#THREE HOURS LATER...

[yourdailyjormy]

send help i can't stop making knitting patterns

(no idea how these will knit up, but if you want to try any of them you're very welcome, i have motif modules in another excel sheet which I can share. pattern width ranges from 6 rows for the red mushrooms, to 16 rows for the trees/flowers one. Most of them are 8 rows.)

[wordswithkittywitch]

Roj Blake and Kerr Avon, Blake's 7, Gay and Bisexual

🌈 - 💜 - 🌍

🌈 - 💜 - 🌍

🌈 - 💜 - 🌍

Requested by @avonlovesblake 

Now accepting pride month moodboard requests. 

[falafels]

which of the foxes is going to be the first to unhelpfully point out to kevin, who is bitching relentlessly about how annoying neil is being while sidelined, that this is EXACTLY what he was like when he first joined the line and couldn’t play. my money says matt or dan

[makeriia]

HELLO STONERS (haha get it cause Dr.Stone yeah I’ll see myself out)

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

now on ao3!

------------

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[lemodoe]

[jaehyunmirae]

return the favor | l.jn

jeno x female reader.

FILTHYYYYY!!!! mirror sex, fingering (lots of fingering), praise kink, humiliation, shameless porn, oral (receiving and giving), manhandling, overstimulation, did i mention- filthy as fuck?

jeno could feel your body tense as he held you close.

he never stopped kissing you everywhere—your lips, your neck, your chest—like he’s out to devour what’s left in your lungs the way he’s leaving you breathless every step of the way.

“please let me do everything for you tonight,” he pleads.

you can sense his experience during times like this. even when his words feigned meek obedience, his steps were bold and that overwhelming confidence made you want to hide as much as it makes you want him so desperately.

jeno leads you to the bedroom. while making out, you slowly gained the confidence to fight for dominance, only focusing on his lips and the way his hands traveled across your body.

he lets you lead for a while, entertaining your illusion believing you'll have your way with him. engrossed with a million different sensations, you missed his real intentions. jeno sits at the edge of the bed, placing you between him and the mirror.

"show's over baby," his voice deepens, catching you off guard.

it took you a few seconds to process what he said before gripping your waist, spinning you around to face the mirror. you caught the look on his face, smirking while maintaining direct eye contact through the reflection. jeno stands up, then gently pushes you to take two steps forward.

a pit formed in your stomach.

he kisses your hair, then your temple, and your cheek. he hums nonchalantly, pushed all your hair to one side, and nudged you to tilt your head. this way he had full access to your neck, first dragging his nose across the nape, his lips on your sensitive skin.

"don't close your eyes. watch me."

he stays clothed while taking off every piece of clothing off your body one by one. every part of your bare skin revealed by his undressing did not go untouched, massaged by his hands or tasted by his tongue. too much, too many for you to handle, yet too quick, too soft for you to feel satisfied.

you tried reaching out to him, pulling on his shirt and trousers as a protest. he knows you were getting impatient, bothered by him keeping his clothes on still.

"-wanna see you," you whispered, shuddering as his hand grazed too close to your core without hesitation.

"keep your panties on," he avoided your plea and chuckled.

jeno sits back down and pulls you into the bed with him. now, you're both sitting on the edge, facing the mirror directly.

he slowly spreads your legs, smiling as he noticed the wet spot. he starts kissing your neck and shoulders again before his hand found its way inside, feeling your wetness on his fingers.

you instinctively closed your legs but he pulls them apart with his other hand, putting a little bit more pressure than usual.

“look up, baby. look at how beautiful you are.”

jeno waits until you eased through his touch. he pulls the fabric to the side, gathering your wetness to spread them across your folds.

deeply embarassed and turned on at the same time, you were torn between closing your eyes and hide or watch his fingers play with your pussy all night long. your conflict was evident in the way your moans escaped your lips. they betrayed your efforts to keep your composure, and jeno was loving every minute of it.

jeno lifts you up from behind to get your panties off, tossing them behind, "i need to stretch you out. okay, baby?"

you nodded quickly, finding yourself a little too ready to act coy. jeno slowly entered his middle finger inside you, showering you with praises.

