#i take forever to write

[plush-rabbit]

Rot

Request: happy birthday!!! I know its weird but as a bday request I would love to have you write the most self indulgent fic for yourself if you feel like it because your fics are always a gift for us and since I cant because I cant write for shit maybe you should write something for yourself? idk its an idea more than a request tbh, but happy bday anyway!!

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: it was my birthday and this took a while to pump out but here it is!! my thing!! because if i cant enjoy my cake, i’ll write about something!! -

He stares into your eyes, his eyes finally adjusting to the dimness of your room. The fan spins above creating a chill wind that has you clutching the blanket in your fists. His body is splayed beside you, arms and legs tense, and eyes focused on the ceiling where the paint has begun to chip. His head turns towards you before his eyes do, and you give him an odd look- expectant and eager. There’s a flex in your jaw, and he hears the little click that it makes. The question hangs in the air. 

Your eyes are wide, almost unblinking and owl-like as you try to search his own face for any expressions. The tip of your tongue peeks out, wetting your upper lip and it returns back, hidden inside of your mouth, laying after your teeth. You swallow, and a lump shifts in your throat. You want an answer. Would you be able to tell if he’s lying? Would you even care? Would it just be another thing that you would take- that you would accept because it was just easier that way; because if you questioned it, pried too deep, you might end up hating him. He’s sure he could lie to you and you wouldn’t think twice about it. There’d be a spark in your eyes- content for getting something out of him and a smile would stretch your lips. You’d nod and kiss the corner of his lips, and it'd be your way of saying thank you to him. You’d thank him for being honest and he wouldn’t feel guilty about lying to you and stealing that little bit of trust that you gave to him for no particular reason.

There’s a siren outside, and it’s you who becomes stiff, whose eyes dart to the window. There’s no real reason why you'd be scared of law enforcement- you haven’t done anything to warrant such fear. The only crime you ever committed was when you accidently hit the corner bumper of a car with your own. It’s like you’re still waiting for the police to come and arrest you, as if you don’t have a murder in your bed who just moments ago had you under him.

You really are odd. 

It’s not as if you don’t know him. Maybe those first few dates where he showed up to your place with nothing more than the coat on his back. His skin would smell of baby wipes and cologne that you confessed had made your throat burn. Even so, he’s made no attempt to hide who he is. Up until just a few months ago, his crimes weren’t something that the public talked about. Sure, there were deaths that were made public, innocent people who smiled at the camera and had a sort of respectable look towards them, but then there were others who went unnoticed. Scoundrels who had a nasty sneer, who didn’t hesitate to say such cruel words, and who had bloody knuckles. People who didn’t get an obituary and were instead, just labeled as missing because it was easier to say that- to look for them and just reason that they ran off.

But you hadn’t seemed to care. You brought him like a stray cat- let the smell of the cologne that burned your throat and made your eyes water linger in your bedsheets and hands that were never quite soft touch at every intimate part of you- the nape of your neck, the pittering of your heart just above your left breast, the swell of your tummy that was full of food. 

Something warm touches just above where his purpled scars begin to creep upwards- right at the middle of the skin that still belongs to someone who has long been forgotten. He gives a start and his eyes finally focus where yours are crinkled with worry. “Dabi? You still with me?” You ask in a small voice, cooing to him like an injured animal. You’re still using his name even if you believe that it isn’t his. In the corner of his eye, he sees your hand lift slowly, and it falls between his chest and yours.

You’re still waiting for an answer. “What’s the sudden interest?”

You blink once. Twice. And once more, and your eyes casted downwards. The sheet rolls off your body as you turn to lay on your back. His throat is dry. He’s made you upset. You won’t tell him, but you’re an open book no matter how mysterious you want to appear. It just isn’t in your nature to hide your feelings.

“I just thought it would be nice to know something more about you.” Your tone is wistful, and your eyes are sad. He wishes he knew what you were thinking. Even if he can read every emotion, he could never read your mind. He can never know if you keep him around because you pity him,  or if there’s actually something there, something so perverse and rotten, that it’ll disgust him if he ever knew the truth. “It’s okay.” It isn’t- you're still not facing him. “Names are sacred and whatever.” You’re trying so hard to sound poetic and nonchalant that it’s making acid burn the inner soft part of his throat. Your hand scratches at the side of your temple and you don’t look at him.

All you did was ask if his name is Dabi. That’s it. Nothing more and nothing less. It’s just a simple yes or no answer, and while he knows that you would have wanted to hear him talk more, you would have accepted any of his answers no matter how simple. 

You don’t care for any of who he was or who he will be. 

“Does it matter if I have any name? I call myself Dabi. Isn’t that enough for you?” It comes out rougher than it should be and his molars grind into each other.

It’s getting harder and harder to look at you, to ignore that pitiful, melancholic look that you give him, the one where he can’t escape his reflection. “I guess so,” you answer, turning your back towards him. Your left arm curls under your head, acting as a cushion despite the pillows being just a few inches away from the top of your head. Your right arm extends outwards, hand limp and fingers reaching down for the ground. 

No. No. No, no. 

You’re not supposed to look away from him. You’re supposed to be looking up at him- focused and smiling, holding his hand until you fall asleep and you eventually cling to him during the night. There’s always something there, irradiant and gleaming like a pearl that’s been covered in grime and muck. You’re supposed to look at him when you fall asleep, pity replaced with something that he’ll never have or be able to mimic. 

Look at him. Look at him. Look at him.

What do you want from him? His name doesn’t matter. Not in the way that you think it does. 

The fan spins on and the light creates soft shadows. You must be eager to avoid him if you don’t want to waste another second awake. His tongue wets his chapped lips, the taste of copper faint. “Should I leave?” He croaks out in shame. 

You twist in the bed- your legs still facing the wall, your torso twisted, and head turned to him. “What?”

He scratches the thin bed sheet with his nails. “Do you want me to leave?”

You untwist yourself, lifting yourself until you’re looking down at him, and under your gaze, he feels like he’s being pulled apart, as if you’re seeing something that even he can’t. Your head is cocked to one side, and like before, your eyes are wide, staring down at him, trying to look- to see him. He wonders if he’s as emotionless as he makes himself out to be. Your lips purse together. He isn’t like others- he can’t just ask for affection, can’t even put it into words. Neither can you, but at least you try to do something other than sexual, at least you kiss him before anything else. You feed him and hold his hand and all he can do is wrinkle your shirt and sully your body with the dirt under his nails.

“Of course not,” you say quickly, horrified that he would even suggest something like that. “It’s cold out. I’m not letting you go out in the cold.”

His gaze focuses elsewhere; like a child that’s been caught doing something naughty and can’t handle the shame and embarrassment. “I can bum somewhere for the night.” The words taste bitter on his tongue and shame burns in his face and simmers in the tips of his ears.

“Dabi?” His name has never sounded so sweet.

The blanket has fallen from your chest and lays crumpled on your lap. He is still covered, the shirt that you have bought for him loose on his body, and the rest of his patched skin hidden under the covers. He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t give you a look and a part of him hopes that you’ll tell him to leave and a deeper, starved and child-like part of him wants you to hold him and kiss the top of his head. Under the covers, his nails press into the heel of his hand. The sharp pain is enough to make his head stop spinning.

