#“ive had enough of the men” <- lie

[highoncatfood]

ive had enough of the men bring out the rare pair lesbian artillery

dont ask me how this would work in the plot i just wanted to draw yuri. and cuz i thought its funny to shuffle these 4 around

[tchaikovskym]

There is this part of me that wants to wallow in self-pity, that wants to believe I'm doomed forever and that there is nothing good waiting for me. But the funny thing is, it's not true. I am better than I used to be. I am healthier than I used to be. It's just tiring to always try to be better. And while it is a possibility that the doom part of me will turn out to be true, there is a possibility that it won't.

[dodger-chan]

AO3 is down? Okay, well here's about 900 words of a story I don't think I'll ever finish

Edit: now on AO3

The Alibi

Clearing Eddie Munson’s name went against every instinct Jim had honed in his years as a cop. Munson was bad news. A drug dealer. A born criminal, in and out of Hawkins Police custody since he was a kid.

Admittedly, no small number of those early detentions were more about trying to track down his father than anything Munson had done himself. He’d been an uncooperative shit, though; always insisting he knew nothing while sporting bruises fresh enough to prove his old man hadn’t been gone very long.

If Jim hadn’t known for a fact the kid was completely innocent of the three murder charges. If he hadn’t been told by Henderson, both Sinclair kids, the good Wheeler, and Harrington and his girlfriend that Munson had been instrumental in beating back the monsters beneath Hawkins. If Jane hadn’t looked at him with loving expectation, hadn’t been so sure her old man would make fairness and justice align, well, Jim wasn’t sure what he would have done. It wouldn’t have been this.

This being escorting the Harrington kid to the hospital to sneakily convey the plan to Munson, and then ruin his life.

Ruin Harrington’s life, that is. It might save Munson’s. 

----------

Jim recognized Wayne Munson from all the times he’d come down to the station to claim his nephew. Wayne looked older than Jim remembered him. Eddie, pale with blood loss and handcuffed to the bed, looked younger. He didn’t know the officer standing guard in Munson’s room; a new hire while he’d been in Russia.

“It’s family only,” the officer instructed. Jim frowned at him.

“I'm not here to visit.” Jim wasn’t the chief anymore, but he still knew how to talk so the lower ranks would listen. “I’ve found Munson’s alibi.”

He shoved Harrington forward. The kid reached a hand out towards Munson, looked at the guard and stopped. He stiffened his shoulders and placed his hand on top of Munson’s. Not a bad performance.

“I thought the cops would ask me about our last date on Friday. But they didn’t come around.” Harrington kept his eyes down, but spoke to Munson. “Why didn’t you tell them? Did you think I’d lie about being with you?”

“Maybe? The whole ‘no one can know’ thing seems pretty important to you.” Between the handcuffs and the IV drip, Munson couldn’t really shrug. “You still take girls out. You took a girl to the game that night, even.”

Harrington had said Munson would figure out the plan quickly, that they wouldn’t need to feed him very much information. Jim hadn’t expected he’d not only get the gist of the plan but be able to fish for useful information as well. He was impressed.

“And took her home right after so I could meet you.” Harrington raked a hand through his hair. “You know the girls are just for show. So no one suspects. I don’t… I don’t sleep with them anymore.”

“That’s enough.” The officer looked between the two young men, then at Jim. He obviously wanted to take Harrington out of the room and interrogate him properly, but wasn’t sure he could leave his murder suspect. 

“Munson’s not going anywhere,” Jim pointed out. “I’ll keep an eye on him while you call Chief Powell.”

The officer nodded in deference to Jim’s air of authority. He left, taking Harrington with him to keep the boys from discussing their stories any more.

It clearly hadn’t occurred to him that Jim might help them get their stories straight. Ideally, he’d speak to Munson alone, but presumably the elder Munson cared more about keeping his nephew out of jail than the truth.

“Right, so after your club meeting-” Jim started. Munson interrupted him.

“I drove to Steve’s place. I parked my van in the woods so none of his neighbors would see it. Like I always do.” Munson rolled his eyes. “I got there first; let myself in the back. Steve got there maybe five minutes after me. We had a fight, about Steve taking girls out. Again. I will spare you and Wayne exactly where that led, though I expect the police will request all the details, perverts that they are.”

“You got all that from ‘date last Friday?’” Jim asked. It was almost exactly the story Steve had told him. Not the same words, not the same point of view, but the same events. 

“No, I got it from ‘last date, on Friday,’” Munson corrected. Jim wasn’t sure why the difference mattered. “So our last date, but like it happened on the Friday before Spring Break.”

Jim frowned, confused. Wasn’t Harrington pretending to be dating Munson? He looked over at Wayne, who seemed as lost as he was.

“I thought you broke up with that boy?” Wayne was apparently lost in a very different place than Jim was.

“I did, though, under the circumstances, I may omit that detail. Unless Steve is planning to say I dumped him before I left that morning?”

“He isn’t.” Harrington had asked if the alibi would sound more believable coming from a current or ex-boyfriend. Jim had thought a break-up the day of the murder sounded too convenient. Not that either would have been credible enough to clear Munson’s name if the Feds weren’t around to put their thumb on the scale. Harrington’s story was more to get them to place it on the side of Munson being released rather than blackmailed into a plea agreement.

“Then I guess he and I are officially back together.

[atzfilm]

𝐚𝐭𝐳𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦'𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 .ᐟ

all works of writing/summaries are not owned by me, and all credits go to the respective writers! this list will be updated periodically with stories i have read ♡ i thought that as a writer myself who consumes talented stories on this site, it would be good for me to show you all a fraction of what i read myself tehe (i read majority poly!teez/mc so that category will be filled!!) ☆

— note: 90% of these fics will contain mature themes, since it's all i read! please read the specific author's notes before reading!

❤︎ - personal favorites

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ

— ❤︎ mists of celeste (??/reader, several pairings) by @hongism

genre: scifi/space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut, fluff

summary: sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you.

notes: as an atiny on tumblr.com, i feel like it's a rite of passage to read moc. it's one of the best written works i have had the privilege of reading. it's gripping, it's heartbreaking, it's filled with yearning and love, and has you hoping that the characters survive this ordeal. san i love you most you can tell by the masterlist alone that she has crafted a whole space pirate universe intricately and with the utmost care. she deals with the trauma of the characters so so well and i cant lie ive cried a lot reading it jdhdksjddj, it's the fic that made me start reading ateez ff, i mean, i started reading before even knowing ateez and i had to have a separate tab open to remember who was who. that alone can tell you how much of a work of art this is. omg, im blabbering, but please read this.

— hotel california (ot8/reader) by @mint-yooxgi

genre: yandere, demon!au

summary: checking in to a hotel ran by yandere!Ateez, the boys decide she can no longer leave

my notes: im not too sure how i came across this work, i think it was an endless scroll of me trying to find something to read, but nevertheless, this story. i have not finished it yet (a great and utter pity) but from what ive read so far. im actually very concerned on how much ive read of this in one night 😨, i think the plot is so so unique, i love a strong mc who does not take any shit whatsoever, i love gaslighting demon!ateez 🙂‍↕️. i had to stare at the wall several times while reading,, felt like jim in the office truly. UGH it's just so good??? i can't recommend enough!! PLEASE READ.

— ❤︎ the answer (ot8?/reader, side pairings) by @berryunho

genre: cult au, thriller

summary: life is great until your best friend goes missing your senior year of university, leaving little more than an apology and goodbye. Months later, you’re determined to find out what happened to him and discover a situation much more complicated than you would have ever anticipated - as in - Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers 'sect.'

my notes: i first discovered this fic on ao3 and somehow found out lauren had a tumblr blog but i digress – i found this one night and was so excited that i found something so so unique and different and i am pretty sure i didn't sleep until 4am reading everything omg . it's truly so funny and i adore the main character more than anything, the snide remarks truly encompass and make you feel their emotions? cult leader hongjoong is something else... without spoiling hfjdjf. i beg lauren often for a spoiler because it's just that good. please read.

— OUTLAW (ot8/reader, side pairings) by @staytinyville

genre: wild west!au, smut(?), angst

summary: you thought you would be spending the rest of your life tending to the hotel your family ran. while you knew it was common to see bandits come and go in your town, you felt safe in your home. at least safe enough with a weapon at your disposal. however you were no match for eight men who were known to most as outlaws around the plains. hawt kind of adventures did they go on?

my notes: i started reading this a while back and have yet to finish, but so far the premise is so so so interesting and i love readying cowboy aus rjkfjkdrfkj ITS SO GOOD!!!! I CANT WAIT TO CATCH UP

— sway with me (ot8/reader, wooyoung/reader) by @luvt0kki

genre: sci-fi/space/futuristic!au

summary: former noble turned space pirate, wooyoung was now part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. sure he’s only known them for six months but there’s only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next. the ship was their home, his home…and the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.

my notes: tokki already knows all of this but,,, i started this a month or so ago? and i read the first chapter and i legit lost my mind,,, in the calmest way possible... the first chapter is gripping and it sets a environment that i very much would love to live in??? it's just so so well written, and the reader is very much my type NDFAKKJ ANYWAY... it's told from the pov of wooyoung and i love it??? so MUCH?? please read ok bye

— one more rep (woosan x reader) by @cheollipop

genre: smut, f2l, trainers woosan

summary: san got a little too excited watching you exercise in purple – his favourite colour – and wooyoung was nothing if not a tease. turning their attention back to you, they didn't expect to see you equally worked-up.

my notes: ???? i actually read this a few times,,,, this fic yall.... i cannot... the mental image of woosan in the gym makes me delusional enoughdsjkaskfjksd PLEASE.

