in his mouth, cock twitching futilely as it softens, so he swallows it down like it’s the elixir of life itself.

Steve’s hips still, and his hand gentles in Eddie’s hair, smoothing it down as he gasps for breath. Eddie, still more wild animal than man, sucks on his mouthful of softening cock as he thrusts his own dick more firmly against Steve’s leg.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, pushing his leg against Eddie’s groin, meeting him thrust for thrust as Eddie teeters ever closer to his own orgasm. “Come for me.”

Eddie shudders, on the precipice from Steve’s words, but that’s not what does him in, even as his dick leaks freely into his jeans, begging for release.

He continues grinding, desperate as he looks up to meet Steve’s eyes, and finds Steve looking back, like he’d never stopped after Eddie’d ordered him to watch. That’s what sends him tumbling over the edge, groaning around Steve’s soft dick as he spills into his jeans.

It takes a long time for Eddie to resurface, head still buried in Steve’s groin, dick in his mouth, leg still between his own knees. He gives one tiny suck that has Steve shivering before releasing him, kissing the head before leaning back far enough to meet his angel’s eyes.

“Well?” Eddie asks, surprised at the gruffness of his own voice. “How did I do?”

Steve smiles down at him as he replies, “no way that was your first time.” Steve’s fingers have softened in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as they both catch their breath.

Eddie grins back, reaching to force Steve’s hand back into a fist in his curls. “That was all you,” he says, tickled as a blush blooms across Steve’s cheeks. “Besides, it’s easy to fall on my knees for you, Angel.” That’s what finally, after all this time, gets Steve to look away, blush turning splotchy and red and spreading down his neck. “You’re worth worshiping.”

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving Eddie away.

Eddie just laughs, knees protesting the change in position as he stands long enough to shuffle onto the bed beside Steve, who follows him willingly down, legs dangling awkwardly off the end.

His spunk’s drying uncomfortably in his jeans, he’s got carpet burn on both of his knees, but Steve Harrington’s lying naked and sated next to him, face pressed into the juncture of Eddie’s armpit like that’s not the grossest thing in the world.

He’ll die down there, on his knees, if Steve lets him, worshiping at the pedestal of his angel. But that’s a lot to shove on Steve after such a rigorous workout so all he says is, “Want to go again?”

Thanks to @queenie-ofthe-void for editing, and especially wrangling the pronouns and names into something worth reading. <3

[gingerale14]

2, 9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, skipping 17 because you probably have an uncountable list of answers to that one, 18, 21, 25, 28, 29, 33, 35, 37, 40, 41 (because you’re probably definitely playing some CD and I’d like to know which), 42, 43, 44, 46, 47, 48 (most important question here), 49 (maybe too serious compared to the rest but whatever. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to), and sure why not throw 50 in as well

alright this is gonna take a while

2. I've asked myself this question a lot. I think I'd like to live in a city, but not directly inside it, but not in the suburbs. That doesn't leave me many options, I know. I think it's more dependent on what stage of my life I'm in. I think I'd like to be in larger city for the earlier part of my life, but towards the end especially past 40, I'd like to move out somewhere less urban, and probably out west somewhere. My dream is to retire in Santa Fe, so that's probably where I'll end up. Though semi-rural Northeast isn't bad either, I love Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

9. Kinda hard, I don't really have one that comes to mind. I have a really nice pair of Aeropostale jeans that are super worn in and soft, they're a classic. My dad's old hiking pants that I've taken, we've searched for years for pants that as good as those and have never found any, it's a discontinued model too. My highschool letterman jacket is my favorite thing to wear around the house in the winter. My red crocs are a classic. Maybe certain pajama shirts. Merino wool hiking socks (the SmartWool ones).