"so wet, so easy.. hmm."

jeno continued kissing your shoulder while moving his finger in and out, feeling you shake under his touch. he whispered his praises by your ear, distracting you from the discomfort of adding another digit, until he was able to comfortably fit three.

“f-fuck…” you moaned when he curled his fingers, feeling his palm rubbing your clit at the same time.

“you're so wet- shit, can you hear that?”

jeno takes his hand to lift your chin up, urging you to watch him through the mirror. torn between feeling embarrassed and turned on by the obscene sight before your eyes, you watched as jeno fucked you from behind with his fingers. tears streaming down your face ruined your mascara but jeno has never seen you so breathtaking.

“oh my fucking- argh..” holding back your moans, you bit your lip to muffle the sinful sounds escaping out of your mouth despite drowning in the intensity you were losing yourself in.

“are you scared that the people next door can hear us?”

“y-yeah…”

“don’t be shy. be loud for me," he kept his eyes on you through the mirror, encouraging you to be as loud as you can, "let them hear you.”

you arched her back, feeling your orgasm building, "-gonna come.”

“already? we barely started-"

“please- it's too much. fuck!"

"okay, then come. don't fight it.”

you screamed jeno's name, hit with the embarrassment as reality dawns upon you. you just watched herself come in front of the mirror. for the first time.

“i can't believe you came just from my fingers.”

jeno took off his shirt, wiping his hand with it before tossing it behind you. turning to look at his face, your vision still trying to adjust from reaching your high, he kisses you. he was absolutely gone and aroused from what he witnessed, keeping a mental note to fuck you in front of the mirror more often.

it took every fiber of your being to stop yourself from jumping on his bones. you turned your whole body towards him, planting your palms on his chest, climbing on top of him, and feeling him up through his trousers, "did you get hard from that?”

"holy shit- who wouldn't? you just came from my fingers.”

“let me return the favor.”

“oh no. i already said i want to do everything for you.”

“no-" you stopped him from fighting with your lips. following his methods, you started kissing and licking him all the way from his chest to his v-line, distracting his senses as you unbuckled his belt to pull his pants and boxers down.

jeno was so fucking hard that he couldn’t protest the second your hand wrapped around him. no part of him wanted you to stop.

“i want you to feel good.”

“it’s so sensitive, fuck- slow down-”

“no- fuck you! as if you slowed down for me," you snapped before taking him in.

licking him from the shaft all the way to the head, you were determined to make his head go wild. you bat your eyes at him, looking up from underneath, making the image even more obscene than what you're doing with your mouth.

“fuck,” jeno covers his face, going crazy from the feeling of your tongue swirling around his cock, "-m not gonna the last if you keep going.. ugfh-"

“told you i'm returning the favor," you laughed as you moved your wrist, pumping his dick. saliva was dripping down your chin when you took his cock out of your mouth. again, without warning and without paying any mind to the mess you've made, you took his cock in your mouth, much deeper this time.

“i'm gonna come- shit!”

you opened your mouth wide open, earning a quiet “what the fuck” from jeno. you nodded without saying anything more. he tries to stop and try to find another way to unload but he simply couldn’t help himself as your hand kept moving, leaving him no choice but to come inside your mouth.

swallowing it all, you felt a drip escaping from your lips. your eyes watered from the sensation of his load shooting at the back of your throat but the sight of jeno falling apart from your touch was worth it. jeno pulls your face up, his heart dropped all the way down to his stomach after realizing what just happened.

“what the fuck- you're killing me, do you know that?"

jeno kisses you hard, tasting himself on your tongue

he lifts you up and drops you down the bed without breaking contact. he starts kissing down your body and positions his head in between your thighs.

“now, i want you to come from my tongue.”

you had the whole zoo roaring in your stomach after hearing that, barely voicing out, “what” from your hoarse throat after sucking him off. jeno's lips trail across your inner thighs. he starts licking stripes towards the direction close to your pussy, not quite licking you in the right places.

“let me clean you up," he says referring from your come earlier.

“b-but i'm not recovered from earlier, fuck.. jeno-”

“no time to recover, babe. my favor's all yours."