— like a dream (yungi x reader) by cheollipop

genre: bf!yungi, smut

summary: with only the orange hues of the lamp illuminating the room, they have you for the first time, and it feels just like a dream.

my notes: yunho and mingi are my weakness,, so the both of them together.....

sᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

to be added!

ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

— horizon by @pxedpiper (ft. ateez/f.reader)

genre: pirate!au

summary: once a princess of a kingdom you loathed to call yours, you have somehow found yourself aboard a pirate ship, stuck on the ocean waves. now you try to figure out how to escape them, but as you continue to journey with them, you find yourself wondering if you even want to.

my notes: i just found this the other day but remembering reading it a while ago! it's so so well written and i enjoyed it sm 🥹

ʏᴜɴʜᴏ

to be added!

ʏᴇᴏsᴀɴɢ

to be added!

sᴀɴ

to be added!

ᴍɪɴɢɪ

— safe haven (mingi/reader) by @atxxzist

genre: bodyguard!au, fluff

summary: your father has had enough of your shit, and hires Song Mingi; his best friend's son, to be your personal bodyguard

my notes: is it possible to fall down the mingi hole deeper than i already have? maybe! this fic pretty much lives in my head,,, endlessly,,,, i love mingi. i love this au so much and i especially love bodyguard aus, i think it's one of my favorite genres and this deepens it.... PLEASE READ.

ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

— rough rider (wooyoung x afab!reader) by @choism

genre: smut

summary: In which you meet a hot twink at a club who has a slightly unhealthy obsession with the 2000's and y2k bimbocore.

my notes: i......... there's no way i can describe this fic... if u yearn for wooyoung the way i do. read this.

— what happened to slow down? (bf!wooyoung x reader) by @ja3hwa

genre: smut

summary: coming back from a house party, you and woo couldn't seem to keep your hands off one another. everything was happening so fast. you two didn't even make it to the bedroom.

my notes: insert a photo of someone throwing a phone and screaming crying, then picking it up to read the rest. thats me kjrfakfajkf

ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ

to be added!

[luvrbug]

Honkai Star Rail Men ; where do they lie on the pathetic man scale?

includes ; Sampo, Welt, Jing Yuan

A/N ; sorry everyone ive been playing hsr, and it has COMPLETELY captivated me. i will maybe write about one piece more buuuut I cant be too sure :[ i change like the wind sorry guys. also my first time writing in like Months so apologies if this is poopy

Warnings; literally the smallest amount of spice, no allusion to sex. reader is not the trailblazer, Gender neutral reader with 2nd person pronouns

«────────«⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅»────────»

Sampo Koski

Sampo is such a failboy. it's not even funny. He embodies a pathetic man.

You get word of Sampo scamming someone once again; and to make it even worse, it was the kids that literally saved the entire planet.

So, you sentenced Sampo to a week of sleeping on the couch, which landed you in this unsightly situation.

"Baby, please, you know i didn't really mean to make them do my work," he pleads, grabbing your leg and squishing his face into your stomach. "I had urgent business to attend to somewhere.. else in the mine,"

Sighing, you run your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Sampo begins to rise, hoping that he's swayed your iron heart, until-

"Two Weeks on the couch,"

"Baby!"

«────────«⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅»────────»

Welt Yang

Out of all the men on this list, I'd say Welt is the least pathetic man. He has fatherhood skills and absolutely does his half of the chores.

... But he still is completely whipped for you.

Welt has never forgotten an anniversary. Without fail, he brings the biggest boquet of flowers, plans the best date night, and manages to keep your little troop of mischief makers pacified for the night.

So, when this year's anniversary rolls around, and nothing has happened yet, you begin to worry.

Did he want you to plan the events today? Did you miss some subliminal messaging? Are you losing your spark?? Is he-

"Ah, there you are," Welt's voice alone is enough to completely silence any rebellious thoughts running around.

"I was starting to get worried, i wouldn't want your surprise to get cold," You perk up instantly at the mention of a present, quickly gathering the book on and gold quality black tea you'd bought a few weeks prior.

Welt pulls out.. your favorite dessert from your favorite bakery on your homeworld. That is thousands of lightyears away. "I managed to understand enough about this dessert from your stories, and i managed to make something close to it with my powers and a little help from Himeko,"

You practically launch yourself at him, covering his face with kisses. Best anniversary ever.

«────────«⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅»────────»

Jing Yuan

In the middle of the pathetic scale. Proper, courteous, and flirtatious, but also the most pathetic, clingy man ever when you're alone.

It's Saturday morning, the sun is shining, you have a romantic lunch reservation in an hour, and Jing Yuan is refusing to allow you out of bed.

"Honey, we have to get up or we'll miss our reservation. You know how hard it is to get on their waiting list, especially for the lunchtime rush," You whine, attempting to wriggle out of his hold.

Jing Yuan simply squeezes you tighter, making a muffled "hmmph" into your stomach. "Your cooking is better anyway," he mumbles, stretching and yawning not unlike mimi.

You huff, lying back in bed with your eyebrows scrunched. "I'm not going to cook for a week unless you get up and we make it there on time,"

This finally gets Jing Yuan off the bed and rummaging through his closet. "Well, hurry up, we wouldn't want to be late,"

[nebbyy]

King Baldwin IV x reader - I’ll be waiting for you

A/N: Well, how could I not make another fic for King Baldwin when the other one I made is my most liked post yet, so I decided to write this little pieceee. Sooo I guess I should warn y'all that this one will be a little less historically accurate (not that the first one was that great of a historical piece but you get the idea). Oh and as usual, this fic came into my mind the moment I saw the painting just below (which is "the Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets Over the Dead Bodies of Romeo andJuliet" by sir Frederic Leighton)Now enough chatting, more King Baldwin brainrot. 

Summary: in a desperate attempt to protect his kingdom after having punished Reynald de Chatillon, the king is exhausted and the long ride has increasingly worsened his already wary condition. Once he’s escorted back to the palace, his loving wife wastes no time to reunite with her beloved husband.

Warnings: kinda angsty (no happy ending tbh), vague descriptions of Baldwin’s illness related wounds. Also, reader specifically described as female.

Word count: 3209

You sat on your throne, high and proud like the royalty you were. But under the facade of your noble confidence, you felt small. Smaller than ever, actually, as the yelling of all the men in front of you filled the air and rose up to the open sky. With a simple, reckless act, Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan had just screwed years of efforts that King Baldwin had spent trying to maintain that delicate peace that required so many lives and time to build. All washed away from the raging river that were Reynald and Guy. 

While the two men tried to defend their senseless attack, backed by a substantial group of men, another opposing group shouted at them, berating them for the offense they had given not only to Saladin but also to Jerusalem itself.

You sigh, fighting the urge to cover your ears, and curl into your own body; you opt to just turn your head and look at your beloved husband. He looked to be in a similar state as you were: although his face was now fully covered -a means of hiding the decaying state of his leprosy-ridden body- his head was bent with weary alertness, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance. You watched his body, languidly seated on his much larger throne, the only sitting position that brought him no discomfort, though it looked almost more like he was about to lie down. 

It broke your heart to see how that disease had ravaged Baldwin's body, in recent years more and more. To see him there, on the same throne on which he once sat tall and proud, while now he barely had the strength to stay upright. And you knew he was thinking the very same thing.

You were about to open your mouth, whisper something to him, anything, in order to shake him out of his thoughts and that chaotic situation, but you were interrupted in your actions by an official, who rushed to the king's side, handing him a scroll. His bandaged hands clumsily opened the scroll, and you found salvation from the noise of the room by concentrating on watching Baldwin read carefully. You watched his eyes, blue as the sky and like the waves of the sea that brought you to the Holy Land, now covered with a pale glassy glaze. 

You frowned when you heard Baldwin freeze in place, even his sitting became more erect, as if a cube of ice had slid down his back. With his gaze still fixed on the words written in that letter, he merely raised his hand slightly, a clear sign of his will.

"SILENCE!" his guard's shout resounded through the hall, overpowering the furious shouts of the men who had been barking at each other for hours now. They all turned to look at the king; their faces, a few moments ago darkened and wrinkled with anger, were now smooth and relaxed, their eyebrows raised in astonishment at their king's order. Funny, you thought, how these men because of your husband's condition sometimes simply forget how much power he possessed over them. Before it was as if he wasn't even in the room, and they were all playing at being great leaders, now there they were, staring at him, motionless as statues, submissive as ants. You curled your nose discreetly, your face a mixture of disgust and contempt. Pathetic, you thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Baldwin finally looked up at the crowd in front of him, finally revealing what it was that had shocked him so much. "Saladin has crossed the Jordan with 200000 men," silence fell, and you felt your body going numb. Your ears seemed muffled, you could barely perceive what was happening around you. At that moment you felt so much fear for your kingdom, and concern for Baldwin and what this impending attack would cost him.

And anger, against those two fools who out of sheer vanity had endangered the lives of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. They had put Jerusalem itself at risk; they had put Baldwin at risk.