10. I fucking love my name. It's extremely well balanced. It's exotic to white people, but it's common enough back in India that I can run into it in the wild, which is always fun. One vowel in my name is an "e" instead of the conventional "a", which means my name is completely unique. I've seen my name in many many places but never with my spelling. I think I have a baller set of initials. If I had a middle name it would ruin it, so glad I don't. 7 letters in the first name, 5 in the last, 13 overall. Delicious. Last name starts with A so I'm comfortably in the front of most lists. I'm super super proud of my name and I would never change it. Maybe if I get married I'd conjoin my last name to hers with a hyphen, but even then mine would have to come first because I refuse to lose my beginning of the alphabet privileges. Honestly, I wouldn't even want her to change her name.

11. I've had various mentors over the years. My mom and dad obviously. My older cousin for more juvenile stuff. My uncle (her dad) was a huge mentor for me when I was in middle and highschool, especially in academic stuff. One cheating scandal and messy divorce later, I'm not too keen on taking other advice from him. But probably my strongest mentor/role model is my highschool history teacher, Mr. Reynolds. I love that man and I aspire to be like him. Strongest moral backbone I've ever seen, understand people and children like no other, his impact on my life cannot be understated.

13. I actually sleep pretty well once I fall asleep. There was a point about a month ago where I kept waking up in the night, especially at like 5:00 am, but I sleep deprived myself to the point where I started sleeping like a log again lol.

14. You didn't ask but I like this question. Yes. Till the day I day, till the clocks stop ticking, till the sun explodes. I love love.

15. From the four classical elements, I think I'm earth, though I'd love to be air or water. From the periodic table I'm not as sure. Maybe I'm tin or bromine.

17. my list isn't huge, it's just too personal. but short answer is yes. not as many people as you'd think, maybe only like 2 or 3. even the ones i miss i don't miss super intensely. the feeling of "missing people" isn't one that I feel like I've felt super intensely in my life.

18. I remember one of my first-ever sleepover's it was in 1st grade at my friend Juan Manuel's house. I was laying down in his bed in the dark and we were both kinda scared for some reason, and all of a sudden he screams "GHOST!" and I jump out of bed, run to the door, open it, and just stand there panting as his parents come running lol.

21. I don't know what one thing I'm most thankful for. There are a lot of things and I can't really recall them on command. For now, let's just say I'm thankful for the spirit of perseverance, for my inherent sense of curiosity, and for all the wonderful people in my life who have given me so many opportunities to succeed, and the drive in me that keeps me sojourning forward .

25. I don't have a prefernece for one or the other really. I like how consistent pencil writing is, but it obviously needs a quality eraser. Pens are wildly inconsistent, but a solid pen is a real pleasure to write with. I mostly use pen nowadays though.

28. I'm extremely unconcerned with my legacy. I want the people who are in my life while I'm living to enjoy my presence and care about me. I want to live a life that makes me happy and content. I want to maybe leave behind some physical, tangible thing that will last long after my death. It can be as trivial as a park bench. But that's enough. I really don't care about what happens after death or about any post-death legacy. I'll be dead! I'll have bigger things to do lmao.

29. Actually I hate reading I think all books are evil and should be burned muahahahah. I haven't read much recently, I need to pick something up for the break, I haven't read in ages. Or seen a movie. My life has been shit recently.

33. I got lots, so here's one. Old Spice Bearglove and the smell of mildew immediately remind me of the happiest time of my life, CTY summer camp in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I can't use Bearglove for anything now because I don't want to ruin my memory association with it.

35. If money was not a factor? Oh brother. I'd do everything. Everything. I'd visit everything, experience everything, buy everything, eat everything, see everything, do everything. I feel like it doesn't get communicated across in my personality a lot but the breadth of my interests is massive. I can find something that fascinates me in every field, every industry, every niche, every thing in the world. The scope I'm imagining right now is so massive I don't even know how to put it into words. I'd simply try to experience every possible thing there is to experience, no matter how exotic or mundane. And after a couple years of doing that I'd spend a couple years just hiking and camping. Then I'd buy a nice little place in Santa Fe, a nice little place in New England, and I'd switch between the two as the seasons change. I'd spend the rest of my days reading, watching movies, eating good food, drinking beer, and curling up on a couch with my wife. Oh yeah the time I spend doing everything will probably be doubled because we'll have to satisfy all of my wife's interests, curiosities too. Cause I love her hehe

