#also trying out fresco!

[blueiskewl]

Breathtaking New Frescoes Found at Pompeii

Stunning Roman frescoes have been uncovered by archeologists in Pompeii, the ancient city destroyed by an eruption of the volcano Mount Vesuvius in the year 79 AD. Experts say the newly discovered frescoes are among the finest ever to emerge at the renowned archeological site.

The works of art line the high walls of what was once a large banquet hall. The walls themselves were painted mostly black, and the figures on the frescoes appear to emerge from the shadows. Site director Dr. Gabriel Zuchtriegel told CBS News partner network BBC News that the dark color was likely used to hide stains from the lamps that lit the hall after the sun went down.

"In the shimmering light, the paintings would have almost come to life," Zuchtriegel said.

Two pieces dominate the hall; one depicts the Greek god Apollo trying to seduce the priestess Cassandra. The second piece shows Prince Paris meeting Helen of Troy.

About a third of the "lost city" of Pompeii remains obscured by volcanic debris from the eruption almost two millennia ago. As scientists make new finds, they quickly move them to a storeroom to protect them from the elements.

The newly discovered frescoes, however, cannot be moved, so they have been protected with temporary roofing. Plaster glue is also being injected into the walls behind the artwork to stop them from falling down.

"We have a passion and a deep love for what we're doing, because what we're uncovering and protecting is for the joy also of the generations that come after us," chief restorer Dr. Roberta Prisco told the BBC, adding that the work was very stressful.

The dig site is much bigger than just the banquet hall.

Another fresco recovered from what was once one of Pompeii's grand properties had been on a ceiling, but it was smashed by the eruption that destroyed the city. Archeologists were able to lay out the pieces like a puzzle and recreate landscapes, theatrical masks, and Egyptian characters.

"This is my favorite discovery in this excavation because it is complex and rare," Dr. Alessandro Russo, co-lead archeologist on the dig, told the BBC. "It is high-quality, for a high-status individual."

In a bakery next to the grand property, the skeletons of two adults and a child were discovered.

Archeologists believe they may have been slaves who were trapped and couldn't flee the eruption, and were killed by falling stones.

"When we excavate, we wonder what we're looking at," co-lead archeologist Dr. Gennaro Iovino told the BBC. "Much like a theater stage, you have the scenery, the backdrop, and the culprit, which is Mount Vesuvius. The archeologist has to be good at filling in the gaps — telling the story of the missing cast, the families and children, the people who are not there anymore."

The team's discovery was just one of a number of recent revelations from the site, after they found other mythological-themed frescoes in early March and then, just weeks later, a construction site that was being worked on right up until the eruption.

The archeologists said near the end of March that they'd found a home construction project that was frozen in time by the eruption, with materials such as bricks and tools still piled up in the reception area of the home.

By Haley Ott.

#Breathtaking New Frescoes Found at Pompeii #Roman frescoes #Mount Vesuvius #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art

[chimielie]

i swear that i will hate you 'till forever

summary: Yaku x F!Reader. sometimes divorce is what you really need to strengthen a marriage

word count: 1.2k

cw: angst, alcohol, pr marriage gone extremely wrong, yaku is older by six years, reader is a socialite with no life skills or healthy coping mechanisms, yaku also has no healthy coping mechanisms, no one in this story is doing well, The Judgment of God Himself, also blasphemy

a/n: heeey long time no see. i actually genuinely don't know when i wrote this, i'm just emptying my drafts of all the half-written fics i have locked in jail. i do still like this concept a lot so shoot me an ask if you want to know more about what i had planned for the full thing :)

Morisuke hates weddings.

He stares up at God, who is trapped in a little circle in a bigger circle, surrounded by gorgeous, centuries-old paintings of angels and saints and little red devils. Everything is gold, the flickering light of hanging chandeliers shining down to gild a rapt audience, even as the real people seem to pale in comparison to their artistically rendered counterparts. Standing here, surrounded by ornate displays of divinity, Morisuke has never felt so wealthy in spirit and physicality. He wasn’t raised in this religion, nor was he ever baptized into it as an adult, but he doesn’t find a seed of objection in himself he’d though he would. The icon he thinks is God looks both mournful and benevolent. All the shining things make Morisuke feel as though he’s looking into a mirror.

The people rustle, whispering among themselves. A stray string instrument sounds, alone and twanging into a silence far greater than itself, and Morisuke almost misses it when the orchestra starts up moments later. He has a headache, the kind that gets worse because he’s so irritated that he has one at all.

He looks down and away from God, straight into the blinding flash of a camera. His only reaction is a slight narrowing of the eyes, the closest he’s come to flinching in years. When the spots clear from his vision, you’re there, an angel from the fresco come to life, a goddess in the church.

Morisuke folds his hands. It feels only right to pray, the way he’s seen it on television, the way some of his teammates do before matches. You stare at him as you walk down the aisle, light playing over your dress in shining bursts that make his head throb harder. He can’t find any bridal tears in your eyes.

He shifts in his dress shoes, fights not to run his hands through his carefully-styled hair. The air-conditioning is too strong, meant to keep a thousand pressed-together people from overheating, or perhaps it’s the winter air leaking in through the great doors. You reach the stairs to the altar, wobbling a little on your first step up, though the movement is so minuscule anyone but him wouldn’t have noticed. Without thinking, Morisuke reaches a hand out to steady you. Your fingers press hard into the flesh of his palm, gripping him bruisingly tight. He can barely pull his hand away fast enough. The music stops, and Morisuke takes in a deep breath, while your chest doesn’t move to inhale or exhale. This is the last moment before you are knotted together irrevocably for life. A groom who hates weddings for a bride who doesn’t cry.

one year, eight months later

If you tilt your head up and almost close your eyes so that you’re looking through your lashes, you can pretend that you’re floating among the stars. You do so, walking backwards, tipping champagne down your throat as you go, trying to envision yourself as a constellation. You’re pretty sure you are one—Morisuke’s gift to you on your birthday, the first one after you’d married. The tabloids had eaten it up. You, watching him board a plane through the social media stories of your so-called friends, hadn’t felt quite as romanced as your picture in the news claimed.

You had forgotten about the constellation. Perhaps it had stuck in your subconscious, though; it was awfully romantic. Perhaps that’s why you had chosen the planetarium as a venue for tonight, though in the light of day it had been the midnight blue velvet and shadowy, domed ceilings that had cinched it for you. But you throw a lot of parties, and you don’t need any more sentiment in your life than what you’re currently suffocating under. You’ll come back on your own, you decide, finishing off your glass and plucking another from the nearest hand to you. You like being lost amongst your guests, freewheeling in space even without oxygen to breathe.

You stumble as you continue your backwards, meandering path through the party. You kick off your shoes, lab-grown crystals chipping off as they bounce. You don’t notice. You’ll buy more. You could buy the whole stupid world, with your husband’s money that he throws at you so he doesn’t have to come home and face you. Your husband who leaves you alone to do whatever you please. Alone, dancing among the stars.

Morisuke was twenty-eight when he proposed to you; you had just turned twenty-two when you said yes. You had been officially seeing each other for three months and acquaintances for nearly a year prior.

The story of your first meeting the interviewers knew was one you and your husband had told many times. A mutual friend had introduced you at a high-profile event and said, blatantly, that the two of you should “make babies.” Morisuke was smooth; you were flirtatious. The story played out like a romantic comedy, ending in a fairytale wedding.

You and he had kept the real story for yourselves, to take out and admire in times of trouble, to tuck away in your pocket like a note between secret lovers.

You were running through a rose-garden maze, eyes over your shoulder, hands fisted in your skirts. He had been walking a perpendicular path to yours (looking for someone else, another lover, you’d later learn) when you had tripped right over him, tumbling head over heels through the flora and into a new sector. Your breath knocked out of you, it was all you could do to stare up at the sky and try to laugh.

“Miss?” He’d called, ducking through the opening, pushing stray rose canes away. “Miss! Are you alright?”

He sounded so formal. You accepted his hand up, but only pulled yourself into a sitting position, trying desperately to catch your breath. He was so handsome, it was making things much harder. Inconsiderate of him, you thought

“I’m fine,” you managed, eventually. “Are you?”

“No more bruised than usual,” he’d returned, teasing. You cocked a brow. “I’m an athlete. I dive face-first onto hardwood floors all day."

For reasons you couldn’t recognize, you’d taken his hand, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt. His forearm toward the elbow had a nasty bruise, as he had said. You ran a careful finger over the discoloration, and he hissed.

“How was my form?”

“Awful,” he said frankly. “But—“ He’d seemed to get lost there, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the clouds and played across your features. With all the raw honesty of someone saying something they hadn’t even known they were thinking, he opened his mouth and said: “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

On a slight breeze, the petals you’d knocked off drifted around the two of you, catching on his shirt, in your hair. They pooled between you, and when you ducked your head down they were all you could see.