There’s a shuffle beside him, the bed giving off a low creak as you rest once more, this time turning your attention toward him. In his peripheral vision, he can see your hand lift and reach out slowly, and his jaw tightens, but you don’t seem to notice. 

Instead, you rest your hand soft on the side of his face. The pads of your fingertips rest just below the half-moons under his eyes, and your palm is nothing more than a phantom that makes his skin prick. You don’t have to give him a gentle nudge to have him face you, he does it all on his own. Eyes half-lidded, wanting to close, to not have to look at you, to not have to see you and see his own reflection, but you call his name in that soft tone, and he stays looking at you despite how much that lingering sense of emptiness is starting to grow and consume him, to stain his being with grime and muck. 

“Do you want to leave?” A part of him will always wish that he had never met you- that you got to live your life with someone that wasn’t so rotten and cruel. He’s many things- and soft will never be one of them, he could never be enough for you and even as he lies in your bed, cradling your hand with his, and shaking his head, he feels ugly at having kissed you. You smile, and your body digs deeper into the bed, the blanket covering just below your chest. “Then you’ll stay here, and in the morning I’ll make some breakfast for us.”

He doesn’t want to leave. Not when it’s cold outside. Not when you’re beside him, keeping his old shirts cleaned because you want to. Because you want him to have something nice.

Outside, he can hear a car’s tires squeal and the sound makes your mouth pull into a thin line. It’s better if you don’t see him. Not now. Not when he hasn’t even said ‘thank you’ for letting him stay the night. He reaches over you, your hand falls to your chest and your touch is burned into him. The light is snuffed out, with beads of amber peeking from between the blinds. 

The covers and the mattress don’t feel right under him. The fabric is crumpled, wrinkled and overlapping, the stitched lines of the diamonds are coming undone, tickling him and making his skin feel as if ants are walking on him. In the dark, your figure becomes a dark mass to his eyes, and in turn, he must look like that towards you. He doesn't want to be perceived by you at the moment. Even so, it doesn’t take long for his eyes to begin to adjust. His body betrays him, using whatever little light that peeks through the blinds to make out your shape. He can start to see you, little bits that start to piece together- the bridge of your nose, the way your eyes are still open, and the way the blanket shifts as you do, starting to move closer to him. 

Sleeping almost feels wrong. The world has beat on him, torn him apart and left him with a never fading scar, and the act of sleeping has been tarnished. He’s been denied so much of his life- had years stolen from him and now he pays the price for it. He’s unable to properly show and control his emotions, often feeling like they're bigger than him- feeling as if they’d burst out of him, swelling him up like a balloon until he’s being torn at the seams of his skin. Holding your hands under the covers feels like it’s too much- like he’s violating something of yours despite already having done so much more with you. This simple act of him reaching forward makes his stomach twist until he feels as if he’s going to vomit and look ugly. 

His hands must feel like sandpaper against yours. 

Yet, you still hold his hand, squeezing it back and inching closer to him. You still touch him; you still allow him to touch you. You know what’s done. You know who he is. What do you gain from him? Even if he had wanted to make this work, he couldn’t. He has blood on his hands that will never become clean. He has blood that seeps out of him like poison, and he’s going to live with it- and he won’t regret it. He won’t cry and wish to be forgiven, because it can never be forgiven. His actions can never be washed away no matter how many times you wash his back and kiss his crown. You slept with him, not expecting that he would stay the night, not expecting that he would come back like a stray that’s been starved and fed once. 

Even tonight, you kissed him and called him pretty knowing that there was a monster feasting on your skin and blood. But even you have blood on your hands. You bite into him to muffle your moans, to keep your whimpers and sounds for him, canines into the soft spot between his neck and shoulder, his pulse quickening as you made such perverse sounds for him. You cling so tightly to him- dug your nails into the scars on his back, not caring for a moment if you were hurting him, forgetting that he was stapled together just above you. And he kissed you- sloppy and teeth bumping into each other to let you know that he was fine, because as much as it stung- as painful as it was, it felt so good to know that you didn’t want to let go of him. 

He felt every part of you. Touched and memorized the grooves of your skin, every freckle, ever thin, paled scar, every bit of you that giggled when he let his finger ghost over your sides. Your skin has been nipped at with his teeth- sharp enough for you to whine and curse, to hold the swelling wound. He touches and feels you with such a primal need to mark you, to let his canines drag against the soft squish of your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, bringing his hand up to examine it under the darkness. 

“Breakfast,” he lies.

“What are you in the mood for?” 

Your fingertip traces over the rising scar, and he tries to ignore the way that it makes him feel, but even so, he intakes a sharp breath of air. His jaw closes, molars pit against each other in order to keep anything else in. You don’t stop your tracing.

“Whatever you have. I’m not picky.” You’ve started to trace over the lines in his palm and his fingers rise and fall.

“Are you going to stay for the day?” You’re too enamored with his hand to focus on looking at him.

“Yes.” He says too quickly for his liking. “Is that okay?” That question comes out sounding far too wretched for his liking.

“Yeah.” Your thumb runs down his. “There’s this movie I want to see. I think it’ll be fun to watch it with you.” He hums. “It’s about cannibals.” He breathes a short laugh. “It’s like a romantic comedy if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, but I’ll watch it.” 

He’d subject himself to whatever it is that you wanted. You wouldn’t have to pry his eyes open or force him; he’d do it all willingly if it meant that you’d sit beside him. He’d go through a hundred terrible movies- he stops himself. He’s been starting to grin- he doesn’t even know when that had started. He’d torture himself through movies and for what? He’s gone through far worse; the act of thinking that movies were some form of torture is repulsive. 

“Your team won’t miss you?”

“Nah. I'm doing a bit of my own thing for a bit.”

He wonders if you would miss him if he never came back. You shouldn’t, but he hopes that you will. He hopes that it would be ugly- that you’d sob and have your heartbroken over him. That’s his only wish for all of this- that you’d miss Dabi enough to wretch and become a mess and a shadow of yourself.

“You’re gonna be okay?” The way you ask that question makes his stomach twist and shame burn the back of his neck. 

“Always am,” he says without skipping a beat.

Silence befalls the both of you. You move closer to him, still holding his hand in yours. No other word is uttered, nothing breaks the silence except for the electrical humming in your home. That’s the end of the conversation and he accepts it the way that you accept that he won’t ever do more than stay for a day or two.

Is it cruel of him to want you to miss him? It has to be. There’s some twistedness inside of him, one that he was born with, and grew with and he let the rot fester in him. He’ll never be a saint, he’ll never be a holy, and neither will you- you’ll be sullied by him and even if he knows that you deserve more than what he could give to you, he’s still going to latch on like a parasite, clinging to you for life. Of course, you’d never see him that way. He doesn't know why. In the back of his mind, he’s sure he’s some kind of project for you- something that you can fix and smile when you’re on deathbed. 

Your name is whispered, and it feels so foreign on his tongue, heavy and sugar coated that it makes his bones ache. There’s no answer. 