I was brought to attention by Baldwin, who was struggling to pull himself up from his throne, walking toward his most trusted man. "We must meet him before he reaches Kerak. I will lead the army," your husband's voice was hushed and soft, so that only the man in front of him could hear. But it did not escape your ears, the implication those words had: Baldwin wants to stop Saladin, and he wants to do it himself. But this could cost him his life. 

You couldn't stop yourself; you jumped up from your seat, eyes wide in an expression somewhere between fear and surprise. Baldwin turned to look at you, the woman who always took his breath away at the mere sight of how beautiful she was. You did not fail to have that effect on him again this time, but not because of your beauty: in your eyes he saw your terror, that this was the last time you would see him alive. They hypnotized him, and begged him in a silent prayer not to leave, to give up this plan, have an ambassador sent, anyone else. Hell, let him send Guy himself to intercept the Saracen, let him be beheaded and his murder settle the account that he himself opened. But the storm of emotion in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotion flowing from your eyes

But the storm of emotions in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotions flowing from Baldwin's eyes, barely visible because of the cover concealing his tortured face. He too, through them, was silently pleading with you: but he was asking you to trust, to let go and follow his plan, to try to forget for at least a moment all the warnings the Physicians had given him over the years.

Eventually, you relented, turning your gaze away and opting to stare at a random spot in the corner of the room. Baldwin gave a silent sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, a sign of gratitude, although you could not see it. He turned to the men of his court, and with the little strength his body afforded him, he spoke in a loud, determined voice: "Assemble the army and protect the city."

All this reminded you of the last time Baldwin fought Saladin: he had barely completed his seventeenth year, and young and still full of life, he was ready to ride against the invincible Saracen king. But on that day God had been more merciful. He had granted you, if nothing else, one last night to spend with your husband, had given you the gift of a minimum of time to ensure that you bid Baldwin a proper farewell before he met what could well have been his end. Instead this time, you barely had time to briefly remove the thick veil from his face to give him a fleeting kiss and exchange a handful of words. You fought back the tears as you looked at him, opting instead to bring your hand to his cheek, the flesh of his lip having receded and decayed to such an extent that it had receded down to his cheek, eventually turning into a long scar that protruded down to his cheekbone.

"Let me go with you, I will wait for you at the castle of Reynald de Chatillon-" "No. It is too dangerous. If things go wrong with the negotiations, I don't want you or my sisters anywhere near that man." It was not often that Baldwin interrupted you while you were speaking. He respected you too much to not allow you to finish your sentences, so the fact that he did just now spoke of how important this was to him. 

"Then promise me you’ll come back to me. Safe and sound." He snorted softly, giving a hint of smile before copping his face with his hardened hands, "You know I can’t promise it." You know that, but that blatant honesty of his, which you always loved so much, was not what you wanted at the time. No, you wanted reassurance, no matter how truthful, no matter how worthless his promises may be at the end of the day, You need that fleeting distraction that mitigates the fear that’s been eating you from the inside since Baldwin put on his armor. May you risked never seeing him again.

"Please just say it." Your voice came out much softer than you meant, almost less than a whisper, perhaps because of the knot in your throat, which threatened to break free carrying a river of tears. For a moment he remained silent, turning suddenly his face towards the voice of a nobleman who called him from the entrance of his room, but did not even dignify him with an answer. After all, his attention was completely turned to his world. To you. Before I answered you, I drew your head to his with my hands, so that I could place his forehead against yours. Finally, he spoke softly, in that loving tone that he reserved only for you: "Then I promise you that I will return to you in no more than three days, and when I return I will be victorious, and I will be riding."

After that, that moment between the two of you, which so much looked like a heartbreaking farewell, lasted just before Baldwin had to go to his horse to guide his men to the enemy.

And it wasn’t long before the harsh reality became clear to you: he had lied to you. Not maliciously, of course, you were the one who begged him to say those words after all. But the fact is that three days became four, that news of the army of Jerusalem had not come any more, that the last thing you heard of your husband was that only the ride had already tried his weakened body.

Another day passed, then another, and at the dawn of the fourth day since his absence you felt your heart sink. Had something happened to him? Had the negotiations failed? What if his illness had suddenly got the better of him? Or worse, Saladin and his men had shot him, stabbed him, or yet again captured and publicly executed,…

Your mind began to spiral into an ocean of possible reasons behind this delay, and you swore that your breathing had finally stopped once and for all when a messenger on horseback arrived at the palace, frantically dismounting from his steed to rush into the throne room and bring you the message: "The negotiations were successful, but the king is in critical condition! He is returning to Jerusalem on a canopy," you dismissed the man with a slight wave of your hand, so weak that you almost looked numbed; Baldwin's advisors began to chatter, but the background murmur of their murmurs did not seem to reach your ears. No, your attention was elsewhere; it was entirely on your husband.

You took your leave of the court, hurrying to your rooms. There, like a hawk waiting impatiently for prey to feed on, you perched on the balcony overlooking the city below you, on the walls from which not many days ago Baldwin had emerged leading the army.

It was there that you began to think again, this time with a clearer mind as you knew that at least Baldwin was alive and on his way home. On his way to you. Still, this whole situation reminded you of when you were only sixteen years old, and you stood on that balcony as you do now, waiting to see Baldwin return on his horse. And on that day, when he was visible to the naked eye, and your eyes met, you saw all the life and strength of one who had just defeated the greatest enemy of his time. At that moment, he seemed almost immortal to you: he looked like a god riding proudly, leading the thousands of men behind him towards their home.

How unfair fate is, to cut short his life so early. His physicians gave him no more than thirty years, but that time seemed to you to be shortened even more when you finally caught sight of his canopy. There he lay, sprawled and motionless like a dead body, surrounded by the soft cushions and riders on either side of his transport.

Just two years ago such a journey would not have fatigued him in the least; now he was risking his life just by riding a horse. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears thinking about how much he had loved riding a horse, and now he found himself bedridden, unable in his passions. You wasted no time running through the palace corridors, eager to reach your beloved as soon as possible.

One turn to the right, then another, then down the steps, and finally straight to the palace doors, where the finely decorated canopy led the love of your life.

You rushed to his side, gently taking his mutilated hand in yours while the other stroked his masked face. He breathed faintly, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his strength after his disease had dealt him this last bludgeon. Feeling your gentle touch, Baldwin's eyes fluttered open, his glassy eyes the color of heaven meeting yours.

"You've been reckless, my love. Putting your life at risk just to do the job of a messenger!" you scolded him, but Baldwin only smiled fondly at your words. "I promised you I would've come back. And that I did, alive too." Although his voice was so weak that it sounded more like a huff of air rather than a sentence, its tone was still laced with playfulness.

It made you unable to resist the smile that was threatening to form on your lips; you did not grace him with an answer yet, opting instead to move your hand to remove the silver mask from his face. You could see his surprised and relieved expression, as he was now finally able to breathe more freely and to look at you properly. He breathed in the sight of you, almost as if trying to take in as much of you as he could. "I can't tell if it's the travel or the sight of you that takes my breath away."

You just smiled bitterly and shook your head at his silly declarations, "It must be the ride, it has tired you so much that it's making you speak nonsense." he giggled weakly, much more tiredly this time, almost as if he was about to doze off. But he fought the tiredness nonetheless, opting to just shake his head and admire you with a lovestruck look. "Maybe I am hallucinating, I think I'm seeing heaven above me."

It was supposed to be a compliment that would've made you giggle and blush, like the ones that he showered you with daily. But instead, it made your heart clench at the bare idea of it. The idea that this would be his last moments before the energies spent for this expedition would be too much for him to handle, and God will reclaim his most virtuous man. It made your throat tighten, and your lower lip tremble.

You tried to hide your troubled state, moving your hand quickly to the curve of his neck. There, you placed a soft, butterfly-like kiss on the little places of skin that haven't been mutilated and bloodied by the leprosy. You kissed him one more time, then another, and another again..

In the end, you lost count of how many kisses you had given him, in a desperate attempt to mend your premature grief, to ground yourself in the feeling that Baldwin is there. He is alive. Yet the feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest rising up and down and his arms weakly holding your soft body, it wasn't enough to stop the tears to start flowing down your cheeks.

And that didn't go unnoticed to Baldwin, who mustered all his strength left to hold you just a little tighter. "Have my words upset you?" you sniffled, trying to recollect yourself before lifting your head to look into his eyes. "No, my dear, you could never. I just-" you stopped for a second, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat, "promise me this is the last time. Please, tell me that you will stop this nonsense. Let your trusted men handle these matters, command your man like a king not a general!" your hands had moved to his arms, a gesture to both ground yourself and to accentuate just how desperate you were in that moment, only wanting him to just listen.

"I beg of you, my love, stay here. Where you can rest. We both know that you don't have much more time left to live, so stop doing everything in your power to shorten it anymore." A sob slipped from your mouth at the last part. It truly astonished you how careless he seemed about his own condition, almost as if he forgot that any move could be the death of him.

He frowned and sighed at your words, squeezing your forearms softly before he spoke softly. This time though his tone was clearer, less weakened by the outcomes of the past days. "I already spoke to the physician about this: I have no choice, my angel. I'll be bound to my bed until a miracle will better my condition, or until death will take me."

You shut your eyes in relief, resting your forehead against his and sighing shakily, trying to recompose yourself. "I can't live in a world without you.."

"God will give us more time. I promise I won't leave you as long as I breathe on this earth. And. when my time will be over and there will be no future for us in this life, I'll be waiting for you in heaven, if I'll be granted the blessing of a place next to you there."

