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matan4il · 3 days

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I've written before that the Iranian attack on Israel is pretty unprecedented, and I was thinking in terms of the history of this specific conflict, but it's actually true on a bigger scale as well.

They launched at least 331 airborne weapons that Israel has intercepted as well, more if you take into account what was intercepted by other countries. Most of the weapons were launched out of Iran itself, but some were launched by Iran's proxies from the territories of Yemen and Syria.

Now, the suicide drones? Take about 8 hours to make it from Iran to Israel. The cruise missiles? Around 4 hours. And the ballistic missiles? Those are the ones that would cause the most damage and would be the hardest to intercept, they actually leave the Earth's atmosphere, travel in outer space and re-enter right before they strike, and they move at such a speed that they make it from Iran to Israel within just 10 minutes. So imagine what it means, that Iran launched all of these weapons at different times, from different locations, but coordinated everything to make sure they'd all hit Israel at roughly the same time. That was done in order to tax our defence systems, to maximize how much would get through and succeed in hurting Israelis. Despite that, 100% of the drones were intercepted, as were 100% of the cruise missiles, and 99% of the ballistic missiles. Only one person (a 7 year old Muslim Bedouine girl, Amin al-Houssani, was injured, please keep her in your thoughts) was directly hurt (though over 60 more people were indirectly harmed).

Defence systems usually aim for a success rate of between 80 to 90% interceptions, so the fact that this MASSIVE and UNPRECEDENTED attack was launched, designed to penetrate all of the defence systems that could be employed against it for maximal damage, yet Israel and the coalition that came together (including Arab countries) to stop Iran's attack managed to make sure that less than 1% got in? Unbelievable. The attack was unprecedented, and so was the defence. I can tell you, even some of the Israelis who worked on developing our defence systems for years felt the success rate had actually exceeded their expectations. That said, the attack was bigger than anyone in Israel thought it would be, too.

Just to really drive home what a ballistic missile is like, this is just the engine carrying part of this ballistic missile, which was intercepted over the Dead Sea (Iran launched at least 110 at Israel, 99% of which were successfully intercepted):

But even intercepted airborne weapons cause damage. Little Amina was hit by debris from an interception. I'm sharing a vid, cut from the news (it's just for visuals, so I didn't translate it), which shows one of the few hits inside Israel (filmed by Israeli Muslim Arab Bedouins, you can hear one of them calling in panic to his friend, Ramadan), and then the debris that the IDF collected and removed by trucks, to give you an idea of the size of these pieces of weapons, falling from the sky, after they had flown across 1,600 kilometers (~1000 miles):

Bottom line, it's no surprise that the Israeli Chief of Staff made it clear that there will be an Israeli response. We don't know yet what kind of a response it would be, or when it will take place, but there will be one. This kind of attack from Iran just can't be met with silence. If it were, that would imply acceptance of the massive and unprecedented nature of the attack, which in themselves constitute evidence that Iran very much did intend to cause Israel real damage.

That means if Israel accepts the attack with a shrug of, "hey, we inetrcepted it, and it only cost us 5 billion shekels, so we can just look the other way," then next time? Iran will launch an even bigger attack, to try and get past this remarkable defence. And there will be a next Iranian attack, no matter what excuse they use in order to launch it.

In related news, the Iranian-funded terrorist organization Hezbollah has launched two attack drones at Israel today, which did not set off the warning alarms, crashed in Israeli territory, caused a fire, and wounded at least 3 people.

Meanwhile, this is a reminder that while the Islamist regime of Iran has had a lot of victims since its inception in 1979, no one has suffered at its hands more than the Iranian People. It's no wonder that there are signs of Israel support in Iran, even under that oppressive dictatorship. Here's a graffiti seen in Tehran:

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #iran

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sea-salted-wolverine · 1 month

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In honor of the moose/Iditarod rule 34 chaos post reaching 1000 notes and then Dallas Seavy winning the Iditarod here are all the unhinged stories and things I know about that race

They changed the rules and schedules so you can't do this anymore, but there was a subset of mushers who would race the Yukon Quest and the Iditarod back to back. That's a 1000-mile race followed by another 1000-mile race through some of the harshest terrain on earth in late winter. And the Yukon quest doesn't even finish where the Iditarod starts. To do this required putting dogs in a plane OR having another team of dogs waiting in anchorage and someone to deal with both teams of dogs.

The first woman to win the Iditarod was Libby Riddles in 1985.

Only to have her finish promptly blown out of the water by Susan Butcher who won the race in 86', 87', 88', and 90' while setting speed records the whole way.