You fell in love during that first meeting.

He never fell in love with you at all.

#yaku x reader #yaku morisuke x reader #yaku angst #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! x reader angst

[fayes-fics]

Electric

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Passionate al fresco thunderstorm sex…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal sex, passionate sex al fresco during a thunderstorm, a touch of biting, marking. Also, beware, this has a very soppy ending. Yes, that needs a warning.

Word Count: 3.7k

Authors Note: Not what I should be working on, sorry. Sort of a request fill for a handful of my lovely discord mutuals (you know exactly who you are). Blame the thunderstorms that tore through the Northeastern US yesterday for this one. Thanks to @colettebronte for reading through for me. OK, now back to my queue that I should be writing. Enjoy <3

“We must have taken a wrong turn,” you sigh, watching the gathering shelf of dark grey, almost purple-hued clouds rolling overhead just as dusk approaches, the lightning flashes you had seen on the horizon a few minutes before a harbinger.

“Yes, I think so,” Benedict admits quietly, scanning the surrounding countryside of the narrow single-track lane you are on somewhere in the wilds of Cornwall. He took over the driving duty a couple of hours ago.

“I don’t think we’ll make it to the reception dinner on time now. We probably should have downloaded the route so we could have navigated offline,” your voice rueful about your lack of planning.

“Hindsight is always twenty-twenty,” he shrugs as he flicks on the wipers, rain pattering onto the widescreen. His laissez-faire attitude to the dilemma is somehow a calming influence over your vague anxiety about being late. And lost. In an approaching storm. He always seems so calm in the face of everything; you envy him a touch.

There are a few minutes of silence as you ponder what to do. Whether you should try to find a spot wide enough to turn around and backtrack or keep going, knowing you are headed in the approximate correct direction, in the hope the patchwork of country lanes crisscrossing the area will eventually lead you somewhere more promising—all the while, glancing up at the darkening sky.

“Pull over. I might have an old-fashioned roadmap lurking somewhere in the boot,” you offer as the car slips into a tunnel of trees, the lack of view galvanising your resolve to find a way out.

“Will it be detailed enough for us to work out where we are?” he frowns.

“Better than hoping for our phones to work out here, especially in a storm,” you point out, holding up yours that still reads No Service as if mocking you.

“Okay,” he agrees.

He drives a little further until there is a pull-in designed for passing; it’s just about the length of your car. By now, the rain is pelting down; it is almost night-time dark under the canopy of trees; the thunk of heavy drops on the car roof is more pronounced as it filters through the dense branches above.

“What are you doing?” he asks as you unbuckle your strappy evening sandals.

“It’s pissing it down, and I’m certain this lay-by will be all muddy. I’m not ruining these fancy new shoes.”

“So you are just going to get muddy feet instead?”

“Yes, my feet are washable; these are not,” you argue, waving the shoes before tossing them into the backseat.

“Look, you stay here. I’ll get the map,” he offers chivalrously, “just tell me approximately where you think it might be?”

“I have no idea,” you admit sheepishly, “somewhere under our suitcases… and, well, everything else piled back there. Sorry…” you wince a little, apologetic.

He rolls his eyes without heat, throws open the driver’s door, slams it shut, and sprints to the back of the car just as thunder claps make you jump. You hear him rummaging around in the boot for a while then there is a muffled voice saying that he can’t find anything. You glance in the rearview mirror and see him close it, then tip his head up and let the rain sluice over him, giving up on attempting to stay dry. 

“Ben, get back in here,” you shout, cracking your window a tiny amount, droplets painting your arm even with an inch of opening.

“No point now, I'm soaked through,” he laughs loudly, and you watch as he jogs around in front of the car and throws his arms aloft in the beam of the headlights whooping in child-like delight. “Come join me!” he yells over the din of the rain. 

All you can do is stare incredulously as he stands there, his white shirt turning translucent and clinging to his torso, rivulets of rain running down his face and slicking back his hair.  He looks beautiful. Handsome. Carefree. His face cracks into a large grin as he spins slowly and tilts his head back.

“Come on!” he calls again, shouting skyward. 

With a twisted pout, you reach over and flick off the ignition, the headlights cutting out. Tentatively you open the door, and the noise hits you like a wall, the rain sheeting down, splattering noisily onto the road, that intensity which only comes with a summer storm rolling in to usher out the heat. You take one rueful look at your floral dry-clean-only knee-length dress and then step out. Your foot sinks into the squelchy, verdant grass verge as he jogs up to you, arms aloft in celebration, almost giddy with excitement.

“This storm is intense, isn't it?! Let's go into the field over there. I bet the view over the valley is amazing!” he declares, grabbing your hand and heading for an opening among the line of trees.

“Ben…” you trail, your gait reluctant, feeling a trickle of rain track down your spine from your neck all the way into your underwear.

“We are never going to make it to that wedding reception on time now,” he accurately surmises, “So… lets's just… enjoy this! Live in the moment! When do we get thunderstorms this intense?! Hardly ever. Come on!!” he grins, shaking your joined hand slightly to gee you along.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and the rain is surprisingly refreshing after the last few days of stifling heat; you find yourself capitulating and letting yourself be dragged along.

“Come here,” he laughs, picking you up bridal style when he notices the slightly rough stony ground under the tree cover.

You can’t help your laughing bubbling up as he carries you until you reach the grassy field, his body flexing against you, stirring something in you. You've been together for a few months now, long enough to be each other’s plus one for friends' weddings, such as was supposed to happen tonight, but still in that early flush of romance where given half a chance, you will not leave a bed all weekend.

He gently places you back on your feet, and once outside the tree cover, you are soaked through within seconds. Your dress rapidly becomes heavy and glued to your skin. You don’t even want to think about your hair and makeup….

“You look beautiful,” he assures, as if reading your mind, a soft smile on his handsome face, all jaw and cheekbones as water sluices over the contours. 

“So do you,” your reply is a truthful reflex, and his responding demure smile melts a hot pool in your chest, like a little oil lantern you hold behind your ribs just for him.

“Let's go see,” he urges, wrapping an arm tight around your shoulders. Yours bands around his slim waist, the water from the back of his shirt seeping over your forearm as you do so.

It’s about fifty feet of slight incline until the field falls away, and there is suddenly a beautiful rolling vista of the Cornish countryside before you. Little fields dotted with hedgerows and in the sky above the storm slicing across the valley, half still dry and half obscured by a grey fug of heavy rain. Beyond, you can just see a slice of the sea.

You both stop short and just stare at the wonder before you. “See?” he enthuses, squeezing your shoulder.

“It's beautiful,” you admit, even as you have to brush a sodden strand of hair away from your face. A sudden flash of lightning rips high across the sky, making you jump instinctively into him.  His hand curls tighter around your shoulder, and your gaze cuts to meet his; something wild there, electric, like the storm you are in.

Wordlessly, he twists to kiss you, the fervency taking you by surprise, his lips hot, the water trickling down his face cool by comparison. Just as you go to deepen it and open your mouth, he pulls back with a little smirk and grabs your hand again, drawing you off to the right. He is making a beeline for a large, sprawling oak sitting majestic but incongruous in the middle of the brow of the field. Likely the remnants of a great wood that once stood here, hundreds of years before, a singular monument to the past.

“Isn't it dangerous to shelter under a tree in a storm?” you question, your words almost stolen by a stray gust of wind.

“Probably,” he buzzes and something in his tone feels daring; he stops moving and pulls you hard into his body. “It's exciting, isn't it?” his words hot over the shell of your ear, and your body feels alive. 

Only he can do this. Just one rumbled sentence and a frisson runs through your entire being. Your hands map his neck as you push up onto tiptoe to meet his lips, unable to resist your body's siren call for him. The kiss this time is more frenzied, and as your tongues touch, there is a rumble of thunder you feel reverberate in your ribcage.

“Have you ever had sex outside in a storm?” he whispers over your lips as you part.

“No,” you confess, your eyes fluttering closed as he peppers little kisses across your face.

“Me either. Would you like to?” the ask is murmured into your ear as he gently sucks the edge of your earlobe.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, excited by the prospect, feeling an entirely different wetness between your legs. 

Out here in nature with a beautiful view and a storm raging seems adventurous and so elemental, the ozone in the air making every hair on your body stand on end, the petrichor oozing from the earth beneath your toes, the sight and feel of his toned body, soaked, warm skin under cool rain. 

You back away from him towards the tree trunk, and although he stays rooted to the spot, his stare is predatory, and his chest heaving as you bite your lip and wordlessly shimmy under your dress until you can drop your underwear.