Not too long after, the physicians that Saladin had promised him arrived at the palace, and you were assisted as they tended to Baldwin's many wounds caused by his sickness. More than the sight of the gruesome pieces of open flesh, what appalled you was just how numb his body had become, so much so that he did not even feel their hands and tools working into his skin. It made you wonder wether or not he even felt your kisses from before.

And you make yourself that same question months later, when you place one last kiss into his forehead as he slept soundly before going to bed yourself, only to wake up to a cold body beside you. You wonder if he ever got to feel that last gesture of love before God had finally claimed him.

You only found solace in the thought that Baldwin would be resting in the realms of heaven above your head, contrary to what the Saracens believe.

A/N: Wowww this gets more fun by the day!! King Baldwin will probably always be my favorite character to write for. He’s my muse. As always ill be waiting for your feedbacks!!!

Oh and also, be prepared in the future for more fics waiting to be posted, I’ve got about ten that are just waiting for the right time to come to light, and many more will come in the future since I’m really finding it therapeutic to write.

[indigofyrebird]

A Tale of Brothers

820 words

Rated G!

Kind of angsty. Kind of sweet.

-----------

"What, no hug for me?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Crosshair wished he could take them back. He hated the way it made him sound like a child, like he wanted a hug. He didn't. 

Echo's response made him cringe inwardly. "Depends on how good your intel is." Crosshair turned his head away from the other man's intense gaze, huffing out a dismissive breath. He didn't need Echo's approval. He surely didn't need a hug from him.

Dinner was awkward. Talk of Tech made the ache in his heart threaten to overwhelm him. His food tasted like sawdust. He offered what he could with information about Barton IV, his hand tremoring hard at the memories it brought up. They would leave in the morning. 

When Wrecker brought his armor kit out and presented it to him he could hardly speak for the lump in his throat. One glance up at the back of Wrecker's head and then the brief eye contact with Hunter had him turning away, heart feeling like it had dropped into his stomach. Why do I care what HE thinks? Crosshair cursed to himself. 

Omega lightened his mood immidiately. She was good at that. Reminding him that she was the older sister. Now that was funny. He smiled, the feeling foreign on his lips. 

------

Crosshair stepped out into the bright sunlight, adjusting his chest plate. His old armor was a little loose but he had to admit it felt good. It felt like home. Like all the memories of a childhood spent learning to fight alongside his brothers were held in each piece of armor. He would be forever grateful to Wrecker for keeping it safe for him. 

Looking up at the ungodly screeching, he watched the ice vulture circling overhead. Mayday's voice in his head combined with the frigid temperature sent a shiver through him. The sun coming through the clouds was nothing more than light, giving off very little warmth. 

Inside, the abandoned building was dark. Wrecker clicked on his flashlight. Echo's response to Crosshair's "I guess it served its purpose" with "sounds familiar" made Crosshair a little sour and he turned to explore alone. Does he have to remind me of my mistakes? To rub it in? The helmets when he found them did nothing to help his mood. Cast aside, their purpose served. The human beings that once wore them, long gone. Crosshair knelt to retrieve one of them. They had served their purpose hadn't they, he thought. I served my purpose. And how was I repaid? How were these men repaid? He clenched his fist and swore under his breath. 

Crosshair took out his anger on Hunter. He wasn't planning on saying those hurtful things to him, but once he started, the words wouldn't stop. "She went through what she did because you failed!" he said, more than a small part of him wanting to insert the word I. I went through what I did because you failed...but no. He didn't blame Hunter, not really. That was just his bitter, wounded heart talking. 

And then the wyrm came and they fought. Hunter falling through the ice sent a stabbing panic through Crosshair and when he screamed his name it was with the deep fear of losing someone close. But they beat the wyrm. They beat it and they caught their breath and they sat side by side. Crosshair thought in that moment that this was good enough. If his squad never accepted him more than this, a soldier looking out for a fellow soldier, this was enough. In his heart he knew this was a lie. These were his brothers. The only family he had ever known. 

Then, Wrecker grabbed them both in a hug so fierce that Crosshair could have cried. He rolled his eyes at Hunter from under Wrecker's arm and Hunter gave him a small smile back. Crosshair knew then that his brothers wanted him, maybe even needed him. 

----- 

Sitting in the quiet of the ship, Crosshair rested his head in his hands. He slept on and off, waking when he felt Echo sit beside him. "Cross..." Echo trailed off hesitantly. Crosshair turned to face him, rubbing his sleep filled eyes. "Listen, Crosshair, I just wanted to say...it's good to have you back." Crosshair looked at the other man carefully. Echo had clearly been wanting to say this to him. As if it were important to him. Crosshair nodded, embarrassed, not sure what to say in response. 

And then Echo placed his arm over Crosshair's shoulder and pulled him close in a warm embrace. Part of Crosshair wanted to resist, to pull back, but he didn't. He didn't want to be pitied. Somehow, he knew Echo didn't mean it as pity. He rested his head on Echo's shoulder, and when Echo moved back slightly, they placed their foreheads together gently. "Brother," Crosshair muttered softly. 

For the @summer-of-bad-batch prompt "hugs"

[aealzx]

With Mom April’s guidance through the headsets the group was able to quickly make their way through the winding halls towards the exit. Mikey had taken point, with Don in the back, and the other four in the middle. There weren’t many soldiers left to oppose them, and those who were in their route were quickly taken out by Mikey alone. He may have been the least serious of them, but they all still knew he was the most skilled out of all of them. Which was easy to see from the way he would sprint forward before the others knew an enemy was there, leaping into the soldiers and taking at least two out before they realized he was on them. “You alright?” Raphael asked, looking to Leo after Mikey bounced lightly on his feet, four more soldiers on the ground. Despite carrying someone, Raphael knew Leo was still breathing heavier than he normally would have been in that situation.

Looking over to Raphel in very mild surprise, Leo eventually just nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he assured. It wasn’t a lie, and that was enough for Raphael. For now at least.

“We should be coming up on the exit on the next turn,” Don announced, ushering them on from their momentary pause.

It was the last stretch, and while they remained tense in anticipation they could feel the bubble of relief starting to build. At least until a flicker of purple light caught Raphael’s eyes, drawing his attention to Donnie’s hand as the teen willed it over to the side to hang limply from Leo’s hold. A small cube of transparent energy dropped from his hand to the floor, crashing into a puddle that rippled energy through the structure, much like it had earlier when the EMP charge had been set off. But the lights remained on this time, which caused them to paused warily.

Looking around, Leo didn’t immediately notice anything different. “...What did you-”

[S’self des- stru- stuct seq-q-q-q- ence initiiiiiiiated. You have f-f-f-f-ive minutes to evvvvvvvacuate.]

The warning announcement blared over the intercom, accompanied by more intense red lights flashing instead of holding a consistent glow.

“SH- WHAT?” Raphael hissed, taking half a breath before shifting to nudge his shoulder into Leo’s back and start shoving him along. “MOVE IT!”

“I didn’t know blowing the place up was part of the plan!” Mikey protested, waiting just a moment to make sure the rest could keep up with him before he turned to start running.

“Not our plan!” Don confirmed, hands reaching forward to rest on Leo’s and Raphael’s backs both so they would know he was there and to help support them if they fell back. “The other Donatello apparently decided to add it.”

“WHY?” Mikey blurted, raising his hands in exasperation. “Now we have to run like crazy men.”

“That’s nothing new for you,” Raphael quipped, grinning when Mikey squawked a protesting noise in return.

“The plane is over that hill. Mikey, you pilot this time,” Don directed, keeping them on track despite the mutual bullying. He was too used to it by now, it didn’t matter.

“Righto!” Mikey chirped, rushing forward and pausing for only a moment to jog in place until the stairs Don had remotely triggered extended enough for him to reach. Swinging onto them, Mikey skipped stairs on the way to the door, leaving it open as he dashed to the pilot’s chair and began flipping switches. “Boys and Gents, this is your captain speaking. Please make sure to buckle in and store any loose items in the compartments provided. This may be a bumpy take off.”

Taking the stairs two at a time to get in and out of the way, Raphael noticed Lil Mikey had been roused from his mild daze by the commotion. Or at least enough to be semi responsive. Looking up with a slow gaze, registering where they were, Lil Mikey gave a soft giggle. “You have a plane? That’s so cool…. I’ve never been on a plane before.”

Raphael could only chuckle at the semi slurred comment from the small teen, hoping he was just exhausted and not actually in that bad of a state. “Thanks to Don,” he responded, allowing the mentioned brother to squeeze past him to start pulling the backs of seats down and snapping latches into place to create beds they could get the two teens secured into. They were all reluctant to separate them, but it would be better to have everyone belted in when the plane took off.

“It’s good to see you’re hanging in there. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll give you some first aid once we’re in the air,” Don spoke white kneeling down between the two beds, half distracted pulling the seatbelt across Lil Mikey’s hips after Raphael set him carefully on the bed. After Lil Mikey nodded, Don twisted to get Donnie secured in, shooing Leo to take his seat across from Raphael.