Susan did race in 85' but she ran into a moose early and it killed two of her dogs and hurt the rest so she scratched. Dallas got lucky this year.

She was also the first person to mush a dog team up to the summit of Denali, the tallest mountain in North America. This is not what dog teams are intended to do, I don't know why she even wanted to, other than to prove it was possible. I don't think anyone has since.

The race now requires GPS trackers on all the racers and you would not believe the bitchfit everyone threw over those. Mushers can either hop between checkpoints or camp on the trail and it may surprise you to learn that these are the kind of people who have secret camp spots in the woods that they don't want anyone to know about. So now, everyone has acquiesced to the tracker requirement but you must have an account on the race website if you want to see them.

The race has 2 paths that alternate even and odd years with different checkpoints but every year includes a section of race that crosses the sea ice, approximately 50 miles from Shaktoolik to Koyuk. so forget landmarks. point the sled north and hope you're going the right way.

the race is in honor of the 1925 Serum Run and the diphtheria outbreak, but the trail itself is the old freight route which is almost twice the length. also, it's a freight route for hauling freight which means the the racers are going at more or less lightspeed as compared to the intended use.

the most effective way to avoid frostbite on your face is a fur hood and duct tape on your cheeks and nose. Cold-related injuries are rare but far from unheard of. The average number of toes and fingertips among mushers is lower than that of the general population.

The finish line is a massive burled arch in the middle of main street in Nome. There is not a lot going on in Nome at any given time and this time of year is the exception. Every racer who finishes the race gets the same reception, which is everyone in town crowding into the finish chute to cheer them on and the city fire siren going off. The last racer in gets the Red Lantern Award which means that they finished dead last but didn't scratch.

the 2020 race had started and was fully underway when the pandemic lockdowns came into place. as far as social distancing goes, you really can't do much better than being isolated 100 miles into the middle of frozen nowhere but the checkpoints are itty bitty villages with no medical infrastructure and the finish was reportedly terrifying because instead of a crowd to cheer at the burled arch, it was just the siren going off in a ghost town.

there is no way I can tell this story that doesn't sound like I'm making it up as I go. The sign says no sniveling and they fucking mean it.

no really, click that link. here's the YouTube vid (non-graphic, after-the-fact interviews)

#from the far north #wolverine warbles #iditarod #dog mushing #alaska

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 6 months

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ONLY HUMAN

Summary: Changes are happening. Rafe can feel it.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, "Blood-Drinking", Character Death, Smut, Horror.

Word Count: 2k words

Author's Note: Wanted to contribute to Kintober but also wanted to experiment with how and what I write. Hope you enjoy and Happy Halloween 😈

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

It was the headaches that first hinted something was wrong.

Not just mild, fleeting headaches, but relentless migraines. They were excruciating, bouts of pain that seemed to originate from deep within his skull, right behind his eyes and radiating outwards in waves.

They were accompanied by disturbing visual auras—shimmering zigzags of light that swirled around his field of vision, making the world seem fractured and broken. He couldn't help but wonder if something sinister was taking root—something malignant, something deadly.

Over-the-counter pain pills and the heavy prescribed meds from his dad’s bathroom cabinet didn’t help. Being exposed to sunlight only made things worse; once a source of warmth, now felt like molten fire, forcing him to wear his sunglasses indoors. But after a while even that didn't work.

The only respite came when he submerged himself in utter darkness. And so his days became isolated, cocooned within the confines of his bedroom. The thick, heavy curtains drawn creating a sanctuary from the glaring sunlight that now felt like an enemy.

Cloaked in this artificial night, he clung to the few comforts that remained: scrolling through his Instagram feed to stay connected with friends. But even their mundane accomplishments made him feel worse, knowing the world carried on—while his was standing still.

Topper boasted about his championship win and how his dad was lending him the family boat to celebrate. Kelce posted pictures of himself at the golf club, scoring a suspiciously low 90. And then there was you. Sweet you. Pretty you.

“When did you get a puppy?”

He clicked on the video, showing you cradling the little fur ball. Despite the pain, a chuckle escaped Rafe's lips.

Ah, so it wasn’t your pup after all but a friend’s, he mused. He watched as you gently petted and cooed at it, your voice a calming balm soothed even his anxiety while his gaze drank in your contented features slowly, lingering just a tad too long on your eyes and lips.

Clearing his throat Rafe clicked off the vid.

RAFE- Yo can you guys quit posting this shit? You know I'm dying over here. Don't need to feel like killing myself too.