It’s presumptuous of him to think that. You don’t try to fix him. The most that you do is wash his back and buy him new clothes that he would never wear outside of your home. There’s a familiar ache in the middle of his throat- swelling and constricting his air. His eyes burn and he’s worried that he’s going to ruin your pillow cases. You’ve let him use your soft towels, he can’t dirty something else for yours with his blood.

You've given him new clothes. Cleaned his old ones, but no matter how hard you tried the dirt and blood of it would never disappear. The blood will always stay there- a soft pink patch that would only get redder by the day. The dirt spreading, darker and thicker with every day. He never used the new ones outside of your home. Never dared to dirty them. Not something of yours- because no matter what, no matter how often you tried to give them to him, they were still yours. Something that you had risked to share with him.

He's bled a few times in your home. Stained your sheets and the first time you looked inconvenienced, a bit disgusted that someone was just bleeding on your items but then he made a pained, pitiful sound, a forced one, anything to get you to look at him with something other than disgust. He wanted you to look at him the way you would look at any other. And it worked, because you held him and bandaged his wounds, held his hands and touched the calloused tips of his fingers. 

Should he kiss you goodnight? Does it matter? You’re asleep, you wouldn’t even know if he’s kissed you or not. Kissing isn’t something that’s taboo for either of you, but doing it now- when whatever talk you just had is still lingerie in the air? Is that right for him to do? He wants to kiss you, there’s no doubt about it. Dabi has long grown attached to you and ‘attached’ is the wrong word, it’s something needier, something possessive. 

No matter the answer, you’re asleep and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because he’s going to leave and he won’t return and he hopes that you’ll cry.

The pink of his tongue swipes to wet his lips, and he takes in a chill breath of air that breathes out warmly. With a trembling motion, he leans to peck the corner of your mouth. With no one to witness him, he lets himself linger, letting his hands entangle themselves in your hair, and legs interlacing with yours. He pulls away, only to let his chin rest on the top of your head. Your weight is on his hand, and he closes his eyes.

In the morning, he’ll wake up with you in the kitchen. It’ll be a moment where he forgets just where he is, where his mind hasn’t caught up to him, where he’s caught in a fog and he’ll think that this is his norm- that he’s deserving of having homemade breakfast after all that he is. And while he’s eating and drinking coffee, he’ll wish that you had let him rot on the street.

#bnha #bnh dabi #bnha dabi x reader #bnha dabi headcanons #dabi x reader #touya x y/n #bnha touya #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #he always has the shortest tag #but i love him #but if he hurts his little brother #it is on sight #i am loving the panels we get of him #um #i was gonna say something else #dang #i take forever to write #but i will get some quicker hc out #i am just so tired after work #some man came in today #and his total was six dollars and eight cents #and he gives me twenty two dollars #and im like hello?? #so i give him the two dollars back and he's like why did you give me two dollars #and im like because you gave me an excess amount #like go someone else for your banking needs #sometimes i hate my writing #and other times im like wow #i did that

[buried-in-stardust]

I'm so bad at prioritising what needs to be done but also obviously the hackathon I went to on Saturday and the networking event today are more important than all the stuff I have due at the end of the day today this essay for the chinese reading course is so fucked

#blu speaks #this essay is worth 7% #how bad can 800 characters be #very bad #i take forever to write

[hobartshopping]

Sorry for such a big big delay, but i will (probably) be posting Chapter 2 of Philophobia tomorrow !!!

after some decision i'm gonna be splitting it into 2 parts since it's so long.., but for now Chapter 2 will have some Pippa content aaanddd for any updates, here's a little something

HE'S HEEREE!!!!

AND there will be a brief boris binder mention since t4t boreo canon ofc

but yea.,, sorry for taking like.. 3 weeks LMFAO i'll post the newest chapter here as soon as it's finished, ty for all the support on Chapter 1!!

#the goldfinch fic #boreo #the goldfinch #boreo fic #boris pavlikovsky #theo decker #pippa blackwell #ao3 #i take forever to write #oh my god

[mphountitled]

🎀 anon here!! missed youu

but omg how was the nct movie?? i wanted to go watch it so bad but i live in a pretty small town and they weren’t showing it at any of the cinemas near me :/

alsoo i’ve been thinking about itf!anton so bad lately. the whole dynamic he had was saurr good.

now i can’t stop thinking about how’d it be if he’d started to notice you hanging around one of your male friends (that he’s not so fond of) more than usual. i can’t imagine he’ll say something right off the bat, maybe he’d only bring it up after you do something to really tick him off.

i’m not really sure how this would end with phone sex….but i need it to happen 🧍🏾‍♀️

Hi my darling, so sorry for the late response. The movie was great!

Also, this lovely request inspired my latest Anton fic that you can read here

It's not followed TO THE TEA, its darker but I hope you'll like it.

#❥ m.u. #<3<3 #riize #i take forever to write

[tubbytarchia]

Missed drawing these two too

Bonuses

#rendoc #still thinking about them a lot #always #hermitshipping #sorry for the weird empty area in the first one. It was my attempt to make it take up less of people's timelines #this art is so embarrassing lol but man I like when Doc's drawn as a big goat man I have no defense I plead the fifth #or well at least it becomes embarrassing when its. shippy #whatever Tumblr people are usually cool so here goes!! #I am 99% a fluff and hurt/comfort person. Idc how frisky these guys get in fanon all I can ever think of is fluff sorry #Also contemplated implementing Doc's accent into the dialogue but I am forever paranoid of offending someone lol #idk how to write accents etc but you guys will make it sound fine in your heads I'm sure #hermitblr #tubby art

[asoftepiloguemylove]

BUT WHO COULD LOVE ME? I AM OUT OF MY MIND // IVAN & TILL

pinterest // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Anne Sexton Complete Poems of Anne Sexton, "The Papa and Mama Dance" // Fall Out Boy Hum Hallelujah // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Ernest Hemingway The Garden of Eden // Florence + the Machine Grace // Elliot Wake Black Iris // The National Daughters of the Soho Riots // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Mitski I Guess // Adam Silvera They Both Die at the End // Lorde Writer in the Dark // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Margaret Atwood Cat's Eye // Chris Abani Dog Woman // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Warsan Shire Souvenir, "Our Men Do Not Belong to Us" // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Louise Glück Faithful and Virtuous Night

#i was given 04 mins of content of these two and i could ramble about their dynamic FOREVER #take this from ivan's perspective mostly lmao #web weave #web weaving #poetry compilation #poetry paralells #alien stage #alnst #ivantill #alnst ivan #alnst till #anne sexton #fall out boy #ernest hemingway #florence + the machine #the national #mitski #adam silvera #lorde #margaret atwood #chris abani #warsan shire #writing #poem #spilled poetry #spilled ink #dark academia #dark academia poetry #poetry #words

[wispscribbles]

why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏

afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33

#ask #chloe-is-slightly-epic #ghostsoap #doodle #i'm trying to get better at letting myself be a bit more open online #a bit more uncool if you will #im an anxious perfectionist so a lot of art and posts end up in drafts forever #like this sketch i drew..... 4 months ago #hope you all wont mind if I start posting a bit more #unfinished work like sketches or fic snippets #Im constantly making stuff and writing but I just dont post #womp womp anxiety #so yeah decidedly uncool but im happy you like my art :') #btw if youve ever sent an ask or asked a question that i've never answered... yeah its probably in my drafts because i got stuck on somethi #and then forgor #and now its been so long that it feels weird to reply #sorry!! I super appreciate everyone who take the time to write