37. Put it in my wallet and forget about it. That's the realistic answer. Maybe use it for something off of craigslist lol

40. I actually do want tattoos. One of the one's I really want is a skeleton of an Allosaurus in a death pose, I'd get it on my right shoulder but big, like almost big enough to be a sleeve. I also want a tattoo of my favorite little guy that I like to doodle whenever I'm doing a test or writing something. I'd want him on the crook of my forearm so I could see him when I'm writing something on paper.

41. Mmm i don't know when you asked this, but I was probably either listening to Sade's Greatest Hits, Can't Buy a Thrill by Steely Dan, or Kenny G's Greatest Hits. But I'm home now, so all I can hear is my clock ticking on my desk, the exhaust running in the kitchen, and the voices of the guests in the dining room.

42. I don't really know where I feel safest? I don't think that's a feeling I track very often lmao. Maybe my favorite family farm in India, or my hazy yet golden memories of my cousin's old house in Toronto.

43. I don't have an answer for this question that isn't too depressing.

44. The 90s, dude. Chill ass time period, I would love to have lived in a time where there was genuine optimism and happiness for the future and people felt good about their lives. Any further back than that and we run into the racism problem.

46. Not summer, fuck summer. Not spring, not much there. Fall is nice, but not in Texas. Gotta be Winter. Cold, austere, beautiful, but everything indoors becomes 200% cozier. Texas becomes bearable at points in the winter.

47. Hard to say for sure. No electronics at all. Wake up at a good time, make my own breakfast, go for a long walk, eat lunch out somewhere, visit something in the city—a store or a museum or something—come home and shower, curl up with a good book in front of a fire, make and eat a nice dinner, watch a movie, go to bed.

48. There

48.5: Describe myself using one quote. This was assigned to me by a teacher I really loved and respected in high school.

"I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman

49. I regret a lot of things. The things I did on my 18th birthday is definitely up there. The other thing I did that summer is also on that list. Not gonna expound on those. Also the general state of my life, and my mental health and my procrastination and all the side effects it's had. So 18th birthday, other thing, and every mistake of the past 4.5 years. That's the list.

50. I suck at inventing words. The only word I've ever invented is "pulpate." It describes the way a really fat caterpillar moves. It pulpates forward. I fucking hate caterpillars.

[catboybiologist]

Okay maybe it's time to make an actual designated pinned post

Edit: hiya! A new pinned post will come, but quick note that I am starting my transition MtF now. This pinned post, and all the pictures in it, predate that, however. General guide is that I'm referring to pre transition me as a femboy, and will be referring to myself as a trans woman to moment I start HRT. But I'm leaving this old pinned post up for now.

Hi! I'm CatboyBiologist. I'm a grad student in Molecular Biology with a passion for the ocean, nature, Fromsoft games, national parks, and weird tech stuff. I tastefully hornypost about men, women, and all others (so be warned), post spicy hot memes (fuck you I'm the funniest mfer alive), type out long rambles about science and nature, and play Fromsoft games. PLEASE send me cute pictures of your pets.

Oh yeah, I'm also a cis man who does this sometimes:

I also make shitposts out of myself sometimes

I've also made a couple guides on how to replicate these kinds of looks.

General overview of femboy stuff:

How I create cleavage looks from a relatively flat chest:

If you want a somewhat more realistic idea of what my figure looks like:

The best way to specifically see those posts and filter out everything else is probably to use the femboy tag on my profile.

Pronouns? Uuuuuhhhhhhhhh, idk dude just use whatever. It's far more gratifying to me to throw a look out there and see what people wanna use for it than to declare my pronouns. If that doesn't make sense to you, they/them or he/him is cool.