The boys' "lols" and your kiss and hug emojis, along with well-wishes, made him smile, giving him a glimmer of hope. "It'll pass in a few days," Topper responded. "Migraines can't last forever. You'll be up and about soon," you assured. And for a brief moment, Rafe believed it.

But then, the loss of appetite hit him.

Food suddenly didn't have the same appeal anymore, not after the headaches started. Bland, tasteless, gagging on his favorite meal—the texture of food itself seemed off somehow, like it wasn't going down quite right, like it wouldn't clear his throat when he swallowed it. And if the terrible texture wasn't bad enough, it tasted like it wasn't made for human consumption. Every bite seemed artificial, a blend of plastics and chemicals.

Drinking water only seemed to make things worse—every sip led to a lurching of his stomach, a violent uprising of nausea that ended with him hunched over the toilet, retching, even when it seemed there was nothing left.

Enough was enough.

He decided to video call Dr. Morris.

"Were you able to take your temperature recently?" She asked as she scribbled down his list of symptoms.

Rafe touched a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, it’s pretty normal. Checked it this morning; it was 98.6, or maybe just a touch below."

"Alright..." Dr. Morris murmured as she scribbled notes. "And the headaches, did they appear with the eye changes?"

"Eye changes? What changes?"

Dr. Morris gave a short laugh as if he was pulling her leg but stopped immediately when he didn't laugh with her. "There's discolouration around the edge," she said, her finger making a circle near her own pupil. "It's crimson. Haven't you noticed the color change?"

Rafe leaned closer to the screen, trying to see the reflection of his own eyes. They did seem different—possibly a bit darker around the edges? It was hard to tell in the dim light.

"I haven't noticed—no offense, doc, but I've had other things on my mind," he replied tersely. "So, what's wrong with me?"

"These symptoms can indicate many things: the flu, food intolerance, a bacterial infection. We'll need to run tests. But given your age and lifestyle, I suspect it's just a bug. I'll refer you to Claire for a blood test appointment this week, and in the meantime, I'll prescribe something for nausea to help you keep food and fluids down."

"Alright... doc." he nodded with a sigh of relief "That sounds like a plan."

Time bore down upon Rafe, its weight an oppressive force that enveloped each passing moment, shrouded in the inescapable cocoon of artificial darkness. The world outside seemed distant, lost behind the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.

Confined within his dimly lit room, the persistent throb in his head wove a malevolent lullaby, blurring the boundary between reality and hallucination. The antinausea pills only dulled the edges of his suffering, allowing sips of water to stay down, while he managed to eat small morsels of food. But a hunger unlike anything he had ever experienced before clawed at him from deep within, a gnawing emptiness that defied satiation.

Amidst his despair, his Instagram feed served as his bridge to the outside world, a bittersweet reprieve. Travels, festivities, sporting events—brief snapshots of lives that captivated him as long as it took to scroll. Yet, within those fleeting glimpses, you shone distinctly. A light in the darkness. With a magnetic radiance, your digital presence seemed more real than the dim walls surrounding him. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, toggling between your Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook, silently observing every aspect of your life.

You were his friend and yet, with each photo and video, you unveiled new layers he had never noticed before. Were you always this serene? This happy? Your laugh that infectious? Peace seemed to radiate from you. And he found himself wanting to understand its source. Your digital presence had become a double-edged sword—offering him solace at one moment and then amplifying his torment in the next.

And then one night, the comforting yet painful ritual of immersing himself in your virtual world was interrupted.

Rubbing his eyes, aching from the screen's glare, he decided to splash some water on his face. Entering the dimly lit bathroom, he was startled by his own reflection. Leaning closer to the mirror, his eyes just inches away from the glass, he scrutinized the change.

The crimson around his pupils had grown darker, more pronounced, and now covered most of his pupil.

But what scared him more was the pulsing pattern. Every heartbeat seemed to send ripples through the shade, expanding and contracting with his pulse as if it had a life of its own. As if it were connected to some deeper, more sinister force within him.

"What the fuck?"

Panic set in, and Rafe fumbled to switch on the brighter overhead lights, hoping that maybe the subtle light from the bathroom bulb was playing tricks on him.

But under the stark, unforgiving light, the reality became even clearer. His heart raced, matching the rhythm of the ominous pulsing in his eyes. It was as though something was alive in there. A parasite. A silent watcher buried deep within, looking back at him from the mirror.

And just as that thought gripped his mind, another thought intruded, one that wasn't his own.

SLEEP

A dark siren echoed through his consciousness, promising peace and tranquility if only he gave in.