“Ready for take off?” Mikey called back

“Go for it, I’ll hold on,” Don called back, figuring his place wedged down between the two occupied beds was secure enough, and glaring back at Leo when he made a point to gesture to the fact both he and Raphael were buckled properly into their own seats at the head of each bed. “Not now, Leo,” Don snapped lightly, turning back to check on Donnie as the plane lurched forward to begin lift off. Donnie hadn’t responded at all to being set down and otherwise jostled around, so Don rested a hand against his cheek and checked his pulse once more. There wasn’t any perceptible change from earlier, so Don breathed a small sigh of gratitude. “Looks like he just passed out. Must be exhausted…” he commented softly, knowing that at least Leo was listening closely. There wasn’t a lot he could do for either of the brothers with what supplies he had on the plane, but he could at least get everyone’s lungs fairing better and detoxed from the poison gas. Twisting back to face Lil Mikey, who was also starting to look incredibly sleepy, Don kept his voice low while addressing him again. “Can you tell me how you feel?”

Having been carefully watching Donnie, it took Lil Mikey a moment to bring himself to answer. “I’m……….. Ow,” he responded honestly, giving a pathetic chuckle. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever felt, but his arm burned and throbbed horribly, and his lungs felt like a wire brush had been taken to them. “Cold,” he also admitted, realizing ‘ow’ wasn’t that helpful. “Lungs burn. I can feel my heartbeat in my arm.”

“I’ll get you a blanket,” Raphael spoke up abruptly, latching on to the part of conversation that he could do something about and reaching over his own head to the compartment above to pull out one of their blessedly soft, thick, and warm blankets. If Lil Mikey was cold, Raphael guessed it would probably be good to get Donnie covered as well, so tossed the first blanket over to Leo’s lap. “Better get the other kid covered too. I dunno if he’s supposed to be that color, but he looks pale to me,” Raphael huffed, gesturing his head towards Donnie before pulling another blanket from overhead and awkwardly trying to toss it over Lil Mikey. Thankfully Don helped pull the blanket over both of them Lil Mikey, tucking it around the small forms as best he could. When Lil Mikey gave a happy hum at the added warmth Raphael and Don grinned. After that Don was on his feet, popping open other compartments to gather supplies.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Leo asked, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could stand up and be of assistance.They were at a steady altitude now, and while they were on their way home it would still be at least two hours before they got there. He needed something to keep occupied.

“You can stay in your seat and take it easy,” Don commanded bluntly, not looking at Leo while he dug through their supplies, lightly dropping certain items onto the bed next to Lil Mikey.

“Don, you have two patients, I can-” Leo started to try again, but cut off when Don whipped around to look pointedly at him.

“I’m sorry- two patients?” Don repeated, raising a brow and tilting his head. “Just two, Leo? I’m pretty sure I actually have three patients, and two questions. I’m not dumb Leo. Question one: how many soldiers did you fight through on your way to us? And question two: did you happen to have run across your own gas mask specially customized for your turtle face, or did Augustine’s lackeys just happen to not have her favorite cellular corrosion gas on your end?” he half ranted, raising a finger for each question. “Do you want to answer those? Or should I?” They were rhetorical questions, and Leo knew that. Which effectively clamped his mouth shut as he inevitably relented and carefully lowered himself back into his seat. “That’s what I thought,” Don huffed, unimpressed, and Raphael’s shoulders shook in silent laughter for a moment. “How much?”

“..... About four minutes total, I guess,” Leo half mumbled.

Don sighed lightly, thankful Leo was cooperating now, and held a tiny plastic vial out to him. “One of these should do then. Do you remember how to use a nebulizer?” When Leo confirmed he remembered, Don passed him one of the travel sized devices before crouching next to Lil Mikey again.

“....You two argue like Donnie and Leo do sometimes,” Lil Mikey snickered, smiling sleepily at Don.

“He goes by Donnie?” Don asked, smiling softly and admiring how Lil Mikey was still able to laugh at the moment. When Lil Mikey hummed and nodded in confirmation Don made a note in his mind that they could at least have some sort of differentiation between them that wasn’t a full name. “That’s good to know. I’m going to give you an antidote for the gas you breathed in. It’ll help your lungs feel better. Have you ever had inhaled medicine before?” he explained, cracking open three of the same vials he’d given to Leo and emptying them into another nebulizer container. When Lil Mikey shook his head, brows furrowed in confusion at the device Don had, Don just smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt, but it might smell a little weird. This device is just going to turn the antidote into a mist, and all you have to do is keep the mask on over your nose and mouth, and breathe as normally as you can. Okay? Like Leo is doing.”

Don pointed to parts of the device while he explained, and then also pointed to Leo for an example. Leo just smiled and gave a small wave, this not being the first time any of them had had the same antidote before. Lil Mikey had to crane his head a little to see, but was content with the explanation and visual. “Okay,” he agreed, letting Don get the mask situated on him before turning on the machine. “Donnie too? Is he okay? Leo is usually the one that checks up on us. I don’t know as much as he does…”

“Yeah, Donnie will get some too. I just have to give him partial doses gradually since I don’t know exactly how much he was exposed to,” Don assured, grabbing the next item for Lil Mikey. “I can’t take care of your arm until we get back home. And it looks like you’re really sleepy too. Can I put this on your finger to keep track of your heart rate while you get some rest?”

“Oh- Yeah, I know what that is,” Lil Mikey confirmed, obediently raising his hand to sway in the air. He really was very tired. The headache he had because of the anti mystic machines hadn’t left either. But at least he would have someone watching over them for Leon. He hoped his other brothers were okay. And April. And their dads, and Casey. The soft hum of the plane engine and darkened sky outside was lulling him to sleep. And when Don turned back to work with Donnie, Lil Mikey found it hard to resist letting his eyes close and not open again.

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I had the day off from work on wednesday and ended up brain barfing like 10 pages for this fic X'DDDD and then I rewrote this section like 4 times.

I also had a moment of reading comments on the last one and going "shhhhhhhhoooott I forgot to add that part" and had to fenagle it in the beginning of this one X'DDD One of the reasons I love doing live first drafts XD

[roach-works]

As A Queer who’s made it in the trades, do you have any advice for other Queers, visible or not, to breaking into the sector?

i don't have any advice for women other than shoot your shot and be brave, because every workplace ive ever been in SAYS they want more women but oh gee women just don't APPLY, but if you look like a guy you just show up, don't pick fights, and let people assume whatever they assume.

if you've never had factory experience before you can either lie or make up a dad who taught you lots of home improvement projects or focus on the physical aspects of other jobs that left you with plenty of experience in packing, handling, basic tool use, forklift driving, truck loading, etc. if you want an actual trade skill you should look up college and trade school classes, or see if you can join a union and get classes from a union hall, or, again, lie your way in.

like. so many young men in the trades are so so bad at their jobs, it's expected that every now and then a dumbass on too many drugs is hired and he breaks important things and turns up late and falls asleep somewhere weird for awhile before getting fired again. ive watched at least eight of these men cycle through my factory in the last year. the last one ran over a welding machine with a truck before breaking his leg by dropping a beam on himself and then quitting because he wasn't getting paid enough (mood). so like if you show up and are a dumbass that arrives on time, works late, cleans up their area, and doesn't break anything too expensive, and doesn't mysteriously vanish after a month, you have a good shot at keeping your position forever. im genuinely not very good at my job and at least one guy everywhere i work hates me for being a mouthy little fag, but the state of the trades is that if you're not actively on drugs and fire and trying to punch your boss, you probably get to keep your job indefinitely.

my other advice is: if you're trans, and you work in manufacturing, do your best to pass and never admit you're trans. things get bad weird, very fast, and you're surrounded by big guys with power tools. you don't have to pass very well, because the trades are full of a wide variety of the weirdest men in the world and almost none of them have a functional gaydar, but you do have to at minimum not volunteer the information that you're trans.

like. you can if you want. the results will be educational. but no one will be learning anything they wanted to know from this event.

EDIT: start working out though. you NEED to be able to safely lift 30-40lb to start out with and 50-100+ is ideal. if you can't carry around 50 lb for at least a short ways (on and off trucks, on and off tables, on and off dollys) you're risking throwing your back out which is a lifelong bigtime problem. make sure you can lift, bro!

[matthewloverr]

rock me

matt x blake sanders (fem reader)

summary: when out with some friends at a bar a band is playing, the guitarist catches you eye. feeling bold you decide to approach him, one thing turns into another.

warning: low key age play, fingering, kissing, swearing, underage drinking

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

me and my friends alanna, brynleigh and emerie heard there was a live band playing at some shitty bar near where we live, he decided if we wanted to risk being kidnapped or killed being there so late at night but we had nothing better to do.

we began getting ready, i chose to wear something more casual because we’ve never been to this place. i wore a black camisole that showed off my red lacy bra under it and low rise jeans and kept my hair straight. before leaving i slid on some bracelets and a necklace and out we went.

the walk was sketchy but thank god our dorms were only two minutes away, as soon as we approached it we knew exactly what we were getting into. they didn’t even card us at the door which wasn’t the worst thing because even though the legal drinking age was 21 me and the girls were still 19, close enough ?

we grabbed some beers from the bartender and were talking for a bit just about school and other boring stuff, i was so caught up in the conversation i barely noticed the band playing. i looked over to see and my stomach did backflips, there was a tall brunette with broad shoulders dressed in a black muscle tank and black pants, i watched his rings as his fingers moved up and down the electric guitar.

i was so fascinated i didn’t even notice him staring back, we made eye contact and she just shot me a quick wink, i just stared down at the half empty bottle in my hand trying to hide my smile. they finished up their song and the drummer announced they would be back. i couldn’t wait.

i was laughing with brynleigh while alanna and emerie were talking to two men who maybe looked around 30 trying to get free drinks, that’s when i felt a presence behind me. i turned to see who it was expecting some weird old guy and i was met with the same boy i saw on stage, he completely towered over me and when i went to turn to brynleigh she had made her way over to alanna and emerie leaving just me and this man.