The noise he makes is as savage as the roll of thunder it accompanies, and in three long, athletic strides, thigh muscle prominent under his clinging trousers, he is on you. Large hands grab your bottom and haul you off your feet; your legs wrap around his hips on instinct as he sucks your neck, walking you backwards until rough bark abrades your shoulder blades. Your fingers card through his drenched hair as you moan under his attention, his hands frenetically pushing your dress high up your thighs until you feel the wind around your bare bottom cheeks.

Everything between you suddenly frantic, like the storm, roiling and tempestuous, every sensation heightened. Warm skin and cold, wet cotton, soft earth and solid treetrunk, light and dark as the view is almost daylight under the intense flash before plunging into dusk again. And the noise. So much noise. The pounding rain, the howling wind whipping through the tree above and whistling low through the grasses, the rolling thunder, his breath hard in your ear, your own moans as you fumble to unzip his fly, feeling his cock insistent against you, so very desperate for him to be inside you immediately. 

Your head tilts into a knot of wood as he slides into your body in one swift motion, pulling you down onto his cock as he thrusts upwards. The feral noise you make is almost lost to the wind, and your eyes roll closed, just going limp at the overwhelming heat and stretch, toes curling around the back of his knee as his trousers slip further down his legs. It's only recently you both agreed to go condom-free, and every time his unsheathed cock plunges into you, it feels so visceral, like every contour and vein was designed to hit just the right spots deep inside.

A hand yanks aside your neckline, with what sounds like a rip in the fabric under your arm, as a wet hand cups your left breast, a fingernail dragging bluntly over your nipple as it puckers almost painfully. All his movements ferocious, so different to his usual gentle, sensual pace in the quietness of your beds. But somehow, it’s precisely what you need, crave, and want. Untamed and tumultuous.

Your base demand for him to fuck you hard is a clarion call that catalyses him to begin moving, his hard hot tip splitting you open with every thrust. Your hands want to be everywhere at once, in his hair, gripping his neck, his shoulders, his back, his bum, tearing open his shirt. They settle on a combination of all; your motions just as fevered as his. When you are able to peel his shirt down to his elbows, he takes over briefly, propping you against the tree, speared deep on his cock as he fights it off around his cuffs and tosses it aside.

“How does this dress undo?” he pants loudly in your ear, and one fumbling hand unzips down your side, giving enough slack for him to tug it over your head. 

Then you are both naked, fucking hard against the tree, your sodden clothes discarded around you as you take from each other primally, sucking and biting shoulders hard enough to leave marks, the rough bark rubbing abrasions into your spine and his kneecaps. And yet you do not stop. Like the storm, the intensity is almost like whiplash. He has never fucked you this hard before, and you have never been so rough, fingernails digging into flesh until he grunts, teeth biting his neck, his ear, teeth even grazing his cheek on the way to biting kisses. 

Staring over his shoulder at the wondrous view as he surges into you over and over, as you moan encouragements, always so greedy, begging for more, and now, and to never stop. He obliges, kneading the flesh of your bottom, fingers snagging and tugging your nipples, pulling back to stare into your eyes and lean your heads together, slack mouths breathing each other’s air as you ratchet higher. 

This is the least you have ever communicated during sex, but somehow it feels superfluous. Like your bodies are in tune, moving in tandem, push and pull, together and apart, over and over and over, your sweat sluiced away by the rain tumbling from the heavy boughs above. The only words spoken are your names, and as he pulls one of your legs up over his forearm, your thigh muscle burning slightly with the stretch, you know it's burning intensity now. Open and vulnerable to him, he brushes your clit with every thrust. You start to scream, the liberating feeling of solitude, miles from anyone and anything, making your inhibitions tumble away. And he loves it, growls at you to be loud, scream his name, his chest swelling with heaving breaths and pride about how he can wring such sounds from you. 

This is the sort of sex you have only read about before now - passionate, near animalistic, rabid, frantic, and so addictive you want to move to the countryside and fuck in the woods for the rest of your days. Rain or shine.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and your movements slow a touch as you tilt your eyes up to meet his, seeing the lightning flash behind you reflected in his inky pupils, mouth open and face unable to mask any of your teetering shudders. You are so close to a precipice, almost reluctant to tumble over it, wanting this intoxicating experience never to end. It feels like he wants to say something else, something profound, but the words appear stuck in his throat, almost afraid to be declared. 

“Me too,” you whisper urgently, a cryptic enough response to any number of statements he could be struggling to articulate. 

He nods ferociously and kisses you like a starved man as he grabs one of your hands and guides it between your bodies, pressed into each other. 

“Touch yourself for me, please,” he begs, and you do as he starts that punishing pace again. It's only a few strokes, and you are convulsing, lightning piercing the sky and painting the inside of your eyelids as you screw them shut and allow yourself to tumble over the edge into oblivion, your body convulsing hard, rain trickling hard down your limbs, your skin both hot and cold and too tight at once as you fracture in his arms and slump into him babbling incoherently, Distantly you hear him biting off curses, and with a few thrusts, that push you up off your feet, he stills and shouts a biting version of your name into your shoulder as he comes hard, the warmth coating inside you as yet another clap of thunder causes you both to jolt.

The sound of both of your ragged breathing is louder than the rain as you slowly return to the scene, your thigh slipping from his forearm as he leans into you, into the tree, almost a crushing weight.

“Wow…” he sounds awestruck.

“Ditto,” you struggle out, sharing a lighthearted chuckle. 

You wrap around each other in a wordless tangle of limbs, leaning on the solid trunk and mesmerised by the beautiful view, watching as the worst storm clouds move away towards the sea. 

Deciding there is barely any point in attempting to re-dress, once the rain abates slightly, you agree to brave the dash back to your car nude, hand in hand and laughing carefree. Once there, you yank open your gym bag and giggle as you both attempt to dry off using the one towel in the backseat, discarding your sodden garments into a plastic bag and laughing uproariously as you pull on your casual clothes for the journey home in the tiny cramped space.

“I’ll never forget tonight,” he says softly, sincerely, after you clamber back into the front seats.

“Me either,” you smile gently back.

You never did find the wedding venue, but somehow, neither of you particularly care.

____

Twelve months later, you are back in Cornwall, and he pulls up in that familiar layby.

“Is this…?” you twist to look at him; it appears so different on a bright sunny July day you almost double-take.

“Yes,” he answers, a nervous energy vibrating off him that seems odd.

“How on earth did you find it again?”.

“A lot of time spent pinching in and out on Google Maps for many weeks,” he confesses meekly.

You laugh and allow him to drag you out of the car, enjoying the sun's warmth as you emerge from the treeline and walk up that slight slope.

The view is just as breathtaking as you remember on a warm sunny afternoon; the memories of that night, always so clear and vivid, come tumbling back as he leads you under the shade of the mighty oak.

You laugh as he whips a penknife from his jeans pocket and carves your initials into the wood, like some cheesy teenage couple. He doesn't release your hand as he does so, so you push up your sunglasses, enjoying drinking in the vista, idly thinking this is such a beautiful spot that you would happily live right here.

“Whoever owns this land will be mad if they ever find this,” you state drolly.

“I think they are just fine with it, actually,” he answers somewhat cryptically, but you let it slide. Perhaps he looked up the owner when researching how to locate the field again. 

It's only when he steps away that you notice he has not carved a last initial for you. 

“Do I not have a last name?” you raise an arch eyebrow, body checking him lightly in jest, but your brow knits as his nervous energy returns. “Are you okay?” you check.

“What I carve depends on your answer to my next question…,” he rushes over an exhale. 

Before you know it, he is down on one knee before you.

And you entirely forget how to breathe.

“I… I couldn't think of anywhere else to ask this…,” he begins tremulant, but you don't even let him finish.

“YES!!” you squeal behind a shaking hand cupped over your mouth.

He laughs and hangs his head briefly. “Can I please ask anyway?” his eyes sparkling as he looks up again.

“Sorry!” you squeak and squeeze his shoulder, fingers trembling. “Please, continue….”

“Y/n, will you marry me?” his face radiates devotion as he holds out a ring box with your ideal ring nestled inside.

“YES!!” you squeal again, impatient and vibrating with emotion as he shakily pushes the ring onto your finger, and you haul him to his feet and launch yourself into his arms, almost knocking him over.

“Ooof!” he exclaims as you partially knock the wind out of him, but he rallies, and you share sweet kisses.

“How much do you love this view?” he queries when you finally part and slip back to your feet.

“I love it as much today as I did that day,” you sigh dreamily.

“Something you would perhaps like to look at frequently?” his voice uncertain, seemingly hedging.

“Of course… why?”

“I may have done something… a little rash,” he admits.

“What?” you frown.

“So the owner of this land doesn't mind the oak being carved because… well… that owner is me.” 

And your jaw drops for a second time.

“Benedict…” all other words fail.