SLEEP

Its voice dripped with honeyed sweetness, promising it would make it all better.

SLEEP

Rafe felt its presence, an intangible force that clouded his thoughts, pulling him down into an abyss of darkness. He wanted to resist, to fight back against the compulsion that demanded his obedience. But fatigue suddenly weighed heavily on his eyelids, and the false comfort of the voice was impossible to resist.

SLEEP

With trembling hands, Rafe switched off the bathroom light, the shadows immediately lengthening and merging into one great expanse of blackness.

SLEEP

Suddenly, his steps were heavy, as if sinking into quicksand, his mind numb and zombified as he trudged along. Exhaustion made it a struggle to even reach his bed, and when he finally collapsed onto it, heart pounding against his ribcage, he began to sob because he knew he was surrendering to the unknown.

You awaken with a jolt, your heart racing and your eyes darting wildly in the pitch black. The air in your bedroom feels thick, an ominous heaviness that chills you to the bone. Your bed, once a sanctuary of familiarity and safety, now seems alien and cold beneath you.

Something catches your attention—a subtle but undeniable weight at the foot of your bed.

With trepidation, you force yourself to look down, and sheer horror grips you.

There, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight, is Rafe—or at least what remains of him. His posture is slumped, defeated, his silhouette a mix of lost and predatory.

Your throat tightens, and a scream gets stuck within it, but before it can escape, Rafe's voice—eerie and unlike him—cuts through the silence. "I had to see you... it commanded me too."

In a supernatural blur, he's suddenly upon you, his weight oppressive and suffocating. His skin is sickly pale, drawn tight over gaunt cheekbones. But it's his eyes, blood-red radiating pure evil, that hold you captive.

His icy fingers glide over your face, every touch searing your skin like a brand, a mixture of tenderness and threat that has you trembling.

"You're scared," he rasps, his voice a deathly whisper. “I’ll make it so you’re not."

The moment your lips meet, everything fades—your perception of past, present, reality; memories; even the chilling dread that had consumed you. Suddenly you're floating in a void, a liminal space between desire and oblivion.

His lips are a potent elixir, and with every passing second they pull you deeper into a spellbound haze. Your body is electrified with the intensity of his embrace. Every inch of skin comes alive beneath his ice cold touch.

Every whisper of breath; moan; gasp emanating from your lips mingles with the steady beat of your pounding heart. Your thoughts evaporate like wisps of smoke as the kiss intensifies to lust that surpasses all understanding.

His fingers leave a trail of fire down your exposed torso, as his hands slip away your clothes and his own. You do not notice. You're too consumed by pleasure and need alone. The need to be taken. The need to be fucked.

Suddenly he's pushing inside you and moving against you with an impatient hunger, claiming you for himself until you become one entity with one pulse, one breath, one desire—to reach ecstasy together.

With an animalistic vigor, he thrusts into you again and again, faster and harder, each stroke more powerful than the last. Pleasure builds inside you until there are no boundaries between pain and pleasure, only bliss. Bliss consumes every fragment of your being, building into an orgasm so profound, so primal, mounting higher and higher until—

Cold fingers seize your chin, jerking your head to reveal the delicate skin of your neck. Your eyes widen as grotesque, razor-sharp fangs extend from Rafe's perfect white teeth.

With agonizing force, they snap onto your throat, synchronizing with the grinding of his hips, and the sudden, overwhelming orgasm that tears you into a million pieces. Your muscles convulse and quiver around his cock, while Rafe's grip on your shoulder tightens, anchoring you in place as he drinks deep.

"What's happening?" you choke, sensing your heartbeat slowing. Tears now cascade down your cheeks, mingling with the blood trickling from your collarbone, staining the once-pristine white bedsheets.

"Rafe... I'm scared," you whisper, your grip on his arm weakening as desperation fills your fading gaze.

A monstrous hunger gleams in Rafe's eyes as he briefly withdraws, crimson trailing from his lips. An unsettling vitality now surrounds him, no longer pale or sickly; he appears healthy and handsome, reminiscent of his former self – a picture of perfect health.

In a cruel mockery of tenderness, he raises your wrist to his mouth, his eyes gleaming with ravenous hunger. With savage grace, he sinks his bloodstained fangs into your vein.

The world seems to bleed into his mouth as your life force drains. Each beat of his heart grows louder, stronger, overpowering the diminishing rhythm of your own, which slows... slows... and finally fades into silence.