[choccy-milky]

NSFW comic ive been wanting to do for a while of seb getting…influenced…by the dark relic👀👀no idea how long its gonna be or how long itll take, so have a wip for now 🙃

#bonus points if u can read my chicken scratch LOOL. i used to have such good handwriting but years of not writing by hand made it such shit #wip #seriously ive wanted to do this for so long but ive been putting it off BC ITS GONNA TAKE FOREVER. DRAWING SMUT IS HARD #ESP WHEN I HAVE LIKE A WHOLE PAGE OF DIALOGUE TO GO WITH IT #wish i could just project my thoughts and ideas into drawings🙄🙄someone hurry and invent that please #choccyart

[royalarchivist]

Ramon had a cute idea for the Huevitos (members of Fit's community) to fill the #ramonbday tag with art and kind messages so he can show them to Fit for his birthday (February 1st), so here's my contribution! I have over 800 Fit-related clips, so it was hard to choose just a few fun moments from stream :'D

Even though the QSMP server won't be open until February 3rd, we still have a few more days to share messages, art, etc. – so if you'd like to post something for Ramon to potentially include in Fit's birthday surprise, make sure to post it by January 31st and use the tag #ramonbday!

[ Subtitle Transcript ↓ ]

–

Fit: I can't believe I'm a homosexual now.

–

FitMC 2023 - 2024 Highlights

–

Vegetta: Leonarda, give me the picture.

Fit: Leonarda, you should give him a picture.

Vegetta: It's for saving your life!

Fit: [Picks up the photo she dropped] Oh, now I have it. [Sees its a photo of Vegetta and Melissa in their stripper outfits] Oh. Oh my.

–

Fit: It's a life experience Tubbo, you know? Aren't you glad you–

Tubbo: "Life experience" deez nuts, you bald bastard.

–

Fit: Ok, I'm looking through the bars– There's like, yeah–

Pac: [Falls off the wall] AAAAA–

–

Fit: [Dumping his wild cats in the Bakery] I'll just– I'll just release them in here. Screw it. What's the worst that could happen?

[The next day]

The big cats are still, uh– [Sees the cats mauling the Baker] Oh my god. They do NOT like the Baker

–

Jaiden: Fit, you're just a guy, right?

Fit: I'm just a dude. I'm just like– I'm just like the generic RPG protagonist. Like, human male, warrior. Like, it's– I'm as vanilla as you can get

-

Fit: Sneeg– shut up, I'm doing gay roleplay right now!

–

Fit: Tubbo, if you want to disable mines, you are disrespecting the entire Hispanic community.

–

Fit: What are you doin' staring at me, Baldy? Yeah, you think you're hot sht?

[The Binary Monster shows up]

Fit: OH, FCK–

–

Fit: The oldest anarchy server in Minecraft.

Fit: The youngest gay roleplay server in Minecraft.

–

Fit: [While playing "Hide and Seek" with Ramon] If he moves, then I know that was the spot.

Ramon: [Stares at him as the Metal Gear Solid "discovered by an enemy" vwing! sound plays]

Fit: [Cackles] WHERE YOU GOIN' BOY? WHERE YOU GOIN' BOY?

–

Fit: To be a turtle in the Arctic, you hate to see it. Yeah, you know this turtle is... not so different from me. It's living in a place that's trying to KILL it.

–

Tubbo: [To Pac] Just lay down. [Starts Casualonas-ing] This is for you.

Fit: [Immediately equips his weapon]

Tubbo: This is for you, king.

Pac: [Laughs] Fit - you see this?

Fit: [Shoots Tubbo, who starts screaming] I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Uh-

Tubbo: Ok, ok, well he–

Fit: Misfire, misfire, misfire!

Tubbo: He wasn't- he wasn't- OW OW OW!

Fit: Misfire!

–

Fit: Sometimes- it's not about doing the right thing, Phil – it's about doing the more entertaining thing. Right?

Phil: PFTTTTT–

Fit: They banned my ass. They're like, "Why are you talking to Pac like that?" That's unacceptable on this family-friendly Christian Minecraft server (TM). Like– "We can't be having any of that." "Can't be having any of THAT."

–

Cucurucho: [Slowly turns to stare at Fit while Pac is talking to him]

Fit: [Silently starts cracking up]

Pac: Ok Cucurucho, I'm gonna be waiting for your response

–

[Fit putting up art that Ramon drew]

Foolish: Boo it if it's bad!

Fit: Heyyyyyy! That's actually –

Foolish: Oh! Wait, that's– That's actually pretty good, what the fck.

Fit: Ramon, you weren't supposed to actually try. This is incredible!

[They both laugh]

–

Pac: Yeah, yeah! I was–

Tubbo: Everyone goes through their dick phase.

Fit: Yeah...

Pac: Yeah, everyone does.

Fit: Oh? Oh– is that so, Tubbo? Yeah?

Tubbo: Everyone- everyone–

Fit: When did you go through your dick phase? [Laughs]

Tubbo: I'd argue I'm in my dick phase right now.

Fit: Uh, you know, speakin' of spruce– you know Bruce Lee, right?

Phil: Yeah?

Fit: If Bruce Lee was a plant, he'd be Spruce Tree.

Phil: [Disappointed grumbling]

Fit: [Laughs]

[Fit gets kicked off the server]

Fit: [Laughs even harder]

#FitMC #Morning Crew #QSMP #ramonbday #Fit #Ramon #Edited #Subtitles #AT LAST #It always takes forever to write the transcript of these subtitles #hopefully I didn't miss too much #anyways. I do have so many frickin clips it was hard to narrow it down #I love the wii music it really is the perfect background music for these kinds of videos #Portfolio

[kathaynesart]

will we ever see the moment donnie’s old visor bursts and gives him the injury?

Hm, that will probably be a short story I'll add into my Patreon once it's up and running!

Still in the plotting stages for what I'll be offering, but I think I'll mostly post summaries of events not integral to Replica's plot along with a drawing. As I get through the ones I have planned I'll probably make a slightly pricier tier where people can ask questions/request scenes kind of like what you did just now.

I already have the drawing and summary practically done for what happened in Shanghai with Donnie and Kendra so at least I have my first update ready to go haha.