“hey im matt” he spoke and shot me a quick nod.

“blake” i replied giving him a warm smile.

“i like that name, how old are you?” he questioned me.

i looked around pursing my lips trying to hide my smile, i knew i should lie and say im 21 but he didn’t look much older than me. “im 19, you?”

his eyes widened a bit “you know you’re too young to be here”

i just took a sip of the beer in my hand ignoring his comment “you never answered my question”

“22” he said leaning his elbow against the edge of the bar, his eyes were so beautiful i could stare at them all night.

“not that far off” i replied shrugging my shoulders.

he just smirked at me before he leaned in to my ear so he could whisper but i would still hear him over the trashy radio music they played.

“come to the bathroom” he whispered, and with that he turned to walk and i quickly finished my beer and followed behind him.

this man could literally tell me to rip my clothes off right here and i would and i didn’t even know him.

as soon as we entered the one stall bathroom he locked it and immediately crashed his lips onto mine, the kiss was messy and rough but i didn’t care i mean he was literally the most sexiest man ive ever seen.

he scooped me up putting his hands under my thighs and i wrapped my legs around his waist, my hands tangled in his hair. he slowly started walking towards the sink and placed me on it. my legs immediately spread so he could come between them, he ghosted his fingers over my clothed heat.

i gasped into the kiss and i could feel him smirk against my lips. i lifted myself up so he could slide the jeans off my hips and down to my knees, he just stared at the black lacy underwear and i internally thanked myself for not going with the granny panties.

he moved his kiss down to my jaw and then my neck, he sucked and slightly bit down on the spot under my ear that made me melt under his touch. he kept doing that making sure my neck was marked up and he slowly moved his fingers under my panties.

he moved his fingers through my slick folds pulling back out from my neck. “already so wet and ive barely touched you?” he said with a smirk on his face, a pink blush flew across my cheeks and nose feeling slightly embarrassed.

“you’re so beautiful you know that” he spoke again this time going back into my neck and rubbing his fingers in circles against my clit. i bucked my hips towards him laying my hands gripping against the sink dying for his touch.

he must’ve got the message because a second later he slipped a finger in and a low moan fell from my lips, i felt his finger curl inside me before he added another one. he just kept his motion and pressed his forehead against mine.

he quickened his pace and i could already feel the knot in my stomach forming. my hands gripped on the sink so hard my knuckles turned white. my brows furrowed and my mouth agape.

“i can feel you clenching, let go baby”, his words sent me over the edge and i threw my head back and spread my legs impossibly further apart, a loud string of moans and curses slipping from my mouth. he kept pumping his fingers in and out and let my high ride out before removing his fingers and licking them clean.

i just stared in awe at the man, his chest was heaving up and down and he just stood and admired me. i jumped off the counter and started pulling up my jeans before someone started banging on the door.

“yo matt, you’ve got five minutes to get out here” a voice yelled from the other side of the door, it sounded like matt but not quite it.

i looked at matt and he just rolled his eyes with a smile on his face, i placed one last peck on his lips.

“here’s my number, call me when you get home tonight” he said as he handed me a peice of paper with 10 digits on it. i took it and stuffed it in my back pocket as i grabbed my phone that had fallen down to the floor.

he opened the door and out with both went, i saw all my friends faces as they saw me and him walk out side by side and him pull me into a side hug and place a kiss on the top of my head before heading back stage.

“okay what the fuck just happened” alanna asked me with excitement in her tone.

“honestly i don’t even know, and ive only had one beer” i said chuckling and throwing my hand to my head.

“well you’re in luck” brynleigh spoke before she turned around with a black platter full of tequila shots. “the bartender thinks that’s you’re boyfriend so free shots on the house !!”

my eyes widened and a big smile grew on my face. we each grabbed one cheering and downing them, all of our faces contorted with disgust and we all laughed.

we drank whatever was left in the tiny cups and danced to music while i was busy eyeing matt. i now realize where he got the skills for what had just happened in the bathroom.

the bar was closing and me and the girls were shit faced so we decided to walk back to our dorms, i shared with brynleigh so alanna and emerie said their goodbyes and went to their dorm. i sunk into my bed and remembered the piece of paper in my pocket.

i quickly pulled it out and carefully entered the digits into my phone and named the contact “guitar matt”, i sent a quick message saying i was home and immediately passed out not bothering to look at the message he had sent.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

the next morning i woke up and my head was pounding, i realized i still had my shirt and bra on but i must’ve kicked my jeans off in the middle of the night. i grabbed my phone and saw he had texted me. last nights memories flooding my head. i clicked on the message as my eyes scanned what he had said.

“im in town for a week, can’t wait to see you again ;)”

a/n: sorry yall this song plus guitar matt is actually stuck in my head, also this is the only part ! (unless yall want another part cause im low key in love with this ;)) ok bye love you !!

comment to be added to tag list !!

[aryastarkthelittleshewolf11]

Pack: Ned’s Men (Jory & Harwin)

Arya’s description of them at Winterfell -

Jory had always smiled at her, when he wasn’t telling her to get from underfoot. - Arya III, ASOS

“Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. - Arya II, ASOS

Relationship & Caring for Arya -

Arya stood in the centre of the room, alone but for Jory Cassel - Eddard III,GOT

Ned could see Arya tense in Jory’s arms. Jory spoke up quickly. “We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” - Eddard GOT

“We all lie,” her father said. “Or did you truly think I’d believe that Nymeria ran off?” Arya blushed guiltily. “Jory kept his word,” her father said with a smile. - Arya II, GOT

“[…]There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she’d have deer to hunt.[…]” - Arya II, GOT

His eyes went wide. “Gods be good,” he said in a choked voice. “Arya Underfoot? Lem, let go of her.” […] “The Hand’s daughter.” Harwin went to one knee before her. “Arya Stark, of Winterfell.” - Arya II, ASOS

She missed him (Hot Pie) more than she thought she would, but Harwin made up for it some. […] , but she left out the stableboy she’d stabbed with Needle, and the guard whose throat she’d cut to get out of Harrenhal. Telling Harwin would be almost like telling her father, and there were some things that she could not bear having her father know. - Arya III, ASOS

“[…] For every man we lost, two showed up to take his place. A few were knights or squires, of gentle birth, but most were common men - field hands and fiddlers and innkeeps, servents and shoemakers, even two septons. Men of all sorts , and women too, children, dogs…” “Dogs?” said Arya. “Aye,” Harwin grinned. “One of our lads keeps the meanest dogs you’d ever want to see.” “I wish I had a good mean dog,” said Arya wistfully. - Arya III ASOS

Warm and dry in a corner between Gendry and Harwin, Arya listened to the singing for a time, then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. - Arya III, ASOS

“We have sore need of horses, milady. Armor as well. Swords, shields, spears. All things coin can buy. Aye, and seed for planting, Winter is coming, remember?” He touched her under the chin. - Arya IV, ASOS

Gendry took one look and laughed so hard that wine came out his nose, until Harwin gave him a thwack alongside his ear. - Arya IV, ASOS

“You get away from them, boy — “ “She’s a girl,” said Harwin. “Leave her be.” […] The bars were too narrow to pass a cup through, but Harwin and Gendry offered her a leg up. - Arya V, ASOS

Betrayal of Trust -

They’d been her friends, she’d felt safe around them, but now she knew that was a lie. They’d let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but the Hound found Mycah. […] And no one raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold […] , or Jory who was captain of the guard. - Arya II, GOT

The look she gave him was full of hurt. “I thought you were my father’s man.” “Lord Eddard’s dead, milady. I belong to the lightning lord now, and to my brothers.” - Arya III, ASOS

“End” -

Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory, and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have behead them.” - Sansa III , GOT

Whirling, she broke for the door, and when Harwin tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a snake. […] Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned the out […] - Arya VIII

[visceravalentines]

a goddamn break

that's right boys it's a saw fic from me, the clown

2.5k words. neat n tidy little character study of my favorite guys in loathe with each other. no content warnings. not explicitly coffinshipping but anything's coffinshipping if you glare at it long enough. I fucked with the timeline of saw iv to make this make sense but literally time isn't real especially in these movies. hope you like it!!

Peter Strahm tells his doctor he doesn’t smoke, and if he were hooked up to a polygraph, it would read as true.

That’s because he knows how to lie in a way that makes the words fact, at least in that moment and the one that comes after. It’s because he quit in college, cold turkey, the day after he got his diploma, and the doc doesn’t ask if he used to smoke.

It’s also because the battered pack of Camels he keeps in the pocket of his suit jacket doesn’t count. That’s for emergencies only.

Today constitutes an emergency. The last two weeks have been a goddamn emergency. Every waking moment since he set foot in the Metropolitan Police Department has been nothing but dead ends and incompetence. Today is one of a long string of days he’d rather fast-forward through to get to the good part, the part where he wins.

He’s never had a liaison turn casualty before. Detective Kerry had a good head on her shoulders, knew which way was up. She’d reached out to the FBI for help on the Jigsaw case, not the other way around. That was the mark of a good cop. One who knew when they were out of their element.