GIF by outerbankspov

HAPPY HALLOWEEN MY LOVES 🖤😈😘

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Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

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cythena · 2 years

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600 EVENT ─ VID O2 ─ STEPBRO W/ XIAO

warnings: stepcest, recording, xiao makes reader uncomfy 90% of the time, me using “cliché porn plot” as an excuse to write cringe smut, literally my friends are gonna read this and that’s so embarrassing also like 15% unfinished so trash ending

xiao was the worst stepbrother you could’ve received. he was moody, rude, and significantly perverted. it was so obvious yet no one except you saw. at first you made a conscious attempt at forming a relationship with the guy you’d be living with but he always gave you snarky remarks and made disturbing comments. eventually you just gave up. xiao was a lost cause.

at dinners, he always sat directly across from you. you knew he was staring at your tits. it was so obvious. you would shift in your seat to see if he would break his gaze. he was practically drooling over them and no one else noticed. after the shower, he would run into your towel-draped body. you were dropping water from the shoulders down. if you were to call him out on any of his behavior he would reply with “i’m your stepbrother” as if to deny the accusations or to justify them.

then his friends were just as perverted as him. the short one who’s always seems to have some bottle of alcohol in his hand, venti, has no shame in commenting on how attractive you are. it would be sweet if it wasn’t for the word choice. the girl with the brown hair teases and jokes about xiao’s attraction excessively. the only tame ones are ganyu and kazuha.

you’ve also walked in on him watching porn numerous times. today was no different. your parents were out, his door was ajar, the woman’s spread legs were on display on his desktop facing you, and his dick was out. as soon as you opened the door to tell him to turn his shit down he spun around, confidently stroking himself. that was a first.

“what the fuck! xiao!” you screamed at him. you couldn’t help it but your eyes went straight down.

xiao only rolled his eyes, scowling he asked “what are you doing in my room?” he didn’t even bother to stop the video.

your face heated up from anger and embarrassment. you tried to calm yourself down. “i came to tell you to turn this down yoimiya is co-”

“you’re staring.”

your jaw dropped. “i’m not! p-put that away anyways! i’m your sister!”

“you’re my stepsister. we’re not really related.”

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. you crossed your arms and turned your head to the side. you would not give him the pleasure of seeing you so flustered. you wouldn’t let him think for another moment that you would ever look at him that way. “you’re so perverted it’s disgusting. you’re lucky i haven’t told our parents.”

“and why you haven’t told them?”

good question. you didn’t know why you’ve kept this secret to yourself. it’s gross. it’s bad. he’s your brother stepbrother. were you embarrassed? did you think no one would believe you? no that’s not it, your parents would believe you. was it maybe because-

“you’re into it aren’t you?” he finished your thought. you whipped your head towards him. you noticed he’d been softly stroking his cock. you wanted to faint. his thumb rubbed the tip in small circles. his face was so nonchalant.

“quit jerking yourself off to me! you’re so gross!”

xiao spun his chair halfway to see his screen then back to you. “she kinda looks like you don’t you think? that’s why i picked the video but now that i’m seeing you in person, you’re a lot hotter.”

you scoffed. “you’re disgusting.”

“oh please,” he stood up, barely making an effort to tuck himself back into his sweats. “you’re just as disgusting as i am.”

you turned your head to the side, facing xiao’s pc where his video was long finished. it showed the thumbnail of the girl being stuffed with the man’s cock with a play button over it. xiao laughed. you truly were ashamed. “how hypocritical. who’s the pervert now?”

you ignored him just wanting to get it over with so you could wallow in shame in your room. xiao reached over to his desk and pulled his phone off the charger. he immediately tapped on the camera icon of his lockscreen. he held up to your face. “i asked a question, sis.”

you cringed at the name. “shut it.” xiao grabbed your cheeks and forced your face towards the camera. your eyes widened at his phone in your face and her smirk behind it. “h-hey turn that off!” you stammered. you tried grabbing it out of his hands but he quickly pressed your wrist against your chest.

“come on don’t be like that, i already have enough footage to show mom and dad. and you care more than me,” he snickered. you whimpered as he released your wrist. “now, who’s the pervert now, sis?” what an awful name. it made you sick.

“m-me! it’s me!”

“and what else?”

“i want you to fuck me, please xiao,” you pleaded. it must’ve been enough to suffice xiao’s fantasies. as you continued whining he rubbed the tip of his cock between your folds one last time before bottoming out. you immediately clenched around him, soft walls holding onto his length. here you were, laid out for him. he lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist, pulling your body closer to him. you grabbed onto his hand holding himself up by your hip. he unconsciously let you slip your hand into his.

your body twitched as he pulled you into his chest. he thrusted up, muffling whatever moans he couldn’t hold back.