#I can write like it's no one's business but art takes me forever haha #honestly I probably should have made Replica a fanfiction but... eeehhhhhhhh #drawing is still fun haha just slow #rottmnt replica #replica #q&a

[areyoudoingthis]

I am SO grateful that ed and stede exist as characters exactly as they are. I'm so grateful for these two men who are traumatized and messed up and struggle to even like themselves, who are terrible at communicating, who make enough mistakes between the two of them to fill an entire ocean. I am so grateful to watch them struggle and be seen and be loved and reach out for the things they want and are maybe starting to believe that they deserve. I'm so grateful that the show lets them fall in love and get together exactly as they are, that it doesn't say they need to wait until they've become some unattainably perfect version of themselves before they have permission to have that. i am so grateful for ofmd

#ofmd #there are no other shows like this one #I'm so tired of media that repeats the same idea that you need to hit a list of predetermined therapy milestones (determined by who???) #before you can fall in love #I'm honestly tired of fic that does this with ed and stede too #because guess what #you can live in the 21st century with access to therapy and dsm diagnosis and a bunch of different medications and you can be doing all the #right things and still be a trainwreck!!! #putting in the work doesn't mean you're gonna become perfect and never have problem again any more than falling in love doesn't mean you'll #never have problems again #I'll forever be crying on my knees levels of grateful for the unique writing on this show #for saying that it's okay you can be a mess you can take one step forward and three steps back and you'll still always be deserving #of love and grace and forgiveness #you don't have to do anything to deserve you deserve it just because you exist #i love this show with my entire heart #alex watches ofmd

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Smell Check [Easy: Failure]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 1 (part 2 - part 3)

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #disco elysium #MDZS Disco Elysium AU #So sad I didn't manage to get this comic out on the 15th (pd-mdzs's 8 month anniversary and DE's 4th year anniversary) but I'm here *now* #I have a very extensive and detailed MDZS Disco Elysium AU that I am Not Normal About. #I've seen a few other people point out the potential in a crossover (true) but they make the mistake in having it be set in 51! #A true crossover would take place closer to The Antecentennial Revolution! #Disco Elysium did not go that hard on its cool lore for people to only make surface level crossovers!!! #One day I'll write the fic or post my notes. I don't know who would read it but it tickles *my* brain and that's enough. #No spoilers for DE (here or in comments (please)) but please consider....Magpie Wei Wuxian B*) On his way to be an innocent. #I do think there is a good chance a chunk of the MDZS readership would enjoy DE but...it's also not a game I easily recommend #It's more of an experience you have to marinate over. It's dark in ways that are off putting to some people. #It makes you feel like a very bad person all the time. It gets extremely personal if you allow yourself to be honest in your answers #and it's also the game that saved my life. My life was truly forever changed after playing disco elysium. #If I recommend it to people it's a badge of the trust I have in you to appreciate something dear to me B'*) #If you decide to play: PLEASE go in as blind as possible. You will regret spoiling yourself. #edit: this is based on real disco elysium dialogue. HDB has many canon kinks but this is not one of them

[moongreenlight]

More on Soap and his f!demon!reader because you guys forced me like oooookay I get it you’re horny on main

Just kidding everything I do is for you. All you have to do is vaguely imply that you want something and I’m all over it baby anything you need.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Johnny’s demon who follows him everywhere after his first kill. Bound to him the moment the bullet left his chamber. A partnership of sorts. Cast into the pits and valleys of his soul. Gifted to him in the few intimate moments where the deafening blast of his rifle slowed time. Kept a secret even from him. A partnership between this world and the next. Quite literally a give and take. You sworn to him so long as he kept up his end of the bargain. Kill or be killed.

You stayed concealed in shadows for years. Flitting from corner to corner to make sure you always had an eye on him. Silently coaching him through little whispers carried to his ears on the wind. Watching him grow as a soldier under your care. Honing and refining his skill as you saw fit. Leaning your chin just over his shoulder during missions. Voice leading him through to victory like siren song.

Protecting him when it was necessary. Wrapping your big wings around him to shield him from an onslaught of bullets. Leaving his side only for a moment to gore a sniper with their sights on him with your blackbuck horns. Curling your fingers around his to force the trigger of his pistol back if he hesitated and put himself in danger.

It was a bit dirty in principle. Like forging his signature on the deed that signed his soul over to the devil, but he didn’t seem to mind. The cost of invincibility coming at a relatively low price all things considered. The only drawback was his ego. Sizable before, now bloated into something almost grotesque. Cocksure and arrogant but not without his charms.

Not to mention, you’d almost taken a liking to Johnny in your time together. Like a parasite slowly becoming fond of their host. He keeps you fed. Bringing you with him to the field, letting you gorge yourself on blood and carnage and pain until all you can do is drape yourself over his broad shoulders and lazily flick your magic around when it’s required. And he’s decently entertaining for a mortal. Has to be the best company you’ve been forced to keep in at least a few hundred years.

Though you found yourself getting increasingly irritated each time he came home from a mission and thanked God of all people. Letting him pick up a few more scrapes and bruises than you usually would on his missions after that whole bit started. Each murmured ‘Thank you’ making you hiss and howl down at him from your perch in the shadows. Wanting to show him just who he should be thanking for his survival.

Tired of his baseless belief and wanting to teach him a lesson on saying thank you; you revealed your human form to him during midnight mass on Christmas Day. Can’t say you didn’t have a sense of humor.

You sat alone in the pews. Feeling when he entered the church minutes after you. Skin erupting into goosebumps, hair standing on end, a heat starting under your skin like you’d been dropped into a pot of water being slowly brought to a boil. You watched from the corner of your eye as he and his family slowly made their way down the rows of pews, finding yours was the only one with enough room to hold the lot of them together. It all seemed too perfect when you and Johnny ended up knee-to-knee.

You felt his energy shift. He could feel you as much as you could feel him, but the sensation was foreign to him. The same discomfort you’d been plunged into when you took your human form. Trying to cooly fold the sleeves of his dress shirt up at his elbows and seem attentive to his mother who was harping on him about his hair up until the moment the priest stepped to the pulpit.

You didn’t get a chance at him until the congregation was finally prompted to greet one another. Some love your neighbor nonsense.

Johnny turned to you immediately. Standing from his pew with the rest of the crowd. Unable to sit still in such discomfort. His skin hot as yours. Buzzing just under the surface like he was inches away from a live wire.

You blinked up at him through thick lashes, wetting your lips with a flick of your tongue before pushing to your feet. Letting him shift his weight for a few more moments as you looked him over.

Standing in front of him, he dwarfed you. Always had- but especially now when you didn’t have your wings or horns to compensate. Not the tallest in the room, but carried himself like he was. Chest puffed out, arms subtly flexed by his sides, dress shirt hugging his muscled form just right.

He stuck a hand out. Brow cocked as he sized you up with glittering blue eyes.

“Peace be with you.”

He spoke first. You fitted your hand in his. Barely blinking when the meeting of your skin elicited something like a static shock. Relieving both of you from your discomfort.

“And with your spirit.”

You responded through a coy smile. He looked reluctant to take his arm back. The shock hadn’t deterred him. Instead he wrapped his fingers all the way around your hand, hanging on to you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“Alone on Christmas?”

He still didn’t let go of your hand. A sharp smile. Almost predatory.

“Nobody to spend it with.”

You shrugged, still gazing up at him with big doe eyes. Finally allowing your hand to drop from his and immediately feeling pins and needles in the absence of his touch.

“Don’t believe that for a minute.”

You caught his knee inching toward yours on more than one occasion as the mass carried on. Like he was testing the waters to see if you were truly the reprive he was seeking. Fidgeting slightly where he sat. Teeth clicking softly as he ground them. Cracking his knuckles. Clenching and unclenching his jaw. Shifting his hips slightly forward on the bench. To his credit, he showed an impressive amount of restraint. Never touching you. Not that it would have done much through his trousers.