Asks and DMs are always open for science talk, cute animal pictures, casual non creepy flirting, or whatever else... With the SOLE exception of these two questions that I get WAY too often and will give final answers to here:

"Are you a biologist who studies catboys or a biologist that just happens to be a Catboy?"

Both. Do humans not study human biology?

(also I'm actually studying bio irl)

"why is it not catboyologist, hmmm? I am very clever"

To give a serious answer to a joking question I get way too much: This online persona (or whatever you want to call it) is about balancing and integrating two large parts of my personality: my career in and passion for biology, and my queerness and gender nonconformity. I wanted both of those parts to be clear, in a cute and fun username. Basically, "catboyologist" only has the same effect as my actual username if you already know my actual username- you can't interpret the "biologist" part from "catboyologist".

Plus, "catboyologist" has too many consecutive wide vowels. CatboyBiologist breaks it up so it sounds punchier.

Oh yeah and apparently I was a 196 microcelebrity? I never to thought I was popular enough for that but apparently some people do 🤷‍♀️. So uh, hi 196 tag, I'm abusing you for my pinned post LOL

I'll also abuse other tags I use somewhat frequently, so hi y'all

[theoldoor]

I sometimes ask myself (WIP FOR THE REF SHEET BELOW)

“Khang!! Why don’t you ship Aventio/Raturine/Golden Ratio??? Theyre literally YOUR kinda trope! You’d die for the same troupe and you cried over multiple other ships that has the same dynamic!!”

And i do ask myself what is it about aventurine and dr ratio that separates them from the other ships of the same trope that i would defend with my life, but after months and months of wondering “why do i feel like theyre awfully platonic” “why cant i see them romantically like the other ships of the same trope” i have come to an conclusion that dr ratio and aventurine hits too close to home w me and that one bro that i love with my life platonically and i am projecting onto the two of them

And also Dr Ratio is ugly

But anyways back to oc x canon shit ft. My genshin oc from 2020 - prof. Solias lehto of engineering. He was made for sumeru before the region was released…. …

Sol is basically borderline ruan mei, he dgaf, he is putting himself in 20 pounds of radiation if it means he makes a new weapon for fun. He wanted to ascend to an archon-hood through mechanical works or some shit, fucked up humanity and is working for the fatui, making them weapons yadayada for the fun of it and they allow him to.

He occasionally visits the quarters to distribute his silly little gadgets for testing (he made sure it was safe before putting to test) and thats when he met childe and they became best buddies because makes weapons x uses and breaks them and theyre both insane so it works i guess. And he learn first aid + pursuing medicine in Sumeru just so that he can tend to childe’s wounds because test subject + he cares for him.

Despite this, he doesnt agree with Dottore work ethics as he has a personal moral code for humans. He would never test dangerous things on others, he would do it on himself. (Learnt it the hard way after he accidentally lobotomized his twin brother)

Same pose… same almost dynamic… two different games… im cooked….

.l…..

Ok back on rambling, here’s some post-talia fenrir.

He was Dr Ratio’s student to gain the elementary foundation before heading off to pursue linguistic and literature. He would earn a doctorate pretty soon after cuz he lowk a freak with languages and now he’s teaching alongside Dr Ratio too. They are not in the IPC together, but the organization that Fenrir is in often collab with the Intelligentsia Guild so basically, he’s the honorary IPC member.