Strahm isn’t ready to admit he’s out of his element. Not yet. Because he isn’t.

He just needs a smoke.

His jacket is slumped over the back of his garbage office chair in the shitty little temporary office he shares with Perez. She clocks him rifling through the pockets, raises a sympathetic eyebrow.

“Don’t,” he warns before she can open her mouth.

She puts her hands up like she’s negotiating with a terrorist. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” she concedes.

“Understatement.” Strahm shoves a sigh out through his nose. “I wanna talk to Jill Tuck again.”

“I know you do.”

Her tone borders on consolation. Strahm shoots her a look. “She’s the key, Perez.”

“She’s a big shiny window and you’re a bird flying at top speed,” she replies. “There are other avenues.”

Strahm shakes his head, taps the pack of Camels against his palm. “I wanna talk to her again.”

Perez rolls her eyes, mutters a curse, and he feels a surge of pride. He's rubbing off on her. “I’ll bring her in.”

“Has forensics pulled their heads out of their collective asses yet, or is that too much to ask for in this shithole precinct?”

Perez smiles beatifically. “I’d rather not answer that.”

Strahm makes a sound like a shoe in a dryer. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“Take fifteen.”

He grumbles something unintelligible even to himself and stalks out.

There’s a door to the alleyway near the men’s room. Strahm knows this because the two aren’t clearly labeled and he’s gone through the wrong one twice. As he turns down the hall he sees that someone has propped open the external door with a rock to keep it from locking behind them, probably some other idiot chipping away at their respiratory health.

He almost reconsiders, almost turns around to find his way to the front of the building. But that’s stupid. He can stomach five minutes five feet away from another person.

Strahm pushes his way through the door, descends the stairs to his left, rounds the banister to the right, and stops cold.

Hoffman turns that dead-eyed stare on him, blows a lungful of smoke through those Hollywood housewife lips. “Agent Strahm,” he says in a monotone that conveys the most mild surprise conceivable.

Strahm considers walking back in the building for five whole seconds. He has no qualms with casual incivility. But he sees Hoffman doing the same math, catches the twitch of a smirk that may as well be a gauntlet thrown at his feet.

Peter Strahm is many things, but never a coward.

He slouches over begrudgingly, finds a section of wall, gives Hoffman a noncommittal grimace and dares to hope, just for a moment. It would be possible for this interaction to pass in silence, incredibly possible. Painless, even.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Hoffman remarks, and Strahm grinds his teeth.

“I don’t.” He digs in his pocket for his ancient Bic lighter. He picked it up at a gas station in St. Louis years ago, never saw the need for an upgrade. Bic makes quality products.

Hoffman takes a drag, watches him pull a cigarette from the pack. “My mistake,” he says in the back of his throat. Smoke wafts loose from his mouth.

Strahm strikes the lighter once, twice, thrice. It sparks, but no flame except a flash of white-hot irritation.

He pictures Perez telling him to picture a beach.

He strikes it six more times even though he knows it’s not going to work, tries to count to ten in his head and fizzles out around four, remembers now the last time he lit up in Baltimore and thought to himself I better fill ‘er up.

He did not, of course, do that. Unfortunately.

Strahm straightens his head and looks hard at the brick wall across the alley and waits for it. He can feel Hoffman savoring the moment, knows exactly the sanctimonious look that’s plastered on the detective’s smug fucking face.

If he makes him ask for it, on his sainted mother’s grave, Strahm will shoot him.

Hoffman exhales serenely. “Need a light?”

Somehow that is worse.

Strahm keeps the cigarette pressed between his lips and his eyes straight ahead and holds out his hand to the right. He’ll be goddamned if he lets Hoffman light it for him. He feels the brush of the detective’s fingers on his palm and the familiar weight of a Zippo, uncomfortably warm from Hoffman's pocket.

When he flips it open he sees an engraving, worn down by what appears to be the frequent back-and-forth rub of a thumb across the letters. Saint Mark. He doesn't want to know.

Strahm lights up and hands the Zippo back to Hoffman like it might carry some disease. He fills his lungs with a bittersweet buzz and lets his head drop back, blows smoke to the sky. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Anything to help the FBI,” Hoffman replies, and Strahm really can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to be more punchable than he already is.

He inhales again and holds it as long as he can. Enough time has passed since the last time he smoked that it goes right to his head, makes his brain hum behind his eyes. He feels better immediately. The smell always whisks him back to his undergrad days, to the stairwell outside the campus library where he used to take study breaks. Cold night, dark clouds, sodium street lamps. A certainty about himself and the future. A support structure. Simpler times.

“Made any progress with Jill Tuck?”

His pleasant memory gets shredded like paper through Hoffman's weird little teeth and he’s back in an alleyway that reeks of trash and vice, stomach acid creeping up his esophagus. Strahm taps his finger, watches flecks of ash spiral down and disappear near his shoe. “What do you think?”

Hoffman takes a thoughtful drag like he’s never heard of a rhetorical question. “She's a deeply troubled woman.”

“Great insight,” Strahm snaps, “really valuable stuff there, detective. Why am I even here?”

“I just figured with your expertise, you might be more successful than me.” Hoffman wears a look of such mock deference Strahm wants to gag. “I'm sure whatever training you get at the FBI is unmatched.”

“Don’t give me that shit.” Strahm doesn't want to play this game, not in this city, not this time. “Look, I know you don't want me here. I know I stepped on your toes at Detective Kerry’s crime scene. That's my job. I come in and stomp around until something shakes loose.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. Please don't mistake me for someone who intends to make your role in this harder than it needs to be.”

There's something besides cigarette smoke behind the words, something weighty. Something that gets Strahm to look directly at the detective for the first time.

Hoffman looks back, unblinking, and Strahm thinks of a shark behind glass. He thinks about perspective and how an object seems motionless when it's coming straight at you. He thinks all this too fast to parse meaning, but his instincts are good, have always been good, and the hair on the back of his neck wants to stand up.

“I think you’re a good cop, Hoffman,” he says carefully. He’s swimming slow back to shore. “I think your department has been sacrificed on the altar of obsession one by one and you’re still here.” No splash, no wake. “Whatever else that means, it means you’re smart.”

Hoffman blows smoke and gives Strahm a look of gratitude so patronizing it makes his skin crawl. “I appreciate that, Agent Strahm. The past several months have been…taxing.”

The past several minutes have been taxing, but Strahm keeps that to himself. He can't shake the feeling that something big just passed him beneath the surface, barely missed him.

“What’s your instinct?” Hoffman asks. “How much do you think Jill knows?”

Strahm scoffs. “Plenty. Enough to write a trashy memoir and disappear from the public eye if she really wanted to. But she hasn't. Why?”

“Because she's involved. Anything she says could incriminate her.”

“No shit.” Strahm sucks on smoke. “And no offense, detective, but I've seen those interrogation tapes. You're too fucking soft on her. You want juice, you gotta squeeze.”

“With all due respect, I'd like to see you try.”

Strahm bristles, shoots him a glare. “Is that a fucking challenge? You think I'm gonna meet my match in Jill fucking Tuck?”

“You misunderstand me, Agent Strahm.” Those eyes glitter with something like mirth. “I mean I truly would like to see you try. Jill Tuck has been a hurdle since the start of all this. Like it or not, we're all players in this game. It's about time she gets pulled off the sidelines.”

Strahm examines him with interest. “You make it sound personal.”

Hoffman breaks eye contact, settles his gaze on some invisible point down the alley. A look of remorse slides over his face like a shadow over the sun. “At this point, how could it not be?”

Whatever else might be going on here, even Strahm has to concede that’s a reasonable response. His mind conjures up memories of closed-casket funerals past and he thinks of his colleagues back at the home office. He thinks of Perez. He clenches his jaw, remembers he’s supposed to be relaxing, takes a hard drag and is rewarded with a wave of nausea.

Hoffman is talking again. “Have you had a chance to look through the case files for the last three Jigsaw games? I think there were ten victims total. If you're right and John Kramer's health has kept him from hands-on involvement, maybe there might be something we missed, something–”

Strahm holds up a hand and exhales around his teeth. “Can we not do this? I just–I need a break from this Jigsaw bullshit. For like thirty seconds.”

“Sure thing,” Hoffman says amicably. He stubs his cigarette out on the wall, leans back against the brick, purses his lips. For a few blessed seconds Strahm thinks he might let the silence stand, or even better–leave. But then: “Got any plans this weekend?”

Strahm pounds his closed fist back against the wall with a little more force than he means to, closes his eyes, chews on a sigh. “No,” he says loudly with what he hopes is sufficient finality.

“Do you fish?”

“Do I what?”

“Fish. Go fishing?”

Strahm groans. “No, detective, no, I don’t fish. I spend enough time sitting waiting for lower life forms to take the bait in my professional life, thank you very much.”

Hoffman lets out what might be a laugh. “Fair enough. You strike me as more of a hunter anyway.”

“Never been,” Strahm says dismissively. This is a lie. He knows the woods of rural Vermont blind. The first time he shot a gun he was seven and the kick knocked him flat on his ass.

“I like to fish. Head down south when I can find the time. You ever been to Bass River?”

Strahm grunts, gives up, slumps against the wall mirroring Hoffman’s posture. “No.”