[xxplastic-cubexx]

saddle up partner

inspo post

[harrowharkwife]

i'm so used to there just being random unidentified bones laying around everywhere in these damn books that it finally occurred to me, just now, to wonder where the bones on new rho came from. y'know, the bones palamedes always tried to teach nona necromancy on.

they're his.

palamedes, who always loved teaching, living on borrowed time in a body that's not his own. palamedes, mentoring, teaching- parenting, by sixth standards, mind you. and that boy is sixth, through and through.

and the entire point of teaching nona necromancy in the first place was to try and determine if nona is, well, nonagesimus, right? so it has to be bones, it can't not be bones. bones are, like, her whole thing.

but they're not in the nine houses, anymore. things are different, on new rho.

they burn bones here. dig up the cemeteries. a society terrified of zombies will evolve to dispose of its dead differently.

the only bones he has access to now are his own. (camilla wouldn't let anyone take them- skull or hand, doesn't matter. they're still him, and she doesn't let go, remember? it's her one thing.)

palamedes woke up every morning wearing someone else's body to then gently place the shrapnel of his own in the cupped palms of a girl who's the closest thing he'll ever have to a daughter and try to teach her- how did the angel put it, again? normal school, as much as possible, for as long as possible.

(but hey, in a roundabout way, at least it's a chance for him to touch camilla again, right? nevermind that she's not there to feel any of it because he's in the driver's seat, that he can only stay for fifteen minutes at a time. it's atoms that belong to camilla touching atoms that used to belong to him, and that's close enough. he'll take what he can get, these days- if she can be their flesh, he can be the end. so what if holding his own bones is a mindfuck? so what if looking at them makes him nauseous? surely he can suck it up and deal with it for fifteen minutes. it's the least he can do— his poor camilla was the one who had to scrape the bloody pulp of them off the floors of canaan house.)

(speaking of, here's a fun fact: we actually only see nona practicing with the bones one time, on-page. camilla's final line in that scene, before palamedes takes over, is none other than: 'keep going. there are some bones left.' ow!)

remember, too, that the only part of dulcinea, the real dulcinea, that palamedes ever physically touched, was her tooth- the one that ianthe gave him, pulled from the ashes cytherea burnt her down to. he only ever touched dulcie once, and it wasn't until after she was already gone, but that doesn't matter- it still happened, and you can't take loved away.

in this same roundabout, bittersweet, by-proxy sort of way, palamedes has been physically touched by nona, too: the atoms she currently occupies, touching atoms that he used to occupy, and never will again.

the main interaction we've seen between palamedes and his mother took place back on the sixth, with her acting as mentor and him as pupil: the two of them studying a set of hand bones, juno encouraging him every step of the way.

we know that harrowhark's "most vivid memory of her mother was of her hands guiding harrow's over an inexpertly rendered portion of skull, her fingers encircling the fat baby bracelets of harrow's wrists, tightening this cuff to indicate correct technique."

they're still small for a nineteen year old, but the wrists are bigger, in this new set of memories nona's making. and it's not an inexpertly rendered portion of skull anymore- it's a hand, now, albeit one crafted from [a piece of skull reassembled (painstakingly—passionately—laboriously reassembled) from fragments, manually, and not by a bone magician, from the skull of someone who, soon after death or symptomatically during, had exploded.] and the identity and origin of these bones is no mystery at all. they belong to palamedes, and he's consented to their use for this purpose, and that matters.

but the details are just set dressing, really. the foundation of the memory is the same.

palamedes and his mother, juno and her son.

harrow and her mother; pelleamena and her daughter.

nona and her father-mother-teacher; palamedes and his daughter.

[pothame]

#🥺🛌💤

[mikachusblog]

It's my birthday! 🎂

I turn 23 today! Such an odd feeling, i still feel like a teenager cosplaying as an adult (ᵕ—ᴗ—) this month also marks my one year of joining simblr, so it is extra special to me! I am incredibly grateful for the warm welcome i have received on here, for all the lovely and insanely creative people i have met! I hope this community will be a part of my life for a long time to come ꉂ (≧ヮ≦) you are all invited to my virtual birthday party!!!

[jonk-md]

not if it's you

[pedripics]

🥰❤️

[front-facing-pokemon]

[autohavenwreckerz]

Go my Rocky