“And you too now, of course; what's mine is yours.” He points to a far-off spot at the end of the slope. “That hedge down there? As far as that is ours. I brought this whole field from the farmer, and umm, I’m in the process of applying for planning permission to build a home right here. For us. This view will be our back garden. Right next to this very special tree,” he concludes, tapping the sturdy trunk with his knuckles.

“You utter romantic idiot,” you whisper through blinking tears. 

Back in his arms this time, you tumble to the ground, rolling in the cool grass under its sheltering might.

“One electric night changes it all, doesn’t it?” he whispers.

You couldn't agree more.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader

[nanamikentoseyebags]

never gonna leave this bed

｡⁠*ﾟfluff, comfort, kisses, suggestive themes, gn!reader｡⁠*ﾟ

You were sure it was a one-night stand. It had to be one. Being completely honest, you weren't even looking for anything more than that. You bumped into him by chance on the way out of a bar not far from home. The pure coincidence that led to unforseen circumstances that's what it was. You saw Kento Nanami not only as the best candidate to pass the lonely night with, but also as a breathtakingly handsome young man whose shiny agates had been studying your figure for a long time already. A win-win situation for the both of you, right? As cliché as it might sound, you ended up in one bed that night, and the next one, and one more, and another one, and...

Carefully, as if not to disturb your sweet slumber, little golden sunbeams crept into the bedroom, glinting off the polished surfaces, jumping away, climbing up the cool floor and covering the soft peach walls. Some of them, the curious ones, trampled the white starched sheets to catch a glimpse of your face, making a quick run across your features and disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. Your lashes fluttered slightly and your nose wrinkled as you felt the cold slowly envelop your feet, peeking out from under the blanket. You frowned and cracked your eyes open, realizing once again that this wasn't your bedroom, and that underneath the blanket, which was halfway to the floor, was nothing but your naked body. You turned your head, hoping to see a familiar silhouette, but the spot next to you was empty and had long since lost the warmth of another body. You lifted yourself onto the bed and saw your clothes carefully folded on a nearby chair. So thoughtful, you smiled, wrapping yourself in the blanket and quietly creeping in its direction. He must have already left for work, and that definitely is the best outcome possible, ran through your head, yet somewhere in the back of your mind, you desperately hoped you were wrong. You didn't like the thoughts you started to have about him. You didn't like the way his words and actions started to fluster you. You didn't like the way the brief kisses here and there started to turn into more intimate, deep, devouring even. And as you almost reached your destination point your eyes were met with a pair of honeyed orbits peering out from behind the slightly ajar door, curiously watching every of your awkward moves.

Kento pressed his lips into a thin line, trying his best not to burst out laughing. The last thing he expected to see, carrying breakfast to your or rather his bed, was you wrapped up in a blanket, looking like a little marshmallow, your hair disheveled, poking out from under your made-up garment. A few strands covered your eyes and you vainly tried to blow them off your flushed face.

"Are you trying to sneak away, lil cloud?" Kento walked into the bedroom and carefully placed the tray on the nightstand. He wore nothing but a pair of linen slacks that hung on his hips. His tanned figure, illuminated by the rays of light, seemed to have just stepped out of some ancient frescoes. His hair was slightly mussed up from sleep, his glasses long forgotten somewhere. So homely, you dared to think, literally swooning just by looking at his gorgeous profile as your heart seemed to do a couple of somersaults.

"I hoped you're not at home," you mumbled, sitting up straight and wrapping yourself even tighter in the blanket, as if there was something underneath that his eyes hadn't seen and his thin long fingers hadn't touched.

"Why wouldn't I be at my own apartment?" he tilted his head to the side, gaze flickering from your big puppy eyes to your pink lips. You seemed different. Delicate. Fragile. Vulnerable. That feigned impregnability slowly dissolved right before his eyes, revealing the real you, with your cheeks slightly flushed, your lips puffy, a little swollen from the night before, and these sweet eyes of yours that glimmered not with lust as before, no, with unspeakable tenderness. He wouldn't have mistaken it for anything else, because he'd been looking at you that way for a long time, trying to put all those words that get lost without finding their way out into each kiss.

You shrugged and lowered your head, trying to avoid the intense stare that sent treacherous shivers down your spine. Kento smiled softly, sitting down beside you, gently tucking the strands behind your ear. Too intimate, you thought, yet on some instinctive level you leaned forward, letting yourself bask in his warmth. He slowly ran his thumb over your cheek, as if engraving your features in his memory. He could swear his heart got stuck in his throat when he saw the calm slowly spreading across your features, and the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

One second and you were pinned to the bed by his strong body. "What are you doing?" you squealed, pressing your hands against his bare chest, "let me go!" He didn't move, shamelessly examining your startled face. You seemed to grasp the great mysteries of the universe, things concealed from the eyes of others, hidden- somewhere in the depths, only for your eyes to see them now when he was smiling oh so boyishly. Kento let his serious facade crumble before you, no longer hiding how utterly enamoured by you he was. Another second and his lips began to leave little kisses all over your face and his arms wrapped around your smaller figure.

"What are you doooooing" you laughed, trying to dodge his kisses and feeling your cheeks growing hotter.

"Just kissing you, you look so adorable like this it's hard to resist, y'know," he smiled, watching you squirm, trying to escape his tight embrace. One more second and his hands were already under the blanket, gently stroking your ribs only to begin ticking your sides in an absolutely merciless manner the moment later.

"Kentooo", you yelped, bursting into unstoppable laughter, frantically trying to push him away from you. "You have to go to work," you tried to crawl back, away from his long arms, but he only cradled you a little tighter, throwing the blanket over the two of you, "i'm not going, actually i never gonna leave this bed".

if you finished reading this, thank you so much, it truly means a lot to me! i'm trying to get back on track with writing, don't judge too harshly! anyway, thanks again 💛 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

tags for my friends lol: @rossithepixie @a-nuisance-called-sam @vagabond-umlaut @daisynik7

#nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #kento nanami fluff

[countrylanes]

3000-1000 bc dash simulator:

🐈‍⬛ indenile

another day another ship to build

#amenmose speaks

5 notes

-

🐓 xiangirlie4real Follow

who up burying their porcelain to confuse future archeologists and force them to admit that legendary history is real?

10,760 notes

-

💎 lapis-lazulii Follow

in light of the whole "gay representation in the epic of gilgamesh" thing here's a friendly reminder that gilgamesh isn't good representation because he's a literal war criminal

#tw epic of gilgamesh

6,992 notes

-

🏺 philosofujoshi Follow

new nsfw achilles/patroclus wip fresco guys......... 🫣

Keep reading

🐏 indusvalleygirl

AAAAAAAAA EUMELIA THIS IS SO GOOD!!!

#mutual art #nsfw #i demand everyone follow eumelia NOW

37 notes

-

🫐 gatherer25

.

#dude my stomach hurts so bad rn #i'm in a new area and the vegetation is different here and ugh #idk why my band expects me to try new shit for them every time like #and i feel guilty saying no but i also don't know how to assert myself and i #fully acknowledge that. but like idk i'm just tired and there's no sources of water here #sorry if this is rambly i'm just frustrated #mine #d0n't r3b-log

4 notes

-

🍞 canongilkidu Follow

gilkidu moodboard

#gilkidu #eog

106 notes

-

🐏 indusvalleygirl

"home alone 2: lost in mohenjo-daro" who tf gets lost in mohenjo-daro it's a grid system motherfucker

#my post

34 notes

-

🧅 lambstewfan90 Follow

ok the lack of critical thinking skills on this website is fucking off the tablets like. the epic of gilgamesh is like 100 years old. you can't view it through a modern lens of "representation." like some of you guys are like 25 whole years old aren't you supposed to be dead

🧅 lambstewfan90 Follow

anyway stream ir-nanna's epic of gilgamesh lecture/analysis made for the 80th anniversary of the release of its first tablet

#epic of gilgamesh #save

649 notes

-

🫛 theharappanfarmer Follow

call me the indus valley the way i'm fertile and moist

🌽 maizedandconfused

come on now

🏃 hunterer Follow

this is why i'm anti-agriculture

11,506 notes

-

☀️ cunteiform Follow

i was hanging out with my cousin ea-nasir today and i made him some barley stew and he tried to send it back like it was a tavern???

🐐 xian-herder Follow

wait.... THE ea-nasir??

🍓 gaytherer Follow

holy shit is your cousin ea-nasir

☀️ cunteiform Follow

how the fuck do you guys know my cousin

☀️ cunteiform Follow

oh i see. me and nanni should unionize.

12,063 notes

-

🌽 maizedandconfused

ok wait wtf do they do when they like subtract 5 from 5 for example in greece if there's no zero in their number system??