Fenrir sometimes nag the doctor to let him join the Guild, even threatening with the invitation from The Riddlers (he did join them but Dr Ratio doesnt know yet)

The students under Fenrir does noticed a competitive undertone/tension between the two doctors, but not many knew about their past together. Its a funny thing. They would often compare their students achievements for fun too.

the strict teacher x the teacher people thought were a student

God i want them dead too theyre like evil eifenturine

As a token of thanks, Fenrir dedicated almost 89% of his research to the Avgin-Sigonian dialect for Aventurine and chose to study the language as his dissertation. It was a little funny thing as people keep seeing ihm around the strategic investment department trying to butter up aventurine and was like “what the fuck is this guy doing here bro” and bawm in like 4 months or smth a piece of linguistic and archeology research was birthed

I dont know if i want it angsty or not, but for this i’d want aventurine to be happy that his heritage is finally being recognized and. He’d often tease Fenrir by repeating some of the rambling that fenrir always repeats when talking to Aventurine in Avgin-Sigonian, like little mumble

“okay so avgin sigonian has two diphthongs… from the way he’s speaking they’re normally in stressed syllables… hmm…. And they make morphological alternations with the mid vowels /e/ and /o/….”

This is a joke doodle, THIS IS A JOKEEEE

[bananasomg]

Hi! Lestappen and #7 for the ficlet thingy you reblogged if you feel so inclined :)

hii!! tysm for sending me an ask for this fun ficlet post!! 🫶🏼

i love writing short scenes that pack a punch, and for all of these, i'm going with whatever initial spark comes to mind based on prompt and pairing. (:

THAT SAID—

#7. Lestappen: things you said while we were driving is below the cut. it's angsty and emotional and i hope you like it. ❤️

things you said while we were driving

Charles mutes the radio before tipping the seaside valet, Max’s mother and sister waving from the promenade as they pull away. He gives them a tight-lipped smile, not the crinkly-dimpled one Max is used to. 

He fucking hates it. The biting indifference.

Max watches Charles' grip tighten on the wheel, knuckles pale as he steers his Ferrari onto the street. The noon sun tangles in his hair, making it look even lighter from the passenger seat.

There’s a tremble in Charles’ arms that can’t be mistaken for track reverb. He’s not decked in red, helmet on, fighting understeer. He's wearing Max's favorite sweater and his signature baggy jeans. His rings glint in the light and he smells like bergamot, not sweat and just hours ago Max had kissed him over the console.

Now it’s quiet, and Charles can’t even look at him. A far cry from earlier when balmy air rushed through the cabin and the speakers came alive—Charles, body dancing to the beat, his giggly breath mixing with a guitar solo. Warmth that settled between their intertwined fingers. 

“Max, I—” Charles starts and stops abruptly. The vowels sound all wrong, a new air of finality that rings alarm bells in his head.

“Wait, please—” Max tries. He reaches for Charles’ thigh, an anchor to tell him that this tension isn’t immutable, but Charles blocks him by downshifting into second gear. Max can’t help the empty rattle in his lungs. 

Sorry I didn’t tell them I was scared Sorry I didn’t correct them I wasn’t ready I know we talked about it but when the time came I felt like I was going to die Sorry but I love you I love you I love you I love you.

Max begs his thoughts to break the silence, but his tongue won’t budge, lips refusing to form the shapes he needs to reassure Charles that he’s still in this. Still who he wants. Still the person he would choose day in and day out, no matter the consequences. No matter who knows.

Charles takes a deep breath. “No more. I can’t keep doing this.”

Max’s chest shudders, heart processing the words before his mind can catch up. His hand slips from Charles, fingers dangling in the cupholder. The rubber is still wet from the iced coffee Max had bought him for the drive this morning.

“This?” he asks, voice cracking. 

Max watches Charles’ throat bob, the downturned corners of his mouth, but he keeps his eyes on the road, hands at ten and two, face blank. He looks older. Tired. Like he isn’t sure if this is right anymore, and there’s a certain sinking pit in Max’s stomach that feels an awful lot like an ending. 

“Pretending like we’re nothing more than friends.” Charles sighs, bites his bottom lip. “It’s worse than not having you.”

Max barely notices the sound torn from his throat, but Charles must because his shoulder stiffen, and his breath falters. He blows hot air through his teeth, snapping his head to look out the driver’s side window, eyes peeled on the boring Monaco harbor they’ve passed many times over. He can’t bring himself to look at Max, as if what he is about to say will hurt him more. As if after this, they won’t be able to salvage it. 