The one true pitfall of your being bound to his soul. Forgotten until now in its seeming insignificance. It was near agony for the both of you when you took human form. Like your life force being torn in two and dangled temptingly close but just out of arm’s reach. A kind of pain that didn’t need to land blows on either of your physicalities. Felt divinely through each you. Not used to being separated, you had an almost instinctual need to be together. You’d known beforehand and he seemed to be picking up on it quickly. Skin needed to touch skin in order to provide either one of you any relief. Give both of your spirits space to knit themselves back together.

For being so tightly braided in the fibers of his being, you found it almost shocking that you hadn’t noticed how desperate he could be when he was looking for release. Body tense in his increased discomfort. No doubt grappling with the effects of your separation. Sweat beading at the back of his neck. Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Bouncing his knee. Looking up toward the rafters before fixing his gaze on you in an attempt to pass it off as a sweep of the room. The way he brushed your arm reaching over you for a bible nestled in a pocket just in front of you. Making contact with your exposed skin for a fraction of a second and nearly whining when the both of you felt your unease settle for a fleeting moment.

Trying to push up against you when you were down on the kneelers, murmuring a clipped apology each time. Still somehow finding time to rake his eyes over you. Nails digging little half-moons into the back of his hands where they were clasped in prayer.

On the tail end of the service, communion was given. You followed behind Johnny and his family. Just behind him like you had so many times before. His normal prowl substituted for a more casual saunter. Subduing his ego for something a bit more reserved in the presence of not only his family but also the good lord. Nodding his thanks as he took his bread and wine. You had to fight back the distasteful curl of your lip at the motion. Even now he was thanking God.

You saw the way he tried to casually turn his gaze back to you when you stepped up to take your Eucharist. Tongue laid out flat and long, head tipped back a few degrees. Intentionally pornographic in your acceptance of the wafer. Nearly tripping over his feet when he caught you staring straight back to him. You made a show of pulling your tongue back into your mouth, your best attempt at a demure smile curving your lips.

He tailed you closely on your march out of the church. You lingering on the walkway. Seeing the way his eyes flicked back to you as he walked his parents to their car. Mother still going on about something or the other. He needed to visit more or he needed a proper haircut or he needed to call more. He cut her off with a kiss on the cheek before closing the car door. Shook his father’s hand. And as expected, crossed the parking lot quickly to get back to you. Grinning wolfishly as he saw you stood with your winter coat folded neatly over your arms pretending to look around for who knew what.

“Still alone, are we?”

He queried, standing in front of you, folding his arms over his chest. You didn’t miss the way he flexed just barely, making the dress shirt bite into his bicep.

“You worried about me?”

You cocked your head slightly to the side, chewing the inside of your lip to dilute the smile threatening to curl your lips.

“Ken I oughta be, pretty lass like you.”

He chuckled softly, blue eyes glittering under the warm glow of the lights outside the church.

“Aren’t you sweet.”

You deadpanned.

“You’ve got no idea.”

He’s used to getting what he wants, that ego of his. And you’d made the mistake of not outlining exactly how quickly you’d play into his game beforehand. Mind now clouded from not being with him. Walls came crumbling down embarrassingly quick.

He’d somehow persuaded you to let him give you a lift back to his place. You making up some excuse about not being from the area, staying with a friend who must have fallen asleep instead of picking you up after church. Somehow allowed him to keep his hand fixed on the small of your back up two flights of stairs to his flat. Somehow wound up with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand, pushed onto the couch with Johnny sandwiching you against the arm.

Awfully smart for a mortal man. Figured out what it took to keep him comfortable and ran with it. His fingertips ghosting along the hem of your dress. Delighting in the goosebumps both of you got when he brushed your skin with his. The insatiable heat crackling within each of you dying down each time only to be fanned with a renewed fervor when he drew back. Eventually settling on not pulling away at all. Resting his hand on the top of your thigh, running the fabric of your dress between a few fingers. Careful to keep his palm flat against you. Infuriatingly comfortable with you seeing as you were a complete stranger to him. Chatting like the two of you were old friends. Flirting like you had done this time and time again.

He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Couldn’t be arsed to play the fool and try and skirt around the subject. A dog after a bone, really. Practically drooling over you as you made idle chitchat. And the worst part was that it was working. You’d try to blame it on your addled state. Not in your right mind. Only you knew how flimsy those excuses were. Trying to curb his advances with little success. Trying to keep the ball in your court.

You were still looking to assign blame to something when he grabbed your hips and tugged you under him on the couch. Circumstance. Mindset. Whiskey. Church. God. You couldn’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about. Something insignificant. Very well could have been the weather. You had a feeling it didn’t really matter.

Hovering over you close enough to feel his feverish heat all over. His knee forcing its way between your legs like he felt some kind of right. Using his big paws, still clamped around your hips to grind you against his thigh. A sharp laugh when you tried to hide the soft mewls that bubbled up inside you.

You felt smaller than you had in eons. Not used to being jerked about. Reduced to something resembling a true human under Johnny’s touch. Not having been material for centuries would do that, you supposed. No room to think about the needs of your physical body if it’s something that’s been shelved until now. And- fuck. It’s like somehow your body had found room to store up thousands of years of repression. Bursting at the seams. Somehow, the heat in your belly rivaled that of being separated from him. A feeling that couldn’t be sated like your bloodlust. Like a hunger that could claw its way up out of you if left untreated.

He was grinning at you like the cat that ate the fucking canary. Properly giddy. Tickled with himself for snatching you up. You wanted to snap at him. Hiss and spit like you had when he’d thanked God instead of you after a mission. Remind him that he wasn’t the hero he thought he was because this was all part of your plan, but the words died in your throat.

“Jesus. Thought you’d be a good girl. Meetin’ you in a church and all.”

His voice wasn’t doing anything to help your case. Nearly sending you feral under him. Unable to help the wetness gathering at your sex. You tried to press your thighs together. To buck his hands off of you, but it only made him snap his teeth in your face. His fingers bit in just a touch harder, pressing you down into the couch.

“Thought you said you were sweet.”

You bit back, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Dinnae know s’what you wanted. Don’t seem like it.”

“Funny.”

You shot back, voice a bit more obviously breathless than you would have liked. He’d let go of your hips, leaving you to grind yourself against the muscle of his thigh that was pressed tightly against you. He looked down, watching the way you moved. Whining at the sight. You were much too lost in your mind to notice the small damp spot that was forming on the leg of his trousers. Rolling your hips lazily against him.

“You like funny? Cunt get this wet for any funny bastard that comes along?”

You couldn’t muffle the high keening sound that tore from your throat in time. His filthy words taking you by surprise. Blinking rapidly and making a vain effort to still your hips, but he was quick to the kill. Snorting a laugh and tugging you up off the couch. Bullying you down the short hallway and into his bedroom. Walking you backwards using his legs to guide you. Puffed-out chest knocking you in the direction he wanted, kicking at your feet if you were going to run into the wall or a corner. Herding you like some sort of farm dog. There was a nasty look in his eyes now that you weren’t touching anymore. Even a few seconds apart seemed too much.

