#youre gonna catch a cold
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princeloww · 6 months ago
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broadchurch fic named after christina perris jar of hearts.........
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yifftwiceplz · 1 year ago
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once again begging you to log off
who do you think you are
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z-ppy · 1 year ago
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not to be weird about it, but something about the fact that in optimism it’s dean who notices that jack is still sick and asks him about it is so important to me. the camera lingers on his face while jack coughs and you can see how concerned he is — not in the usual SAMMY or CAS way — he still thinks jack’s just regular human sick. his expression is guarded but his eyes are so tender as he looks jack over. i obv can't remember the entire series, but i'm not sure i've ever seen dean look at someone like that. yeah maybe the cough has gone on a little too long and that's cause for concern, but it's not the end of the world (literally). it's so domestic, so fatherly, so normal. he's calm.
in the final scene, his face shifts from “mm whiskey” to “very concerned father” when jack starts coughing harder, and then “genuinely scared” when jack shows** him the blood in his hand. again, none of the obligatory trauma-drama like with sam and cas, no self blame (yet). he’s just responsible for his sick kid… and ooops he just ate concrete time to start yelling. bc it is spn after all!
then in ouroboros, when they’re at the first vic’s house with rowena and jack starts coughing, sam’s kind of politely glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, while dean just full on stares at him, waiting for an explanation. poor jack was probably smothered to hell by dean after he came back lol (after all he was wearing dean’s robe!)
** yes, shows him. at first i thought it was for the camera but the angle is actually him holding his palm out for dean to see. he finally tells someone what’s happening to him and it’s dean!
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veinsfullofstars · 11 months ago
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🌌 Memories of wonder 🌌
(ID: Kirby series fanart of the CFAU kids - Bow Dee, Meta, Dedede, and Para Dee respectively - seated side-by-side in their winter garb on top of a snowy hill dotted in footprints, their backs to the viewer, gazing up at the green-blue waves of an aurora glowing overhead across the starry night sky. END ID.)
Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here!)
Sketch started some time in 12/23, render started 01/08/24, finished 03/13/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost
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last-runway · 11 months ago
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Hhhhhiiii Taichiiiii 😘😘😘😘
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h0t-p1nk-ch33tah-pr1nt · 2 months ago
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Autumn is giving senshi a longer suit/skirt thing for his armor, no more old man ass guys 💔
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knight-intraining · 3 months ago
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The fact that there was once a time where I was like, "being a theatre teacher is not for me. Alas, I must find a new path posthaste".
When I directed my first play in literally 5th grade and then got to middle school and was like "I think I want to do this for the rest of my life" is kind of hilarious, I'm not gonna lie
Like the kids ask me about my life path or whatever, and I'm like yeah this will be my 10th show I've directed, and I knew in middle school I wanted to do this forever. And then I have to be like - but worry not! For there was a time in my life that I was incredibly stupid and thought this was, in fact, not my correct path 🤦🏼
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keeps-ache · 6 months ago
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so Apparently a game i was running on my computer (without a cooler thing for a good minute there, because i guess i thought i was invulnerable to heat) may or may not have burnt out some parts of my machine. and it's been a couple months since i've played it bc it just stopped working one day and i just had to accept that lmao- but anyway i'm booting the game up again today, Surely this will go differently :3
#just me hi#so Apparently my 'computer has a specific problem with overheating and burning out the processor parts. and it's getting updated in the#middle of august'#well dude that would have been fantastic to know 5 months ago when i was running a game i don't even have enough vram to play !! ljfvsfj#rip boopbedoop i had no idea you were suffering so hard fghsfh <//3#but also. i have been pining. open my app. lfjshfv#//also man it's Cold in here#well. okay maybe not Cold but i'm chilly ! ! i'm chilly man lol#but what if i get too hot in a little bit...#the considerations we must deal with hfsh#//oh yea anyway if the game (de2tiny 2. idk why i just keep calling it 'the game' like i'm trapped in a simulation Lmao) doesn't work i'm#prolly gonna catch up on omn1scient.r.v :3#yee !!#and then maybe doodle some more bl.s chapter stuff.. who knows !! :>#//oh i definitely want to make rootbeer floats today for Sure#last tuesday was national rootbeer flat day.. we've missed a momentous occasion guys#there is next year !! maybe i'll catch it then :D#yyeeea.. i should put down a reminder.. hfsh#/i left for 5 minutes rn Uh#why can i not use my calendar without linking to microsoft and then feeling lightly threatened when they ask to link w/ my gmail and say#'we'll be allowed to wipe your Email and your Drive and your Notes and we're Downloading Your Birthday'#girl help they want to steal my birthday#anyway i'm not doing that. no rootbeet float remidners for me then#wait.. i frogot about scheduled posts#i'm gonna go do that !! next year... >:3#//alright so going to go about my things.. toobles ~+~
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eggs-can-draw · 2 years ago
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Little guy got a little sick :(
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ladynuwanda · 2 years ago
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Imagine. Just… imagine. If something like this had dropped four years ago.