“It feels like you’re ashamed to be with me.”

“I am not ashamed.” 

“Then why am I still your racing mate?”

“You’re not—” 

“But I am, Max!” 

Charles slams his palm on the wheel, and Max gasps at the sudden movement, the sharp anger in his jaw. He remains still for another minute before finally turning to face him. Max expects to see fury burning in his gaze, but what he sees is even worse— visceral anguish that cools into hard indifference. There’s no softness in his expression, no room for forgiveness.  

“We celebrated six months last week, and you still couldn’t tell them the truth.” 

“I will! I’ll call them right now.” Max grasps for anything to turn the tide. 

The way Charles scoffs, throws his head back like he just said the most unbelievable thing, slashes at his core. It hurts more than a physical blow. At least he knows how to recover from that. 

“No need. There’s nothing to tell them.” 

Charles slows to a crawl in front of Max’s flat. His eyes don’t linger on his mouth or scan the alley for a place to park. He shoots him the same media smile he gave his family—no sign of the tender moments or intimate touches they’ve exchanged. 

“See you on track, Max,” Charles says. 

It’s so final, his goodbye deliberate, leaving no room for contest. 

It’s one thing Max has always admired about him—when he puts his mind to something, he makes it happen, never backing down or swaying from his decision. But Max never planned for Charles to push him into the opponent’s court. To leave his body, weak and aching at the severance.

Max wishes he was driving. He’d yank the car into reverse, speed back to the restaurant and do it all over. This time he’d say, You remember Charles, of course. He’s my boyfriend. But it doesn’t work like that. 

He stands on the sidewalk, empty and bleeding, his only company the bitter realization that every chance to prove his love has slipped through his fingertips, leaving him with nothing but a hollow void. Max wants to call for him, beg him to come back, but he knows he can’t win a battle he’s already lost. Instead, he turns and walks inside as Charles drives away.

[olderthannetfic]

Just as different Spanish dialects vary wildly, often to the point of being different enough to warrant a dub, so too does Arabic. Anything made and produced in Morocco will have another non-Moroccan, usually Egyptian Standard Arabic dub. Why? Because Moroccan Arabic has borrowed so many words from indigenous Amazight languages and keeps shortening all their words and they speak SO DAMN FAST no one outside Morocco can understand what they're saying. The "fuck vowels, all my homies hat vowels, get that vowel out of there" alone is enough to make for a really thick accent even when they're trying their damnedest to speak Egyptian Standard Arabic.

The Moroccan government was hoping more access to the internet and standard Arabic media might make the dialect more "normal". Instead, I can happily attest that my classroom of beloved Moroccan gremlins have begun grabbing English slang from online. You have not lived until you hear a teenage boy in a knockoff "Ike" hoodie with half the Nike logo say he's "sadge" to his friends and look at you like, 'Eh? That's a cool word, right, Mr. Foreign Teacher? This is what cool English speakers say?'

It's not. But I will never tell him otherwise, because he looked so satisfied with himself and so accomplished. I adore these language-butchering babies with my entire heart.

--

[danielmolloystits]

break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored (1/2) (Armand/Daniel, Lestat/Daniel)

Summary:

“Armand?” Lestat looks at him very seriously, then. “He has neglected you?” Daniel laughs, though there isn’t much humor in it. “That’s one fuckin’ word for it, sure.” “Oh, mon ami.” Lestat’s eyes are round and wet like an animal’s. “A prize such as yourself does not deserve this terrible treatment.” He shrugs. “You get used to it.” “No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.” “Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.” “Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

Pairing: M/M (Daniel/Lestat, Armand/Daniel) Rating: E WC: ~1,600

In his furry lime-green rock star coat, Lestat sort of looks like a Muppet.