#original #hashtag just bathing thoughts

17 notes

#m #sorry guys

[pennyserenade]

tagged by: @randomfoggytiger (thank you)

favorite painter: rené magritte but only because i've yet to develop my own tastes in paintings. i stole this one from paul mccartney years ago (son of a man inspired the apple logo that became huge in the beatles own company, apple corps). i do, however, hold a great love for the painting lovers ii.

favorite writer: lily king (writers & lovers is just delicious and heartbreaking and beautiful, and euphoria was a fantastic historical fiction piece. she always blows it out of the water).

favorite band: mazzy star or the beatles.

favorite meal and drink: in the summer my family often grills and there's nothing that beats good carne asada with queso fresco. queso fresco in and of itself could be my favorite meal but i'm trying to be grown up about this

favorite outfit aesthetic: black turtle neck, patterned pants or skirt. also a big fan of a jumpsuit moment

favorite singer: lana del rey

favorite item i own: my laptop and my headphones (i finally got a good pair and i use them every day excessively)

favorite possession: hm, probably these old magazines from the 60s that i have. they all have the autobiography cary grant wrote in them and i was so excited to get my hands on them. i will probably transcribe it to a document one day because it's truly remarkable

favorite perfume: i don't have one but i need one, so if anyone is in the business of knowing perfumes recommend me some.

tagging: @alwaysbethewest, @mando-abs, @whatsnewalycat, @radiowallet, @angelivinginthegardenofevil, @iwantadecentblogname, @iamskyereads, @toobusyshrimping, @sweetly-yours-and-mine

#misc.

[grison-in-space]

On medieval notions of maidenly beauty:

These images were objects of religious devotion and veneration; people would pray with them, focusing their minds on them, or being reminded of what they had lost with the Fall of Man. While the women had to be beautiful to make the religious point that they were holy, these images were also considered sexy.

We know that from decidedly hostile witnesses: Protestants. In the early modern period, when a number of Christians broke from the Catholic Church, one of their myriad complaints was about religious images in churches. In 1520 one Protestant in Strasbourg complained, “I often had base thoughts when I looked upon the female saints on the altars. For no courtesan can dress or adorn herself more sumptuously and shamelessly than they nowadays fashion the Mother of God, Saint Barbara, Katherine, and the other saints.”

The fact that this unnamed man was turned on by church statues is not only a testament to the human erotic imagination but also funny and instructive. As we have seen, the medieval concept of beauty was painstakingly constructed and repeated ad nauseam down through the centuries, which can make it difficult to ascertain whether the average medieval individual agreed with it. Did most people think small-breasted women with big thighs and pot bellies were beautiful, or was this was just a literary and artistic conceit? This unnamed Protestant’s religious complaint shows that not only did individual men agree with the artistic beauty ideal, but it also turned them on in church.

To be fair, this particular reminiscence does come, as stated, from an antagonistic source. The gentleman in question was trying to make a point about the Catholic Church and the sins that it inspired with its excesses. Protestants were extremely fond of painting churches white and removing all statues. Implying that you used to get distracted and even turned on by images of saints during Mass was a great way to make a point about why it was time to break out the whitewash. However, if he had said he found the church frescos sexy in a social climate that disagreed, it would have been tantamount to admitting a strange fetish to his congregation. As a result, we can take this gentleman at his word and assume that the religious art was, indeed, titillating.

Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex (2023).

I am both giggling my way through this book with great delight and also contemplating the extent to which my body resembles the medieval aesthetic ideal of the almighty golden pear.

#eleanor janega #the once and future sex #reading #Gender #History

[copperbadge]

The Pompeii exhibit at the MSI, as with many temporary exhibits there, is split across two galleries. I like how they handled that this time; the first half presents artworks and artifacts recovered from Pompeii, and uses them to teach about ancient Roman life. I studied classical fresco and mosaic arts in grad school, so I got to see some stuff in person that I’d only ever seen before in books. The mosaic of the anchor, for example, has never left Italy before. 

The winged-phallus windchime I’d seen before but also not in person, and I was very amused by the fact that it was off in a niche with a warning sign about artifacts of an adult nature. Which was mostly a lot of dicks, and a couple of (I thought) tasteful frescoes of people having sex or looking like they’d like to. I also wrote a paper on the penis as a magical amulet in classical history in grad school, so I was delighted by all the penis amulets I got to see. A hundred years ago you had to Know A Guy At The British Museum to get a look at stuff like this. 

The last image comes from the more serious second half of the exhibit, which I have another post queued about, but I thought one of the cooler elements they introduced was the screen showing a gladiatorial fight, with the two smaller screens showing images of the fighters. I love that they basically gave this gladiator a D&D character stat set. 

There were some aspects of the exhibit I didn’t love -- some scientific/historic exhibits in the past ten years have made heavy use of video, which I don’t hate intrinsically, but a lot of the time there will be several video exhibits in one room. It’s extremely unpleasant to try and watch one -- or even look at non-video exhibits -- when three separate video narrations are audible at once. I had planned to leave my headphones off, because I’ve realized that I’m rarely in public without my headphones in and that might be contributing to a certain level of alienation, but I had to get them out of my pocket and put them back in because at least I could pump the volume on my playlist and only hear Robbie Williams instead of three separate people pontificating about ancient history. 

But overall as a Roman history and an art history nerd I very much enjoyed the exhibit, and I might go again before it closes. 

[ID: Four photos; the first shows the entry atrium to the exhibit, a pair of old-fashioned wooden doors above which is a video screen with the title “One Day In Pompeii” waiting to show us an introductory film. Middle left, a mosaic showing an anchor, two swimming men, and two dolphins or whales, is mounted on a wall; middle right is a windchime made of a bronze winged penis-creature with a penis-shaped tail, each of its limbs clutching a chain that holds a small bell. Bottom, a large video screen with two glass panels in front of it; the screen shows a shield and sword in a gladiatorial arena, while the panels show the warrior on the right and his “stats” and name, Murmillo, on the left.]

#pompeii #msi #classical history #art history #exhibit design

[candycassowary]

Sketches inspired by @minuspluvea's art style, his design for Kayne and the little voice demons are so creative, I wanted to give it a try

Regan's art style stuck with me for its fantastic movement and grittiness, how the figures fill the space so creatively like a tapestry or a fresco. I drew from memory and ended up combining his Kayne design with my own...

Here's one of those demon things on John's shoulder, (also shown below) they're expressive and melodramatic I love them so much

and here's his Kayne design. You should check out his 26-page comic of the Kayne scene in the Roots! GO GO check it out also be warned there's a bit of gore and blood! Thank you Regan for cooking up straight fire

#malevolent podcast #malevolent #malevolent art #malevolent kayne #horror podcast art #malevolent pod #malevolent fanart #horror podcast #malevolent kayne fanart #kayne #malevolent fandom #my art #candycassowary art

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №14

next 15

prev 13

This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

There will be no romantic lines in this story. I don't think it's appropriate to introduce romance, the story just isn't about that. Perhaps there will be some hints (I love some pairing and polyamory in the gang), but this work is just a research and hobby for me, a platform for experiments. Killer is just fooling around because he gets an interesting reaction in return.

Well, now I want to experiment with the number of images. I will be adding more relevant illustrations to the text. For now, I'll start with two or three and see how it turns out. I don't think I'll have time to add the gang to all the images, but perhaps in the future, I'll do.

What Error identified as an "exit" turned out to be a broken arcade machine. The power cable was torn and led to a small dirty puddle, one of the walls was scratched with claw marks, as if a wild beast had sharpened its claws on it, and the coin slot was overgrown with moss. But Error was convinced that this thing could serve as a way out of here (he sees more than the others), when they look around. After all, they have just arrived. However, level 25, where the arcade machine presumably led, was a good opportunity to choose their own path ahead (Nightmare was happy to have the chance to predict his own life).

The description of level 23 in the database described the ruins of a past civilization. Engaging in archaeology would not be amiss. Moreover, in addition to items, human organizations hunted for information (Killer understood their curiosity). Old bricks, ruins, a couple of rusty coins, sketches of various architectural styles - the group looked with admiration (except for Error) at their boss, who surprisingly well oriented himself in the value of archaeological finds.

Many of them sometimes forgot that their boss had lived a long life and loved learning new things.

The group's inventory, although it allowed carrying many items, was limited and had already been filled with essential items. They had to choose. Some things were discarded based on data from the Backroom database, some did not represent historical value. Mostly, the subordinates of Nightmare were engaged in the search: Killer brought everything he saw, while Horror enthusiastically searched for edible and medicinal plants.

Dust was the only one who purposefully searched for artifacts. He admired Nightmare's skills and was interested in learning more about history from him. Forest butterflies flocked to him. It even seemed to Dust that they were trying to help him in his search within their capabilities. Perhaps it was his imagination. But he managed to find a couple of interesting frescoes and fragments of some strange tools, which Nightmare identified as "valuable".