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turnipotentiary · 2 years ago
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hello dear followers would you mind coming out of the woodwork today to give me advice on packing for boarding school
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therealslimstrider · 1 year ago
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Who do you think you are.
Running round leaving scars.
Collecting your jar of hearts.
Tearing love apart.
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inkykeiji · 2 years ago
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why doesn’t dazai ever wear his fucking coat properly
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hanakihan · 1 year ago
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i did mention kingprotea yesterday and since i really love her A1 design have this small piece (i honestly have no idea what or who exactly i drew i just wanted to see a man in kingprotea's 'clothes' lmao)
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alygator77 · 29 days ago
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another wip from me. hehe. supermodel satoru.
warnings: mdni, smut, fluff, masturbation, obsession. (honestly, satoru feels kinda yandere af. he's fucking down bad for you.)
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supermodel! satoru whose life is a whirlwind—flashing cameras, designer clothes, and breathless whispers of adoration. on the surface, he has it all: the perfect career, the perfect face, the perfect life. but perfection… has its price.
supermodel! satoru who, after a ten-hour photoshoot that left him feeling more mannequin than man, slumps into the cold embrace of his sleek penthouse. the city glimmers outside his floor-to-ceiling windows, vibrant and alive, but it feels distant, like a movie playing on mute. he’s surrounded by luxury but drowning in solitude.
supermodel! satoru who, running on three hours of sleep and bad coffee, barely notices when his fingers fumble over his phone, sending a text message to you—meant for his manager. tossing the phone aside with a sigh, he stretches out on the couch, exhaustion pulling at his limbs—unaware that this accidental message is about to flip his world upside down.
supermodel! satoru who, when your response comes through, doesn’t realize at first that he’s texted a stranger. his initial confusion shifts to mild annoyance, but that changes the moment he reads your sharp, unfiltered reply. intrigue replaces irritation, and before he knows it, he’s texting back, unable to resist the pull of you on the other end.
supermodel! satoru who keeps his identity a secret, finding it strange at first, but soon, it becomes refreshing. for once, he’s not the face on billboards or the name in glossy magazines. no—for the first time in forever, someone is talking to him—not his fame, not his face, just him.
supermodel! satoru who finds himself grinning like an idiot whenever his phone buzzes with your name. you tell him about your life—mundane, you call it, but to him, it’s captivating. days turn into weeks—texts in the middle of the night when he’s jet-lagged and bored in some foreign country. voice notes where you laugh at his terrible jokes.
supermodel! satoru who one day, finally reveals who he is, and with a mix of arrogance and curiosity, boldly asks for your photo—eager to see the face behind the name he’s grown so fond talking to.
c’mon now... I show my face to the world every day. least you could do is show me yours ;)
your reply pings through, accompanied by an attachment, and for a moment, his breath catches.
supermodel! satoru who has seen countless beautiful people, surrounded by them every day, but there’s something about you that has him hooked. perhaps it’s not just the way you look—it’s the way you’ve made him feel. for the first time in forever, he’s not just admired; he’s seen.
supermodel! satoru who ends up sprawled out on his couch later that night, your picture propped up on the coffee table in front of him as he grips his shaft. his shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, his sweatpants pushed down to his thighs as his cock strains in his hand—red, leaking and desperate for attention. all he can focus on is you.
supermodel! satoru whose glossy lips part as he pants, pumping his dick, his head tipping back while the phone’s glow casts shadows across his flushed skin. his penthouse is filled with the slick sound of his hand sliding over his length, mixing with his shuddering breaths.