“keep this secret.”

#♡ ⌢ ₊　cy. writes #anime #genshin impact #manga #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #incel xiao #xiao x reader #xiao #xiao smut #genshin xiao #tw.stepcest #tw.smut

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tigertales9 · 10 months

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Who's the Boss?

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This is a short, porny nugget inspired by media day.

Time/Place: 6/12/23 - Cincinnati, Ohio

Edit: Added a link to the pic that inspired this - So Damn Hot

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You take a deep breath and throw a side-eye at your phone when it chimes with yet another text about your "hot ass" man.

Your cousin and your best friend are getting a kick out of Bengals media day, and they're blowing your phone up sharing lewd comments from fangirls and guys about Joe's new pics and vids.

You laugh it off for a bit before getting annoyed at a particularly raunchy comment. You don't blame folks for thirsting after your man -- his media day pic was hot as hell -- but you're not in the mood to read the OTT nastiness. Plus, you know there's plenty of comments saying you're not good enough for Joe, that he can do so much better. You roll your shoulders to ease some tension. "At least my friends have the good sense not to send me those," you mutter.

You eventually turn your phone off and start dinner prep, chewing hard on your lip when you hear the garage door open. A minute later Joe strides into the kitchen looking like walking sex, his tousled curls tumbling over his headband and his big smile almost painful for you to look at.

"Hey, babe," he says, walking up behind you to kiss your neck as you dice tomatoes for a salad. "Hey," you mumble, flinching slightly when his lips touch your neck. "What is it?" he asks, reading your body language effortlessly. "Nothing," you lie, shrugging him off before snatching a dish out of the oven. "Dinner's almost ready," you whisper, avoiding eye contact. "Sit down."

He watches you closely for several heartbeats before doing your bidding. You serve dinner, picking at your portion while Joe scarfs his down, talking about offensive schemes and how he dominated in ping-pong, never one time mentioning media day.

When he finally scrapes the last morsel of food off of his plate you hop up and grab it, hurrying to the sink to rinse your plates and shove them in the dishwasher. "Let me help," he protests, his brow furrowing when you wave him off. "I got this," you state. He watches you for several seconds before responding. "What's wrong?" he asks, stepping forward to place his hand on the small of your back; you react like you've been tasered, flinching away from his touch. "Leave me alone, please," you mumble, quickly closing the dishwasher before heading for the stairs.

Twenty minutes later you're immersed in a tub full of bubbles, simultaneously feeling sorry for yourself and feeling stupid for overreacting. You close your eyes and try to relax, your entire body going stiff when Joe knocks on the door. "Go away," you mutter, sinking farther into the bubbles when Joe walks into the room.

"Okay, listen," he sighs, walking toward you and dropping down on his knees alongside the tub. "I checked the calendar and it's not your period, so what is it?" he asks, his brow furrowed and his pretty eyes filled with apprehension.

"Are you saying I act like an emo asshole when I'm on my period?"

"No, of course not. I'm just trying to figure out what's wrong."

You shake your head. "It's stupid," you mumble.

"Tell me."

You shake your head again.

"Tell me, please," he begs, his earnest expression making you weak.

"Media day," you croak, making a face before squeezing your eyes shut.

"Oh."

"Yeah," you grumble, opening your eyes and hitting him with a direct glare. "90 percent of the viewing public wants to fuck you, and they like to describe it in lurid detail."

He swallows hard and scoots closer to the tub, looming over you. "You know I don't care about shit like that. You're the only one I want."

You roll your eyes and sink father into the bubbles, gasping when he reaches into the tub and easily scoops you out.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, woman" he mutters, striding into the bedroom and dropping you in the middle of the king-sized bed, a few bubbles flying as he strips naked before crawling on top of you. "You want this?" he purrs, his icy blue eyes going dark as he settles between your thighs, muscles rippling as he spreads your legs with his broad shoulders.

He holds himself still while waiting for your reply. "Yeah, I want it," you finally admit, fisting a hand in his dirty-blonde curls as he slides his tongue inside you. He tongue-fucks you for several minutes before raising his head to make eye contact; he gives you a feral smile while sucking your essence off of his lips as he slides his agile fingers inside you, slowly pumping them while dropping back down to suck your clit. "Don't stop!" you whimper, pulling his hair as your climax hits.