“You look like a Muppet,” Daniel says, because it’s true. And also because he’s very drunk. The couple the two of them had split must have had a combined blood alcohol content that could level an elephant.

They’re currently at a VIP booth in a shitty nightclub in the Village. Daniel thinks they were meant to be doing something for the book, but they lost sight of whatever goal that was some number of hours ago.

“What is a Muppet?” Lestat asks with his head tilted, yelling to be heard over the obnoxious EDM beat. His French accent is more pronounced when he’s sloshed, apparently, because the vowels and consonants slur together like a watery porridge. He scowls, evidently hearing Daniel’s thoughts. “Excusez-moi, Monsieur Molloy, that my refined and romantic native tongue is lost on you.”

“I never said anything about your tongue,” Daniel argues, just as loudly. “S’your accent that’s shit. I’m sure your tongue is fine.”

Lestat looks at him suspiciously. “Are you ‘negging’ me, Monsieur Molloy?”

“In hindsight, introducing you to Reddit might have been a mistake.”

“Ah, but they love me there!” The blond sighs dreamily, a serene smile crossing his features. “Finally, my incisive wit is getting the recognition it deserves in the form of their so-called karma.”

Daniel snorts, says, “I’m not sure our publicist would have signed off on the AMA if she had known you were going to post hole, though.”

“You have to give the people what they want,” Lestat protests, solemn and sage-like. “And it was tasteful!”

The journalist raises an eyebrow at that, but otherwise says nothing.

“I can hear your thoughts, Monsieur Molloy,” Lestat reminds him with an edge of danger, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “And it was tasteful. You certainly seem to have a vivid recollection of it.”

“What can I say?” Daniel shrugs agreeably. “You definitely gave the people what they wanted.”

Lestat beams at him, then, brighter than any of the lights in the Manhattan skyline.

Twenty minutes later and Lestat is crying. He and Louis are currently in the “off-again” part of their whole on-again/off-again deal, and it’s clearly hitting him pretty hard.

“No one will ever love me,” he sobs, eye makeup streaking down his sculpted cheeks. “I will be alone always.”

“Hey, bud,” Daniel tries, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. “That’s not true.”

“You do not understand what it is like, Monsieur Molloy,” Lestat sniffles, looking up at Daniel with a trembling pout, “to be abandoned so many times.”

“I’ve got something of an idea,” Daniel mutters, and now he’s rubbing small circles into Lestat’s back. “I’m no stranger to being left.”

This seems to only break Lestat’s heart further. “But you are so beautiful! Who would ever leave you?”

“I’ve been divorced twice.”

Lestat makes a wounded noise. “I am sorry to hear that. But it is a different matter entirely,” he says, “when your fledgling, a being borne of your own blood, does not want you.”

“Yeah, well,” Daniel deadpans. “It’s not like my Maker is too interested in me, either.”

“Armand?” Lestat looks at him very seriously, then. “He has neglected you?”

Daniel laughs, though there isn’t much humor in it. “That’s one fuckin’ word for it, sure.”

“Oh, mon ami.” Lestat’s eyes are round and wet like an animal’s. “A prize such as yourself does not deserve this terrible treatment.”

He shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.”

“Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.”

“Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

Daniel sputters, coughs. “Pardon?”

“He has mistreated you terribly,” Lestat explains, as though it ought to be obvious. Daniel supposes that it is, to him. “And he hates me. It would make him, how you say, ‘triggered.’”

“We really need to get you off of Reddit.”

Lestat stares at him with all of the earnestness of a schoolboy and all of the tortured emotion of a lovesick puppy. “Please, mon cher, allow me to do this for you. It is the least I can do to repay your kindness in sharing my story.” He pauses. “And the rat bastard has it coming, if I am to be perfectly honest.”

Daniel considers, then, that the other vampire might need this just as much—if not more—than he does. Besides, it’s not like Lestat isn’t 6-foot-something of stone cold hottie.

All things told, he’s had harder decisions to make in his long and storied life.