Some of the finds resembled musical instruments, some looked like weapons or tools. They seemed damaged, but Killer's attempt to break one of the ancient items failed: they turned out to be surprisingly strong.

Horror found wild grapes and a bunch of snails on them. It took him a couple of days to prepare the snails (each of them knew about snails from the old lady), but the berries tasted good. As if the plant came here not from the forest, but from the plantation. That explained the snails.

Error used strings to catch animals and let Horror cook it. It was just rational. The big guy could cook well. In a way, Horror bought Error's loyalty. For now.

Overall, they stayed in these forests for about two weeks and did not notice any signs of a possible way to get to their home dimension. It seemed that the human settlement was also too far from the place where they were (Enrico could have had a hard time). And everything that people knew, they immediately published on Reddit or the knowledge base, and they had not yet come across any secret communities. The latter was very disappointing Nightmare.

With some caution (the dimension-killer could play a trick on them, but going all the way back was too tedious. They were, after all, Sanses), the group returned to the arcade machine by a shortcut.

It was standing there.

Waiting for them.

Error could not make it work just like that. He saw the executable code for moving to level 25. But the Backrooms did not allow him to change or initiate anything. Fortunately, there was a real thing in front of him. And the code for moving was launched manually. He just needed to reconnect the wires and microchips that would do all the work for him.

Error stuck his hands inside the broken machine and released the threads. They slid inside, weaving through the broken parts. The power source was still working - the cord outside was decoration.

The mechanism seemed complex, but Error only needed to fix what was involved in executing the code. It took some time, but the Destroyer managed to do it. The machine still looked deactivated, and its screen remained dark. But inside, music could be heard, and the coin slot glowed with light bulbs. One of the ancient coins they found managed to squeeze inside. Now they just needed to press a few buttons, simulating the game. Killer happily pounced on the levers and keyboard. After a few actions, Error began to reboot, and Killer got into the game - it seemed that the arcade machine contained some kind of fighting game. It was difficult to orientate oneself by the sounds of battle, but the skeleton got carried away and played until the transfer worked.

They all appeared in the hall, level 25. The second crossroads of the Backrooms. Many arcade machines, billiards, mini-bars, soda machines, ping-pong and other entertainment.

Killer immediately offered to play something. He playfully used his body as a bet.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

#bad sanses #cross sans #dust sans #error sans #horror sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #the backrooms #au #undertale au #bad guys in backrooms #bad sans gang #art #undertale #utmv #ut au #sans au #undertale multiverse #utmv au #utmv sans #utmv fanart

[littlesparklight]

Please fullview! (': You get a detail shot of the lyre either way because it has details harder to see even in proper fullview.

Some inspiration talk under the cut!

I used this fresco of a lyre player as inspo for Paris' clothing. The restoration of the upper half looks different, but given there are lines that the restoration haven't followed through on, I feel it's much more logical the lyrist is wearing a tunic like we usually see, and that what he's wearing on the bottom is a wrap-around fringed skirt like we see women have instead of what the restoration seems to be going for, which is a sort of... robe/dress? The mountains in the wall fresco was also partially inspired by the rocks he's sitting on.

I was originally going to try and include all nine Muses and even Apollo on the bottom of the lyre, but I kinda ran out of steam and there isn't really enough space, anyway. So instead I've limited it to the Muses that seemed to me to "fit" Paris' general spheres of music/personality; Erato for love poetry, Euterpe for lyric poetry, Terpsichore for dancing, Thalia for bucolic/pastoral poetry, and lastly Kalliope for epic poetry!

Paris is not holding/playing that lyre as an Achaean lyrist would, with a plectrum; he's plucking it with his fingers like he would on an Eastern asymmetrical lyre instead I forgot he should've been using a plectrum but shhh this works too

:) the cups I took inspiration from this one, plus adding the the very popular octopus motif as well.

#greek mythology #the iliad #paris of troy #menelaus #helen of sparta #lightart #no war ot3

[irritable-dumpliing]

"They look heavy, let me hold them for you"

This was a rather silly picture, but my friend Fresco said this quote would be so fitting for this image HEHE

small headcanons about them:

They didn't expect to fall for each other or even become befriended due to having clashing personalities, but thanks to Peter B, they connected more- though he wasn't rlly trying to get them together romantically lol

They started out as rivals, then friends, then lovers! (my fave trope ever)

But they both were too afraid to love because of their upbringing, this committment process took FOREVER (I imagine it being very painfully obvious for the other people from the Spider Society that Miguel and Namfon have chemistry) Again, I try not to tell too much in one post, I just document my OC lore and headcanons here on this account because Twitter doesn't allow for such long texts. Also their ship name is MIGFON! My other friend Toki came up with that, and I have been so happy about this every since!

#across the spiderverse #artists on tumblr #miguelohara #miguel o'hara #spidersona #oc x canon #spiderman2099 #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #spiderman #atsv #MIGFON #i just use this shipname tag so it is easier to sort things out lol

[gojonanami]

Does the idea of househusband gojo inetrest you? 👀👀👀 yes it does omg — imagine gojo as a househusband - he’d be such a simp for his partner like — oh the envy of every person who sees him picking up their kids… I love it #sab [asks] #sab [anons] #pls send me asks about this I’m obsessed

in an alternate universe, sukuna and kenjaku are defeated and satoru is alive.

satoru has lived his whole life being a sorcerer. he lived in a vacuum of a society – almost as though he was living in a parallel universe.

and so, in this universe, the ultimate result of the merger is the following: cursed energy gets absorbed and, as such, sorcerers are eradicated.

and so, you end up using this as a way of telling satoru that he needs a break, and, as a result, he ends up becoming a househusband.

why? because why not?

you may have a job you like.

say, as a result of jujutsu, you accumulated knowledge regarding curses/mythology/psychology in various forms of media ranging mosaics to cinema, and you decided to become a professor and teach on that topic? well, now you can, and you don't have to worry about jujutsu any longer! it's a thing of the past.

or, say, your true passion was business and finance? well, now you can! now, you get to live out your dreams of being a hot boss woman in a world full of finance bros.

or maybe your dream was to become an artist, and you never had the time to properly dedicate time for it, but, guess what, now you can! and perhaps you end up making works that reference the curses that you've seen or the experiences that you felt, and you may wish to translate them via oil paint or video art or even performance art, and somehow, perhaps because it's so familiar yet unfamiliar, your work gets popular and disseminated, and even awarded? who knows?

regardless, now, the world is your oyster! nothing is holding you back.

and you want satoru to take a break.

you gently encourage him, perhaps, by first suggesting that it's a temporary arrangement.

but regardless, even in this world of jujutsu that is of the past, satoru has accumulated so many years of work due to being a special grade sorcerer that he has accumulated years of exhaustion. and what ends up being a temporary arrangement of him getting rest for his efforts turns into a semi-permanent arrangement. perhaps.

and while you worked a lot, too, you didn't work in the same way that satoru did when he was a sorcerer. although, to some, it may look like satoru mucked about, he didn't. while juggling responsibilities as a teacher, he also had to tackle and cover a huge number of missions in the whole of Japan as well as abroad. that is one mission after another after another with little to no breaks. perhaps none at all. that is not to dismiss your efforts, of course, but to contextualise them.

meanwhile, you encourage him to try out the things that he might like – be it baseball or singing or something else entirely. or maybe get back into teaching? later?

and so, this marks a foray into the world of satoru the househusband – sorcerer extraordinaire of the past, and househusband extraordinaire of the present.

what comes later? who knows! cats? dogs? children? parrots? a house with a view by the sea? a trip to see giotto & his bottega's frescoes at assisi? or a trip to the andes mountains? a couples' retreat in phuket?

regardless, you take it easy and go with the flow.

and you encourage satoru to take it easy.

did you read my mind?? I literally was thinking this — set exactly after the end of jjk omg. I love this — and he would struggle so much, after being held to such expectations and being forced to work all the time — he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He probably would even get depressed and anxious — and then eventually he would get used to it.

And oh my god if you had kids, he would be so excited to stay home and play and take care of them— he wouldn’t even want you to work since he’s rich, but if you wanted to, he wouldn’t be opposed

#sab [asks] #sab [anons] #sab [future fics] #apparently a househusband series #I really wanna get back to my sugar daddy! nanami fic on another note #I haven’t forgotten about that

[ghostly-hitch-hiker]

Puberty Speedrun (pt 3)

Chapter 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here!)

Synopsis: Danny wakes up a lot older than when he went to bed. Shenanigans ensue (eventually taking him all the way to Gotham).