You're still catching your breath when you feel his erection at your entrance; he leans down and you bite his shoulder as he buries his cock inside you, both of you moaning when he bottoms out. You wrap your legs around his waist as he hits a steady rhythm, his groan vibrating against your lips as you scratch your nails up the muscular expanse of his back. He nips your bottom lip before locking eyes with you. "You're not allowed to read those damn comments anymore. Got it?"

"Not allowed?" you snort, biting your lip when he buries his cock to the hilt, grinding his hips in a way that causes your core to contract. "Not. Fucking. Allowed." he grits out, narrowing his eyes when you laugh. "I'll do what I damn. well. please." you state, a squeal escaping your lips when he abruptly pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, one big hand connecting with your ass hard enough to make you gasp. "The correct response is yes, sir," he purrs, caressing your stinging buttcheek before continuing. "Let me hear you say it."

"Yes, sir, I'll do what I damn. well. please." you sass, hissing as he smacks your ass in the exact same spot before pulling you up onto your knees. You arch your back and wiggle your hips, moaning when you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your slick folds. "Fuck me hard," you whisper, fisting your hands in the sheets in anticipation. "Not until you say what I wanna hear," he teases, dipping the plump head of his cock just inside before pulling out. "Fine, I'll do it myself," you grumble, reaching down to slide two fingers into your wet heat.

There's silence for several heartbeats as he watches you finger yourself. "You gonna be stubborn, huh?" he finally asks, his voice thick with arousal as you pick up the pace, grinding your hips and moaning against the mattress. "Fuck," he mutters, leaning down to lick your fingers as they slide in and out. "You gonna say what I wanna hear?" he asks, pulling your fingers out and replacing them with his tongue. "No, sir" you whisper, holding your breath when he removes his tongue from your aching core. You're desperate to feel him deep inside you, but there's no way you're gonna give in and he knows it.

"Stubborn as hell," he growls, smacking your ass and burying his cock to the hilt, both of you groaning when your core contracts hard at the sudden intrusion. He waits two heartbeats before starting to thrust, impaling you on his thick cock over and over as you writhe beneath him, a steady stream of whimpers and moans spilling from your lips. "You better be glad I'm weak as fuck when it comes to your tight little cunt," he grits out between thrusts, his deep voice and soft grunts sending a sizzle of heat down your spine.

You let out a whine when he reaches a hand around to play with your swollen clit. "Feel good?" he asks, pounding into you with a force that takes your breath away. Your only response is a primal groan as he expertly handles you, his limber fingers and thick cock working together to push your body to the limit, the pressure quickly building in your core as you dig your fingers into the mattress. "Don't … stop," you manage to whisper, screaming into the mattress as your climax hits; he follows you over the edge several heartbeats later, hissing in pleasure as your spasming core milks him dry.

You eventually collapse in a sweaty, heaving pile, both of you gasping for breath as Joe rolls off of you. Several minutes later -- after your heart rate and breathing have somewhat returned to normal -- Joe eases off the bed and heads to the bathroom, emerging with a warm, damp cloth to clean you up. You roll onto your back, smiling at Joe when he crawls back into bed, pushing up onto an arm to look down at you. "You were never giving in, right?" he asks.

"Never," you agree.

"You like a little power play, don't you?" he teases. "Like to show me who's boss?"

"Yeah, I like it," you smirk. "And from the sounds you were making during that climax," you give him a dirty wink. "You like it too."

"Guilty," he laughs, leaning down to kiss you before rolling onto his back, both of you watching the ceiling fan spin lazily overhead for a few minutes before he speaks up. "I'm gonna take a nap."

"Me too," you sigh, yawning as he reaches down and grabs the sheet, pulling it over both of you. "Babe?" you whisper.

"Hmmm?"

"I can't wait until media day next year," you confess.

"Me neither," he growls, throwing a big arm around you to pull you against his chest, the sound of your shared laughter echoing off the walls for a bit before you quiet down, your breathing synching up as y'all drift off to sleep.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

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adyophene · 20 days

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Hello ! I just have a little question, how do we start drawing ? I want go draw but idk how to start- any suggestion ? Or, if for starting it's better to do it with tutos, any tutorial to recommend ?

Have a great day !

Oooh, this is a tough question to answer! I suppose one the best pieces of advice I have is to figure out, before anything, what you are hoping to draw. What style, what tones, what media.

I have a feeling this might get long, so I will throw the rest under a readmore.

For me, when I started taking my art a little more seriously (I never went to art school or anything) I just focused on finding both tutorials on the fundamentals, and finding tutorials that focused on the aspects of art that interested me, which were animation and cartooning!