“fuuuck… so fucking pretty…” he rasps, his hips bucking into his fist. his strokes grow faster, more desperate, as his body thrums with heat.
supermodel! satoru who murmurs your name like a prayer, thick with need, chasing his inevitable release. “nnngh… gonna—ahhh—gonna cum f’you,” he moans, breathy and broken. His voice cracks as his back arches off the couch.
supermodel! satoru whose strokes grow frantic, erratic, his abs flexing tight as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his stomach, painting his skin in sticky streaks of white. the release leaves him trembling, every drop wrung from his body as a low groan escapes his parted lips.
supermodel! satoru who exhales a quiet laugh, his chest heaving as a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. he trails his fingers through the mess, smearing it across his toned abs as his smirk deepens—amused and awed by how much you’ve made him cum.
supermodel! satoru who can’t focus during his photoshoot the next day, every click of the camera drowned out by thoughts of you. his mind lingers to the filthy fantasy of your body beneath his—your lips whispering his name, your legs wrapped around his waist.
the ache in his pants becomes unbearable, and he excuses himself, slipping away to the bathroom under the pretense of ‘fixing his hair.’
supermodel! satoru who locks the bathroom door behind him with trembling fingers, his breath hitching as he pulls up your photo again. his hands fumble with the buttons of his designer pants, desperate to release his aching erection.
supermodel! satoru who stares at your picture with half-lidded eyes, his thumb swiping over the swollen tip of his dick, spreading a slick bead of precum across the sensitive head. "fuck… you’ve got me so worked up," he whispers with a cocky smirk, and his free hand grips the edge of the sink, his cock twitching eagerly in his fist.
“pretty girl… god, I’d ruin you,” he shudders as he fucks his hand. with a sharp inhale, he reaches out to twist the handles of the porcelain sink. but honestly, the cascading water is a feeble attempt to drown his debauched sounds—sounds he knows he can’t hold back.
supermodel! satoru whose mind spirals into pure filth, his fantasies running wild as he pictures your body beneath his—writhing, trembling, utterly at his mercy. your hands would cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he holds your legs apart, spreading you wide as he fucks your tight little hole.
"bet you'd look so fucking good under me," he hisses through gritted teeth. “all spread out, legs shaking… pretty little mouth begging f’me.” his hand tightens around his cock as his hips jerk forward, “fuuuuck, you’d take me so well, wouldn’t ya? haaa—every fucking inch.”
supermodel! satoru who is teetering on the edge when a sharp knock cuts through the haze, echoing against the bathroom door.
“satoru? you’re needed back on set!” his manager calls, muffled but clear.
but his strokes turn frenzied, the interruption fueling the thrill—the sheer audacity of jerking off in the middle of a shoot. his moans mix with the rush of running water and the persistent pounding on the door.
“shit—fuck—fuck—” his voice cracks, his body seizes, and in that instant his cock erupts. he whimpers, milking his dick as his forehead falls forward against the mirror. as his thick hot seed spills on his hand, it streaks across the counter in messy, sticky arcs.
“satoru!” the knocking continues, louder this time, his manager’s voice growing sharper.
“i’m coming!” he yells back, and the irony of his words pulls a breathless laugh from his lips.
supermodel! satoru who stands there for a moment, panting, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. he’s a fucking hot mess—cheeks flushed, his hair a disarray, and his lips are swollen from biting down so damn hard, trying to keep quiet.
supermodel! satoru who tucks himself into his pants, buckling his belt with practiced ease as his smirk slides back into place. he splashes cold water on his face, tidies his hair, and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, he’s the typical picture of confidence—swaggering back to set with a cocky grin as though nothing happened.
but deep down, he knows he’s utterly, completely fucked.
why? because you’ve become his favorite addiction, his sweetest downfall. and it’s only a matter of time before he finally makes you his.
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a full fic for this will be coming out! lmk if you wanna be tagged. edit: taglist closed
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creepyclothdoll · 3 months ago
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The Devil's Wheel
The Devil’s Wheel
“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”
“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 
“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”
The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.
He’s been perfectly polite. 
You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”
“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”
He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:
THE DEVIL’S WHEEL
“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”
You examine the wheel. 
The gambling addict
The doting boyfriend
The escaped convict
The dog dad
The secretive sadist
“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 
“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”
“Serial wife murderer?”
“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”
The hard worker
The compulsive liar
The animal torturer
The widower
The desperate businessman
The failed musician
The beloved son
“My husband is on here too,” you say. 
“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”
“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”
“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”
You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.
Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity
Round and round it goes. 
The college graduate
The hockey fan
The Eagle Scout
The cold older brother
The charming younger brother
The two-faced middle child
The perfectionist
The slob 
Your husband Dave
Clackity-clackity-clackity.
Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.
The photographer
“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”
“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 
“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”
“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.
You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 
Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 
The cancer survivor
The bereaved
The applicant
Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…
The newlywed
The ex-gifted kid
The uncle
The Badgers fan
“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.
“How lovely,” the Devil says. 
Then it hits you.
Of course.
The weightlifter.
The careful driver.
The manager.
The claustrophobe.
Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.
“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.
“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 
The Devil cackles. 
“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”
“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”
“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”
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