After breakfast and a rather long, headache-inducing conversation with Tuck and Sam, Danny was standing in front of his bathroom sink, trying to work up the nerve to go ghost. They’d come up with no possible explanations for his Puberty Speedrun (as he had affectionately and derogatorily dubbed the situation – at Tucker’s encouragement) and everyone agreed his best bet was to question Clockwork or Frostbite in the Ghost Zone. Danny just had to go ghost.

The problem was, Danny really wasn't sure what his ghost form would look like. He hoped it would still look like his younger self. It would be easier to explain, in that there would be nothing to explain. Danny Fenton could disappear for a little while, and it would be fine as long as Danny Phantom didn’t. Also, you know, still young Danny Phantom would come with the added benefit of not dealing with whatever potential similarities there were between himself and Dan. It would be a win-win! 

Danny inhaled, and let the transformation overcome him on the exhale. Eyes squeezed shut and lungs deflated, Danny used his last breath to whisper, “Please be normal, fifteen-year-old Phantom.”

No such luck. Danny peeked beneath his eyelids to look in the mirror and practically collapsed in on himself with disappointment. 

His ghost form had also aged, and this time it was even easier to tell the differences between his aged up self and his alternate evil future. He must’ve been even older than he first thought. For one thing, Danny just looked tired. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if it really was palpable in his reflection, but Danny looked like a man far too used to a smaller body. The way he slumped in on himself did not have the same effect in this older form; this body or lack thereof did not want to diminish itself and disappear the way he had once been able to as a teenager. It was strangely pathetic. Danny straightened some and continued to stare. 

Who would’ve thought ghosts could get wrinkles? They weren’t obvious, but as he stared at his own ghostly visage, he had remembered seeing them in the mirror in his human form and disregarding them. It was a bit harder to miss them now. 

Danny had always expected that as his ghost form aged, he’d start looking more and more like Dan. His reflection was both comforting and distressing in its shattering of his expectations. Black sclera. Green irises. White hair, still not flaming, but wispier than usual. Worry lines etched into his forehead and around his eyes. Slight frown lines around his mouth. His jumpsuit was the same as it had always been: simple black and white with the stylized DP. Ears slightly pointed. He opened his mouth, and yup. Those were fangs. 

If he were prone to romantic thought, he could imagine how this version of him could survive in frescoes and statues for thousands of years. There was something chiseled and stony and worn in his face and his shoulders. If Danny had actually lived the years it looked like he had, he might have even been handsome. As he was, he looked out of place. Lost.

Danny grimaced and looked away from his reflection in favor of peeling on his left glove. The scar tissue on his palm was just as gnarled and vibrant as ever. Good to know that the physical reminders of his death stayed just as fresh, he supposed. With his mental inventory of his appearance complete, Danny pulled his glove back on. It was time to head into the Ghost Zone.

---

And that’s the end of chapter 1 folks! The entirely of the first chapter is now on AO3, and chapter 2 is in the works. I’ll post chapter 2 updates on tumblr throughout the coming week, and the entirely of it will drop on AO3 next Sunday. Thank you for reading!

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #aged up danny #speedrunning puberty #puberty speedrun #dp x dc #dc x dp #fanfic

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Sixteen (Part 2)

As final term goes on I seem to have a lot less time to socialise than I used to, spending late evenings in the computer room polishing off my digital art piece, or down in the life drawing studio compiling my best drawings from the year, or in the library composing my critical cultures essay, hours spent pouring over books to cite, researching and learning all about my chosen topic, which is the fashion and textile of Asian tribes. 

For most of this time I am alone, but for the times I amn’t, it’s because I’m with Dean. Whenever he has time off work he’ll join me in the lab or the studio or the library and we’ll sit there together silently working through the evening, ankles intertwined beneath the desks as we pore over books about contemporary ceramics, ancient civilisations, Iranian cinema, pop art and the frescoes of Pompeii. The clocks change in late March, and even as April comes and the sky is bright until late into the evening, we stay until the sun goes down and the light fades from the room and all that’s left is the fluorescence from the lamp on the table between us to light the pages of our books. 

“Do you ever get sick of this?” He asks me quietly one evening as I organise my bibliography on my laptop. I lift my head to look at him, hand fisted on his cheek as he stabs his own keyboard with one finger. “Sometimes.” I say. “But I think my essay is finally coming together.” 

He huffs. “It’s so stupid that we have to do this writing shite, this is supposed to be a fine arts degree.”

“Yeah I get that but it’s also an academic degree. There has to be some sort of essay portion, I don’t think you’ll ever get away without having to do it.”

“I’m terrible at writing.” He frowns. “And I’m so sick of reading these stupid books about fucking pottery, the words they use are such bullshit, it’s like these writers are having a contest to see who can make their book the hardest to understand.”

Dean’s education, as I’ve learned, is a touchy subject for him. He left school when he was fifteen because he had either some difficulties learning or a lack of interest. It isn’t clear to me which, but either way he struggles now because of it. I tried to ask him about it before but I only ended up irritating him and he shut down, so I’m careful before broaching it again. “If you need help with anything just let me know.” I say. 

“I don’t.” He goes back to typing something aggressively onto his laptop for several minutes before he whacks the backspace key in frustration and sits there with the heels of his hands dug into his eye sockets. I clear my throat nervously. “Dean, like, I mean it if there’s anything I can do-”

“I don’t need help.” He repeats. “As in, I don’t need you to help me, do you not get it?”

“I get it.” I say quietly. I try to go back to my own citation list but I seem to have lost where I was, my focus having been thrown by him. I scroll back up to the beginning of the bibliography and start checking it again. After several more minutes, he sighs and drops his hands back to his lap, and while I don’t dare look over at him, from the corner of my eye I see him drop his head and shake it from side to side. “I’m so sick of this.” He says. “I’m so tired of spending all of my time in this building. I just go from college to work and back to college again over and over. Everything is shit.”

“I know it’s hard right now.” I attempt. “But soon it’ll be over and you’ll have so much more time to relax during the summer. At least then when you’ll only be working in Primo you’ll have every afternoon free.”

“Yeah.” He says flatly. I know that it’s more than just pure exhaustion with him, more than just college. It’s his family, his father’s death, his sister, his aunts, all of these things that I can’t even begin to relate to or even know how to comfort him about, things that feel so far out of the scope of my experience that they only serve to remind me of the worlds between he and I, a terrain between us that I can’t traverse. It makes me feel weak, small, ineffective and childish. “I don’t know how to make you feel better.” I tell him. 

He sighs and beckons me towards him. “C’mere.” He says, and when I hesitate he repeats himself. “C’mere.” I get out of my seat and walk around the table to stand in front of him. He slides his hands around my waist and links them at my back, and then rests his cheek against my belly. For a moment I’m not sure what he wants me to do with him, but he hums with approval as I lift a hesitant hand and run it through his hair, the dark roots an inch long now and the bleach turning brassy yellow, beginning to grow long over the tops of his ears. It’s so silent in the empty library, nothing but the buzz of the lightbulbs and the gentle whirr of Dean’s laptop fan. He lifts his head and kisses my ribs, gazing up at me with honey coloured eyes that I am immediately knee deep in. Despite the sharp anglesthere really is something so lovely about his face. He takes me by the hips and pulls me easily down onto his lap.

“What?” I whisper. I stroke my thumbs over his dark brows and kiss him gently on his nose, and he looks back at me, eyes travelling over my body as he says “just let me kiss you.” He lifts my hands away from him, and the feeling of his fingers on my wrists makes my skin tingle with awareness. Heat flashes in his eyes and the weight of his gaze makes my breath catch in my throat, and when he kisses me he crushes his mouth against mine so suddenly that I want to gasp. He lets go of my wrists to hold my face and I’m free to touch him again, so I sink one hand into his thick hair while the other sweeps down his chest, then his hands grasp at my waist and pull me even closer to him. 

“Is this helping?” I murmur as he begins kissing my throat, and I’m sure that he can feel the flutter of my pulse against his lips. 

“Mhm.” He says, and guides me backwards so that the table edge presses into the base of my spine. He lifts me off him so I’m sitting on it, impatiently shoving his laptop and his books out of the way to make some room. I pull back to look at him, enjoying the way that his gaze sweeps over me before he takes me by the jaw and kisses the side of my mouth, his hands travelling to my chest, breath shuddering out of his nose as he captures my mouth again. “The things I want to do to you…” He says between hungry kisses. “If I told you about them they’d make you blush.” He moves his hands underneath me so he can hold me to him, right in the place that he wants me, his knee sliding between my legs until I can feel his thigh…

“Wait.” I whisper. 

His voice sounds hoarse and strained. “Evie… please.”

“We can’t be doing this here. Not in the library.”

He sighs against my collarbone and I feel him resign then, resting his forehead in the curve of my neck. His hands return to my waist. “Okay, it’s just, I think we should keep going.”