“All right,” he says. “Fuck it. Let’s bang.”

For a revenge screw, Lestat is taking this surprisingly seriously. He’s brought Daniel back to their hotel, to the luxury suite he demanded as part of his rider, and he’s currently nosing along the hard length of Daniel’s cock with a level of reverence more befitting a prince.

“You are a prince,” Lestat says, pressing a chaste kiss to the vein that runs along his shaft, as if to punctuate his point. “I would like very much to show you what you are worth.”

He seems much more sober now, focused in like there is no world beyond the four posters of this ridiculous canopied bed.

Daniel’s fingers curl in the sheets as Lestat replaces his lips with his tongue, tracing the stolen blood that throbs underneath the skin as though he’s trying to take Daniel’s pulse. “Fuck,” he curses, hips bucking up a fraction in search of greater contact.

“So sensitive,” Lestat murmurs, as his tongue continues to map out the journalist’s skin. “What a pity that Armand did not take proper advantage of you.”

He sucks the head into his mouth, drawing a low hiss from between Daniel’s teeth. “We don’t need to talk about him.”

“No?” Lestat asks, pulling off to grin cheekily at him. “So you would not be interested to know, then, what he is saying to me right now?”

“You’re talking to him?”

“Showing him, actually,” Lestat corrects, dragging his tongue back down to the base once more, “what it is he is missing out on.”

Something about that makes Daniel’s cock harden even further. He may possibly be a little fucked in the head. Oh well , he thinks, tangling the fingers of one hand in Lestat’s silky hair. Might as well lean into it. “If you’re trying to tease me to death, I have terrible news,” he says aloud. “That ship has already sailed.”

Lestat chuckles where his open mouth is pressed against him, the low rumble of it reverberating all the way down to Daniel’s bones. Patience, mon ami, he tells him telepathically. Some things are meant to be savored.

“Sure,” Daniel says, biting back a moan as Lestat continues languishing in his slow exploration of the journalist’s body. “But could you maybe savor it a little faster?”

Lestat ignores him, obviously enjoying himself far too much to dignify that with a response. “Do you want to know what Armand is saying, as he watches me worship you?”

And Daniel isn’t sure how to answer that, really, but he figures the high-pitched keening noise that escapes his throat probably suffices.

“He is saying that he will break all of my fingers,” Lestat continues, peppering filthy, wet kisses all over Daniel’s cock. “That I am not worthy to touch you.” He gazes up at Daniel, his eyes gleaming with a lurid sort of mischief. “Do you think I am worthy to touch you, Monsieur Molloy?”

Without warning, he slides Daniel into his mouth down to the root, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Hard.

“Fuck, yes,” Daniel groans, head lolling back and the hand in Lestat’s hair tightening its grip as the other vampire begins to bob up and down in earnest. “So fuckin’ worthy, baby.”

Oh, he really did not care for that, Lestat says inside of his mind.

Good, Daniel thinks back. I hope that motherfucker suffers.

Lestat brings his hand up to work in tandem with his mouth, stroking Daniel exactly the way he likes it, as if he’s been watching him masturbate since he first learned how. And, fine. Maybe Daniel gets it now—why so many vampires have lost their entire goddamn minds over this one hunky Frenchman. Because, God, the man is like a fucking Hoover, he thinks, and he can feel Lestat preening at the silent compliment.

It’s embarrassing, almost, how quickly the other vampire has him on edge, his eyes squeezing shut as he forgets himself in the sensation of Lestat’s soft lips, Lestat’s playful tongue. He isn’t going to last long, he knows, and he doesn’t even care; he’s too busy relishing in the sinful decadence of it all, in the way his pleasure builds and builds to a deafening crescendo.

Then, right as he’s tumbling over that glorious precipice, two things happen at once. First: Lestat releases him with an obscene, wet plop, so that Daniel’s release streaks hot and messy all over his face.

Second: the door slams open so hard it rattles on its hinges.