He shoved you backward onto the bed, not giving you time to adjust the awkward angle at which you’d landed before he was knelt before you on the ground. Yanking you forward by the backs of your knees which caused your dress to bunch at your hips. Leaving your dripping sex exposed to him. The thin panties doing little to hide your arousal. You yipped softly, trying to twist away from him. Give yourself the high ground, but he wasn’t having it.

He wasn’t the light, arrogant, charming Johnny you’d seen before. Nor was he the dark, rough operator you’d seen him be on the field. This was something different entirely. He looked like a predator that had finally caught some elusive prey. A flash of his teeth through an infuriatingly smug smile. Eyes raking you over like he was about to tear into you. It made something deep within you coil tightly. The heat in your belly now at a roaring boil. Your plan long forgotten. Lost somewhere to swirl among the fog that took over your mind.

Given the animosity he was exuding, he took his sweet time warming you up. Kissing, nipping, sucking, licking his way up your legs. From knee to hip on both sides. Leaving small, dark marks on your skin. Marking his territory. Panting softly over your barely clothed cunt. You making your situation even worse when you twitched and mewled softly under him. Cheeks burning a deep scarlet.

It was entirely too much and somehow not enough. The visual of him knelt between your legs that were hanging off the bed. His artful way of touching you. Your thundering heartbeat and the blood rushing in your ears. It nearly pushed you over the edge without him even needing to touch you.

He was a dog pulling on a taught leash. Doing everything he could to restrain himself. His breathing was ragged. Eyes steely. Pupils blown out. Unable to look away from the damp spot on your panties. Humming his approval at the sight. Working his calloused fingers under the fabric and guiding them down your legs. His muscles were tense, impossibly so, threatening to burst the seams of his shirt. Swallowing hard when he finally got a look at your drooling pussy.

“Jesus, bonnie. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He shifted slightly on his knees. Cock pressing uncomfortably hard against his pants. The muscles in his jaw twitched slightly. Sat stilled for a moment with his hands at your thighs with a white-knuckle grip.

You whined. A choked sound. Trying to squirm out of his eyesight. A bit uncomfortable being ogled. This sent him back into action, strong hands yanking you back toward him. Snapping his teeth in your face in warning.

He then spent more time working you out. Like he had nothing else he’d rather be doing. His mouth hot and wet. Touching anywhere but your clit out of some torturous principle. Spreading you open with his thumbs. Lolling out his tongue and allowing drool to drip down off it and add to your gathering slick. Blowing cool air on you. Watching your every twitch and shake with lust-glazed eyes that somehow seemed more attentive than normal. Committing you to memory.

You were nearly in tears. He’d ruined your plan. Turned you from an all powerful being into some shivering, whimpering thing. Overstimulated without him needing to wreck you with an orgasm. Sweating and whining and yelping at his touch. Trying to tangle your fingers in his hair and jerk him closer, but he just swatted your hands away or sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh to shut you up. Unable to be put off of his path even after you’d stooped well below your status and managed to ask nicely a few times.

And when he finally, fucking finally, showed you a bit of mercy; he only sunk one finger into you. Enough to make you let out a low, throaty growl, but not enough to satisfy you. He pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Biting his lip and panting as he watched the way your drooling cunt swallowed him so perfectly. You tried to roll your hips into him like you had on the couch. Tried to grind into his knuckles to give your swollen clit some friction, but he rewarded your efforts with a mean slap on the leg. It took you by surprise. Pain like that- physical pain- had been so rare that it made you cry out and jerk your head up to stare at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“Yer gettin’ bratty. Take what I give you.”

He shrugged, still unable to tear his eyes away from where you were clenched around him. Though he didn’t bother hiding the smug smile he was sporting.

“N-not enough. More.”

You whined, tossing your head back onto the mattress.

“Hell of a way to say thank you.”

He chided, tutting his tongue softly.

“You’re out of your mind if-“

He put a quick stop to your impending tirade by stuffing you full with another finger. A soft squelching sound as he began to pump faster that sent you reeling. Unable to form a coherent thought, you were left to fall apart on his bed. Legs hanging lamely off the edge as he had his way with your cunt. Treating it like you weren’t even there. Cooing pure filthy words of admiration to your sweet cunt. Pinching around your clit for a moment before sliding back down to hold you open between the index and middle fingers of his free hand.

Fuck. So pretty. Look how she sucks me in, mm? Needy thing. Never been treated this good? Need‘ta get you ready, yeah? Bet she’ll be prettier all stretched out.

By this point, you were sobbing. Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and creating little stains on the comforter on either side of your head. Rolling down your neck. Something coiled so tightly under your belly that you were certain you would implode. Turn yourself inside out before he ever granted you release. Pained and overstimulated and under-stimulated all at once. Rendering you useless in doing anything other than moaning and fisting the sheets weakly in your hands.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, until he could tell that you were getting pushed to your breaking point. Working up his pace. Curling his fingers more and more. Letting his breath fan you. Still uttering filth like it was prayer. Fucking reverent. Slowly adding drops of water to a reservoir until the dam burst. It sent you careening over the edge when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a gentle suck. Lewd, wet noises coming from the both of you. It took all of a few seconds for you to reach your orgasm. Whatever had been furled tightly within you finally snapping and exploding outwards. Wiping your mind clean. Only allowing you to focus on your release. Walls clenching and spasming around his fingers that did not relent. Crying out and moaning and gasping much louder than you’d meant. Clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. Bucking your hips up into him and re-starting the entire process when your now hypersensitive clit grazed his teeth or tongue.

He stayed latched on to you for much longer than was appropriate. Lapping up as much of your spend as he could. Working his fingers into you well past the point of exhaustion. Keeping you spread open and on his view the entire way. Paying no mind to the way his knees began to object to his position or how tight his cock was pressed against his pants. Obsessed with the way your body reacted to him. Obsessed with your pleasure.

It felt like he was trying to make you come completely undone. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were nothing but a puddle on the bed. He spared you no mercy when he finally pushed himself to his feet. Hands flying to his belt and tearing it off. Too impatient be bothered to shed his trousers completely, opting to tuck the waistband just under his heavy balls. Shucking your dress up over your head. Using the slick gathered on his hands to lubricate his cock before he started fucking into his hand.

His leaking tip bumped against your clit each time he thrusted forward, sending you spiraling. Seeing stars. And now that he was certain he’d gotten you to come, it seemed the only thing he could focus on was his own orgasm. Yanking off his dress shirt with one hand. Working his needy mouth across your chest, up your neck, over your jaw until finally he met your lips. Leaving a slick trail of spit in his wake. Meeting your mouth with such a desperation that your teeth bumped together. His tongue sloppily working it’s way past your lips and further into your mouth.

He continued to fuck into his hands, eyes rolling back each time he brushed against you. Hypersensitive by nature, amplified a thousand times by the throbbing hardness of his cock. Dipping into you just a centimeter at a time. Driving the both of you insane. The scalding heat of his skin pressed flush against yours. The taste of yourself still on his mouth and chin. Sweat on sweat. Your head spinning. Mind still clouded with blinding pleasure. You wanted to tear him to shreds. So frustrated with him and his effect on you. Ruining your plans. Like he’d taken a seam ripper to your edges and was pulling you apart without even needing to try.