“And I think we need to stop.”

He sighs heavily and slumps back into his chair, his mouth a little swollen from kissing me, his amber coloured eyes expectantly fixed on my face as if waiting for an explanation, and I don’t really know what to say, so I just repeat myself. “Not in the library.”

“If not in the library then where? This is where we always are lately.”

“It’s not true, we go to the park together, we’ve gone to the cinema and to the harbour that time.”

“If we did what I wanted us to do in any of those places then we’d be arrested.”

I feel my cheeks flushed with heat. “Oh, well, I know, but-”

“And I’m not allowed in your apartment either, you’ve made that clear, since you’re hiding me from your housemate, and you won’t come home to my house either.-”

“You live in Kilbarrack.” I reason. “It’s too far away.” He also lives with three very intimidating sounding men with intimidating nicknames, one in particular that they ominously call Bones who I don’t feel ready to be in the presence of.

“So what do you want from me?” He insists, struggling to keep the impatience from his tone. The impatience that’s been steadily growing over recent weeks. “What is this to you?”

I hesitate. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

“We’re not really, not in the ways I want to get to know you. I just don’t get it. You’re so open with me about everything, your art, your family, your friend Kelly from school who was mean to you, why is it so easy for you to show me all those parts of you but when it comes to sex you’re a closed book?”

“Because that’s private. I’m the kind of person who likes to wait a while.”

He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and looks right up into my face from beneath me. “It’s been a while.” He tells me. “And I don’t get it.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why does it have to be all about that for you? Can’t we just keep doing what we’re doing?”

“No.” He says. “Because you aren’t my girlfriend.”

“So unless I’m your girlfriend, it’s impossible for you to care about parts of me that aren’t the ones hidden by my underwear?”

“No, Evie.” He says, letting out this intense, frustrated little sound as he clenches his fist and throws his body back into the chair again. “Stop twisting everything and acting like the victim, I’m just asking you why you’re so closed. It’s not like you’re a virgin with no experience.”

I nod. 

“So is it something about me? Is there something off-putting?”

“No!” I cry. “It’s not that, it’s nothing to do with you at all, I just get nervous.” Distantly, I hear my phone buzz from inside the pocket of my coat that’s draped over the chair behind me. I ignore it. 

Dean continues. “So let’s have something to drink first, let’s just relax and I promise that I’ll be nice to you, I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“I know you’re not.” I say in a quiet voice, and he takes my hand, softening his expression as we interlace our fingers, his thumb gently stroking up and down the inner part of my wrist. “Look, Evie.” He says. “If you don’t want to, just say that, and it’ll be grand. I’m not here trying to force you to do anything. I was just asking the questions.”

“I want to.” I say, and the way he looks at me makes my stomach lurch with anticipation and unease all at once. “But not right now, not tonight, and not here.”

“Okay.” He says, watching me carefully. 

“On Thursdays.” I swallow. “My housemate always stays over at her boyfriend’s house in Clonskeagh. I’ll be alone.”

“Thursday.”

“But if I chicken out and I don’t want to do it…”

“Obviously, Evie, then we don’t have to.” 

“Okay.”

He smiles. “Look, I’m going to go home now, I’m tired of being in this building, I feel claustrophobic in it, and my neck hurts.” He stands up and I move out of his way as he snaps his laptop shut and begins gathering up all of his books to put them back onto their corresponding shelves. I stay leaning on the table and watch him as he does it. “It’s going to be fine.” I say, and he looks over his shoulder at me. “Your essay.” I clarify. “You’ll get it done.”

“Oh, that.” He says. “It’s just about the last thing on my mind.” Stuffing his laptop back into its case he says “My essay will be… whatever it ends up being, like. If I cared about it I’d probably be staying here longer. Here, are you gonna leave too? Do you want to walk to the bus together?”

“No, I think I’m going to stay another while and just finish up what I was doing.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you tomorrow, so.” He takes me by the neck and plants a kiss on my cheek. 

“Bye.” I say to him, and he waves over his shoulder as he exits through the swinging doors and is swallowed into the dark hallway. 

Sighing, I resume my place in front of my laptop, jiggling my finger on the touchpad to wake it, and the screen flicks back to life and displays my bibliography in the exact disappointing state that I left it in. I start moving things around more, checking for spelling mistakes, and then I suddenly remember that I missed a message on my phone earlier, and eager for another chance to procrastinate I dive into my coat pocket for it. I feel my heart expand a little bit when I see a message from Jude. 

Rate me? 

Following the message is a mirror selfie of him in his Top Gun costume. He’s doing a very Tom-Cruise-accurate pose, turned to the side with his shoulder to the mirror, his arm lifted to give a thumbs up to the camera, but also to show off the big red white and blue TOMCAT patch that he ironed onto the sleeve. We’ve talked extensively about this costume over recent weeks, trying to figure out the best ways to make it as authentic as possible, not because there’s a prize for the best costume or anything, but because, as Jude explains to me, he has an insatiable need to be the best at everything he does. 

“It’s a sickness.” He told me last week. “I absolutely cannot be outdone.”

I grin at the photo, feeling proud, and partly responsible for how well it turned out, seeing as I was the one who searched Ebay for three out of the six patches on that costume, getting a kick out of finding the ones most like those from the film and for the best prices.

Just to tease him, I text back:

6 out of 10. Where are the aviator shades??

He replies just a moment later with another photograph, this time of him wearing them, doing a silly duck face. It looks like he’s out already, as there’s a handful of people around him out on the city streets, random arms and legs and elbows filling up the edges of the screen.

Happy? 

Yep, now that’s a 10 out of 10. 

Because it covers more of my face, is it?

Yes 100%, uggo. 

And when he texts back again I forget all about my essay. Thumbs zooming over my phone keyboard, mouth quirked up in a smile as I think of a hundred clever things to say to him, texting, laughing and texting until my laptop screen gives up waiting for me and fades back to black. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 2 #This was my most viewed chapter for a long time lmao #something about Dean putting his thigh there #i hate him so much from this point on though #he's a sick lil freak #tw: abuse

[thesimperiuscurse]

LET’S RENOVATE CHALLENGE: SUNSET VALLEY

My twist on the popular Sunset Valley remodels, in challenge form! I have always enjoyed the distinct architectural styles and thought behind the TS3 base game houses, but they definitely could be improved with a refresher for the modern times.

R U L E S

Pick a Sunset Valley house from this list. Renovate one interior or exterior space (or the entire house if you’re up for it!) sensitively with cc—while retaining as much as possible of the original charm, functional intentions, and architectural features. Post the before & afters, EA’s lot description, and your design notes! Tag some friends if you like ♡ Original post for reference.

C A P E  /  C O D

See the full reno: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

I chose “Unabridged” to renovate, my favourite house in Sunset Valley (and Max’s house from Gen 2, for old legacy readers).

2br, 2ba / 455 Sunnyside Blvd. / 40x40 / A traditional cape style house is made modern by bridging a large custom pool. Easy living on this beach front property will make you feel like you are on vacation every day of the week.

My interpretation of the description (and floor plan) was a summer house meant for a young rich couple who love to entertain. I liked how the house was built like a classic grey-shingled Cape Cod cottage, but they did a pretty shit job at the “made modern” part, especially for the drab interior which had no relationship with the exterior. There was also a lot of wasted space due to the excessive wraparound pool and fenced decks. So, my main goals were to make the outdoor spaces practical for gatherings, align the interior with the Cape Cod style, and reconnect the home with the natural landscape.

C H A N G E  /  L O G

Extended foundations to match façade + straightened out kinky walls

Reconfigured layout to add laundry (replacing second bathroom)

Removed ugly metal railings and unfinished second “level”

Replaced steel windows with white casements

Redecorated with light neutral palette, natural timbers, accents of navy blue and brass (cape cod / mid-century farmhouse style)

Replaced front entrance bridge with landscaped timber boardwalk

Downsized asphalt carpark, changed to sand

Downsized pool, replaced with landscaping for privacy and garden space

Reshaped and layered decks to become proper garden living zones connected to the pool + beach, with timber decking, outdoor kitchen, al fresco dining, firepit, lawn, outdoor shower

Planted olive trees, almond trees, coastal grasses

T A G S

@lazysunjade / @amuhav / @keibea / @moonsonnet / @itssimplythesims / @enable--llamas​ / @catharsim / @plumbobem / @ariadnew / @obscurus-noctem / @descendantdragfi / @architectural-sims​ / @hypernov-a​ + everyone who would like to try this challenge, i tag you ❤

#let's just pretend this challenge hasn't been in my drafts for an entire year #you don't have to do the overly detailed change log haha #disclaimer: my after pics are edited vs the raw before pics #although i don't think any amount of editing can save ea's decorating tastes lmfao #sims 3 #ts3 #simblr