They go hand-in-hand, after all, and you'll find you end up honing in on the tutorials that coincide with your interests! IE- I ended up doing a lot of figure, and expression drawing because they would help me express emotion and movement better! I also spent so, so long just training my hand to be a bit more confident with drawing steady lines just because I loved the look of clean line-work!

So try to identify what your personal draw towards art is! By doing both something you like, as well as focusing the basics, I found that, at least in my personal experience, it put me in a positive feedback loop where I could keep seeing results in exactly the type of art I was interested in! And, once you start to feel confident, that is when you start adding in little bits of study from fields you might struggle with! A 90/10 split on what you're comfortable with and then what is new is usually a good way to go about it! Weirdly enough, though I don't watch him, I saw that the youtuber pewdiepie actually had a really good set of videos where he started from being a complete beginner and improving his art over 100 days. I believe its an absolutely great watch for a new artist, because he really does a great job in showing what a brand new journey into art can look like, and explains what he thinks each day. I think my favorite line was, 'after 24 days, I was finally having fun' because that can really sum up the new artist experience. It will absolutely be a slog at times, and can be really disheartening, but when you start to see progress, becomes so, SO fun.

Here is the link to the first vid, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMLEudGbxQk and his second https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJDtQTTAogk

ALSO- this was just the first video that came to mind because I watched it recently. I would recommend finding other videos about people learning to draw, or doing 30-100-365 day challenge videos. As for my personal favorite channels for art tutorials (though keep in mind, I haven't watched them in a few years ;-;, I need to study again);

There were a number of others that I wish I could link as well, but I am struggling to remember them. I hope any of that is helpful. My own art journey has been very long, and non linear, and I have to say, I'm not even satisfied with my own art! Its a endless mountain to climb, but it is so worth it to do! And lastly, I want to say thank you so much for sending this ask, you've made me dig back in to artists I used to study, and made me want to really focus back in on my own improvement!

#not art

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gen-is-gone · 5 months

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Gah see the one thing I can't do with the EDAs, and it drives me up the wall nuts, no matter how much I do agree that they are meant to be books and that's the point of them, that they only metatextually and even thematically work as books, and obscure forgotten books at that - the one thing is, I can't make vids. Gifsets either. God, you have no idea how much I wish I could vid this series.

So many things, so many astonishing visuals and cinematic parallels, so much I want to string together in a coherent form and I can't, I just can't. Like, the actual factual thing that caused me to fucking Mandela-effect myself into misremembering the series as a 90s tv show in the first place was imagining a fanvid about Fitz's fashion sense set to Macklemore's Thriftshop, of all fucking things, BUT. While yes, obviously that would be a work of unrivaled genius, it's not just that. Over the years it's become this endless want, this constantly seeing gifsets and screencaps and vids, vids, above all else, vids, of all the different moments there are.

There is (of-fucking-course) a blog (at least one, but maybe many more) dedicated exclusively to making gifsets of every time destiel touch each other in all contexts. Of fucking course there is. I scream with envy over this because like. That could be us, if only the EDAs had any footage at all, but it's a goddamn (brilliant, daft, exceedingly stupid) BOOK SERIES instead. Every time Eight/Fitz touch? Fitz is in fifty books and they are both extremely touchy; you could absolutely dedicate an entire fucking tumblr blog to making a gifset of each of those moments; you'd be making gifs for fucking years.

I want to bestow upon them the highest honor I could give: a fanvid about their insane nutso relationship set to Vienna Teng's Never Look Away. I want a Sam vid set to Marina's Oh No! I want an Eight vid to the Indigo Girls' Galileo. I can see all these so so clearly and I want to share them with the world. I want a gifset of thematic uses of the color red in Sam's early books episodes books. I want to hear Sail on Sailor and know how the fuck the diagetically composed Dr Who theme would actually sound on violin or acoustic guitar, with its unspeakably tender lyrics. I want someone's painstakingly color-corrected, digitally restored, hi-res slo-mo shot of Fitz in his princess fairy tale wedding dress flying around on a jetpack.

Like they are books and they're supposed to be books and it's significant to what the silly things are trying to say, and also quite frankly there is no way in hell any doctor who ever, even now, could pull off even half the shit they got away with via the infinite budget of the page, and they certainly could not have made say, YIT in the 90s and have it look anything but silly and cheap when it needed to look real, BUT. I wish I could see it. I wish I could make the vids I see playing in my head when I reread these silly, edgy, annoyingly smug, painfully earnest, wildly creative and visually stunning FUCKING books.

#eighth doctor adventures #eighth doctor #doctor who #megan whines into the empty abyss of cyberspace

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