He hummed something filthy that you couldn’t quite make out. Sound muffled by the blood thundering through your ears. Letting out something that resembled a scream when he finally sheathed his cock deep within your walls. No longer satisfied with the stimulation of his hand. Bottoming out on his first thrust. Finally slipping himself out of the collar that was choking him in his rabid attempt to bury himself in you. He gave you no time to adjust to his girth, and you found yourself truly connecting the dots as to why he was so insistent on stretching you out with his fingers and loosening you up with multiple orgasms.

Your back arching impossibly further up into him. His sweat-slick forehead pressed hard against yours. Noses bumping together as he set a punishing pace humping into you. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Groaning and whining about how good you felt around him. He was beating hard against your cervix. White-hot pain popped spots behind your eyes. Your body trying to adjust to the feeling of him buried so deep.

“Fuckin’ perfect. Takin’ me so good.”

His tone was stuck somewhere resembling a growl. Rumbling so low you swore you could feel it in in your chest. Teeth clenched. Huffing in sharp breaths as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly. All you could do was mewl and cry under him in response.

He reached his orgasm relatively quickly, burying impossibly deeper into you when he finally came. His face buried into the crook of your neck, teeth sunk into your collarbone. It irritated you that he didn’t think to ask if he should pull out. But that was yet another boundary he didn’t seem to care for. Like he knew there was no way you could deny him. Like he felt that same entitlement to any part of you that he wanted. And honestly- that thought rang dauntingly true.

He thrust lazily into you, riding out his high before collapsing down next to you. Still sporting that infuriatingly smug grin. Fucking glowing. Tugging you over into his big arms and wrapping them around you. Tucking you under his chin and suffocating you with his smell. Sex and whiskey and cologne and incense. You hated that it worked to calm your aching body and mind.

“Oughta keep you around.”

He mused, chuckling breathlessly over you.

You simply hummed your response. Sighing sharply and resigning to the fact that revealing yourself to him at all may have been a mistake. You were at his service indefinitely.

#this took me forever to write because writing smut is so hard I kept having to take giggle breaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap x reader #John soap MacTavish smut #soap smut

[lavared]

-

(More details under the cut)

-

[...]

"...You know, the usual? Turning into a gross spider, brooding in the shadows, doing your mother's dirty work, crawling back to the swamps so you can finally leave us alone???"

"And why, pray tell, should I do something else when I can watch you make a spectacle of yourself instead?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about this new embarrassing habit of yours. You've been spending an awful lot of time hiding behind the trees to ogle poor unsuspecting lasses."

"I'm-I'm NOT! First off, how long have you been spying on me, exactly? No, wait- I don't really want to know that. And second, I'm not doing anything, and I'm definitely NOT ogling. I'm just standing guard."

"(Scoffs) Oh, are you really? I didn't know standing guard involved all this blushing and heavy sighing. We might have done it wrong all this time, I see."

"(Sighs)...Listen, believe what you will. The Commander asked us to keep watch, so I suggest you do the same, preferably twenty or eighty feet away from me, alright? Thanks."

"As your dear Commander wishes. But I suggest you close your mouth while on...duty. We already have a dog, we don't need another slobbery creature in our fun little party."

#yep i'm back on my bullshit #it took me forever to finish this but life is hard sometimes #pardon my writing there might be some mistakes but i just felt the need to put some context behind this thing #plus i hate this sketch now #it's so not what i wanted to post but an imperfect piece is still better than nothing at all right #so take it as it is i just needed to get this out of my system #btw if you're wondering morrigan's outfit was inspired by a cool recolor of the mage robes #and alistair's armor is my take on the in-game diligence armor #my art #sketch #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da: origins #da:o #dao #dragon age morrigan #dragon age alistair #morrigan #alistair #alistair theirin

[finntheehumaneater]

thinking about Eddie, who because of the upsidedown was in a coma for effectively the rest of '86. When he woke up he had to re-learn a lot of shit, since even after he could open his eyes and sit up, moving was still hard.

Steve and Robin go with him to all of his PT appointments as he works on moving and standing up, but not walking yet. The therapist overhears him complaining to Steve about how he misses writing, since his hands are too shaky for the words to be legible.

She tells him that if he wants to write better he should practice more, and maybe pick something else up that requires small, repetitive movements, like sewing or crocheting.

Eddie is about to open his mouth to say that sewing might be a good idea, because he can work on putting his old patches onto the new vest that the kids bought him as a "we're glad you're not dead present", when Robin comes back from the bathroom and pipes up that she has some crocheting stuff from when she and Steve tried to learn together a few years back, and that's the end of that conversation.

crocheting is his least favorite part of the night, even if Robin and Steve are patient and let him pick the movie in the background and don't get frustrated when he drops the hook between the couch cushions for the thirtieth time in an hour.

Eventually he gets the hang of it, but--out of spite--refuses to make anything other than a very long line with his yarn, telling Steve and Robin he's going to strangle them with it when he's done, because crocheting "is literally the least metal thing in the world."

He stops threatening to strangle Robin after she makes him a little bat.

#i saw a girl at my PT appointment who got recommended this and she looked mortified #but her bf got so excited and went “fuck yeah babe i'm gonna make you SO MUCH STUFF!” #it was adorable #Steddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Robin Buckley #Stobin #i just think that robin and eddie would be best friends #i'm crocheting myself a blanket it's taking forever and i hate it but i do it when i watch movies because i don't have to worry about #what to do with my hands #Steddie drabbles #might write this one day #or someone else could take inspo and save me the trouble i dunno how tf i would describe how you crochet #my post #stranger things #steve x eddie #finn writes

[abrahamvanhelsings]

crozier being kidnapped and telling goodsir not to worry because edward will be there on the morrow, completely sure of it, like it's inevitable. edward in fact immediately going to rally the men to get crozier back and finding they held a vote without him and it's been decided they'll leave without crozier (and without the sick). edward having the choice between being left alone with no chance at crozier's rescue or his own survival, or taking up his duty and leading the men onward. crozier in hickey's camp believing in edward's sense of loyalty and edward not showing up, not knowing how edward fought for him. crozier showing up at the final camp seeing edward mutilated but alive like he told him to, only to die. thinking about edward's absolute sense of loyalty to his captain and duty towards the men tearing him apart and it never saves anyone

#crozier thinking edward left him behind kills me #out there with jopson dying thinking crozier left him behind. things that will haunt me forever #the terror #was having lunch with colleagues (media scholars) who were discussing oscar nominated films #but i was silent for the whole of it bc i was sitting there like *autism creature* <- full of terror thoughts #imagine watching anything else. lmao. not me for the coming three months at the very least #im about to write another post abt edward's loyalty to crozier and how that's both a strength and a flaw in fact #also thinking abt le vesconte holding that vote bc like... w/o crozier edward is ranking #like the hierarchy is in shambles but the vestiges of it are still there #something so insidious abt making sure the men are united in their decision against edward bc dundy Knows what edward would want #and it isn't to leave. so he takes away the option entirely #im not saying this is completely evil. dundy is also acting in a way that he thinks will save the most men (i.e. cutting out the weak links #and not embarking on some desperate rescue mission #but it is so underhanded still #edward little