“Beautiful country. When this is all over, you and Special Agent Perez oughta make the drive down. Worth the detour.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Where are you and Perez staying in town? Maybe I can make some local recommendations, help you make the best of your time here.”

Alarm bells again. Something in the water. Something coming at him. “I don’t know,” Strahm deflects, “some place downtown. Old as fuck. No water pressure.”

Hoffman chuckles. “Sounds like my last apartment.”

“Yeah, you guys have a real issue with property values up here.” Strahm examines his cigarette, figures he can get one more pull off it. “Have you considered razing all the abandoned buildings so Jigsaw runs out of chessboards?”

Something like a smile twists Hoffman’s lips. “Arson, special agent?”

Strahm flicks his filter across the alley. “Whatever works.”

“Litter, too,” Hoffman observes.

Strahm rolls his eyes so hard his neck kinks. “This has been fun, but I’d better start combing through the four thousand page report your medical examiner handed me this morning. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He stands up straight, winces at the tweak in his back, stretches his arms behind him.

“See you around,” Hoffman says.

Strahm makes it halfway up the stairs to the landing before Hoffman calls after him. He almost ignores him, thinks better of it. Gritting his teeth, he leans over the railing. “Yes, detective?”

Hoffman regards him coolly, his gaze like a blunt steel blade. “I'm sure it goes without saying, but…be careful who you trust. If there is an accomplice, we ought to proceed with caution.”

Strahm resists the urge to sneer. “No disrespect to your department, but I’m here because I’m competent. Some chemo-addled freak and his band of misfit toys? I’m not exactly shaking in my boots.”

He could swear Hoffman smiles, just for a second. A flash of teeth that doesn’t reach the eyes. “I understand. It’s just I would hate to see you…how did you say it?” He bites his lip thoughtfully. “Sacrificed.”

Strahm decides, once and for all, that Mark Hoffman is spooky.

“I appreciate your concern.”

He flings the door open and ducks inside without waiting for a reply.

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Strahm submerges himself in the cold, clinical mire of half a dozen autopsy reports. In the back of his mind, behind the descriptions of catastrophic injury inflicted on the human body, he is elbow-deep in a dissection of his own.

He replays the conversation in his head again and again like a microcassette tape, trying to pinpoint the moment when Hoffman shifted in his estimation. He tries to reconcile fact and gut feeling and is left wanting from every angle. The thing about fishing–you only ever see what takes the bait. What passes it by lives on unknown.

All the while, from the time he shuts himself in his office to the moment his head hits the hotel pillow, Strahm tries to shake the feeling he's being watched.

He doesn't succeed.

[neonfretra]

hockey art tag game!! ^_^ hello @wehaveagathering thank you for the tag!! <3

rules: post your first ever hockey art, your latest hockey art, and your favorite hockey art. then tag three hockey artists

tagging artists first because um. gestures at the keep reading below? im shy hello ^_^

@puckpocketed

@stillfertile

@oensible

any other artists that see this!! please tag me i beg of you i would love to get to know other hockey artists! if you already did it tag me who care. i care! :)

lot of yapping because i love yapping, sticking this under a cut ^_^ did you know tumblr changed their image limit from 10 to 30?

as a forewarning a lot of these images are hella compressed because i pulled them directly from posts, maybe consider peeking at the original linked posts to see them in marginally better quality ^_^

first hockey art

i never posted this one! i thought blackwood and kahkonen looked vaguely kiki and bouba esque respectively which is REALLY funny because the name mackenzie blackwood is more bouba than kaapo kahkonen which is an incredibly kiki name

now that i sound sufficiently deranged.

which of these shapes is be named kiki and which is named bouba?

the kiki/bouba effect was a study about our association with sound and shape, in which people associated "kiki" with a spiky shape and "bouba" with a round shape. (wikipedia, image also comes from wikipedia)

this was from when i was first dipping my toes into hockey and had the hardest time telling players apart! the drawing, not the kiki/bouba effect . you can imagine what two men with similar hair color, eye color, and hair styles on the same team playing the same position was like for me. the biggest part of why i didnt post this was because it was incredibly embarrassing at the time . now i can freely admit i dont know any of the eastern conference and people will think im funny ^_^

first hockey art on this blog

mostly because i think its a fun bit of trivia, the goalie portraits for the teams i started out rooting for! (sharks edition and kraken edition)

i posted these the first game of their corresponding teams after i finished them! the completion order is less straight forward because i was actively jumping between all 4 drawings (3 kraken goalie portraits + 1 portrait of 2 shark goalies) when one of them got too hard :)

i dont remember the exact order beyond grubi being the last i finished LMAO something about drawing him just does not agree with my hands

theyre all a lil ugly to me now but thats the fun of knowing how you started <3

i remember also wanting to draw pwhl minnesotas goalies but not knowing at the time how to find nearlyyy enough references to feel confident to go through with it! (i was looking them up on search engine images HAHAHAHA)

good ol pwhl min ^_^ leave out a fire extinguisher for em will you all, one hell of a trashfire on their hands right now

^ this joke was written BEFORE the whole firing of 3 coaches pwhl min are we okay??????

latest hockey art

...at time of posting mostly because i take a long time to get tag games done...! hello from my drafts everypony ^_^

i lie to myself ft. devin cooley and joey daccord!

a fun fact is that despite animating a bit ive actually never made an animatic before! ^_^

one of the challenges of animating is that you have to draw the same character over and over without making big changes and how to keep doing it consistently

one of the challenges of drawing real people is that you need to figure how to simplify a person to their most basic shapes and proportions . even if you have a realistic style you gotta wrangle the underlying bones to it and it is harddd takin that step back from the human person to make em a cartoon .

so you can imagine the how it goes animating real people

i actually wouldve loved addin more motion and frames but experienced some minor limitations:

i do my drawings in an art program and stitch them together afterwards, which means i dont have a sense of the speed of everything . you can kind of see that problem around the 0:19-0:20 mark because i straight up did not consider time when i wrote a really long winded sign in the background LOL the unused frame for this was also a time issue, i tossed in an establishing shot because i didnt consider the fact that there isnt time for an establishing shot

time and motivation . the longer something takes the less i want to work on it . would you believe well over half of this was taken up by like . being stumped on 2 or 3 frames HAHAHA

doing animation in an art program not made for art is really cumbersome actually. i do most of my work in one layer so you can imagine how it feels to suddenly have to keep track of tens of layers (sprites, backgrounds, foreground elements, captions) , i merged certain layers (white blocks under lineart for readability and closed captions over the lineart are all one layer) so its difficult to actually go back and add anything. or alter anything! closed captions from 0:13-0:15 is inaccurate but i cant alter them without literally erasing it from the layer which is scary

despite the fact that anything involving moving pictures kills me crazy style, im INCREDIBLY proud that this is done and this animatic is like my own child. shout out to the reblogs on the post for pointing out jokes or talkin that they like it, yall inflate my ego <3

at some point i stopped using reference images which is really funny to ME because i actually have the hardest time drawin a devin cooley that LOOKS like a devin cooley . get simplified . theres like. a handful of players i feel comfortable drawing without reference? if you ever want to learn how to draw someone, animate them ^_^

favorite hockey art

frantically scrolling through my art tag... not because i dont like any of my art (my drawings are all awesome would you believe) but because i dont even remember what ive drawn LMAOO

we dont mind more than just one art right ^_^ (like ive not been doing that already LOL

the doodles

i habe something to contribute / i shoot the puck / devin cooley eating joey daccords hair

the most important aspect of my own art is whether or not it makes me giggle . if it doesnt make me cry laugh then is it really goin on the fridge?

something i do feel proud of is balancing expression and likeness ^_^ its way easier knocking that balance with fictional characters as opposed to people with actual physical faces . simplifying them into what is essentially a poorly drawn cat meme is more of a beast than realistic portraits would you believe .

i think my favorite subject to do this with would be buoy actually! theyre a mascot, IDK why it should be a surprise that fae takes easily to being simplified and drawn cartoonishly

i do NOT know what emotion i shoot the puck is supposed to evoke.

really fun observin my freakish little drawings developing more of their own style over time (compare my first gubbi drawing to my latest tomas tatar thursday) (again, latest at the time of writing) and the simplification definitely feels way more intentional ^_^

the funnier half of simplifying is that the simpler it gets the more complex it gets? like more dramatic perspective in barkov and tkachuk in the cup or buoys weird pose with tomas tatar with the dynamo pardubice jersey. id mention shading but i actually have a grudge against shading relative to art advice ("just add shading" is NOT the one size fits all advice we treat it like ITS NOT!!!!)

the nicer stuff

do i hear a break down on individual pieces?

jan rutta picking up mackenzie blackwoods helmet

i think i made it planny clear on the original post but i really truly love the composition of this shot. ruttas hand picking up mackblacks helmet? between the legs? CRAZY.

the refs stance was wild by the way. legs so far apart theyre naming the ice between em an ocean. so on.

i remember the original shot being so striking to me because of the contrast between the cold and warm, the hard and the soft fleshy bits which was something i really wanted to exaggerate with colors

yall can probably tell i dont take my references SUPER literally but for some reason in this one i asked myself if it was deceitful to be messin with colors to get a vibe, to which i asked myself WHAT was i going on about

anyways. intentionally made everything but jan ruttas hand way bluer . i guess mackenzie blackwoods helmet is also warm? but the focus is the hand more than anything hahaha this is also why i did the most complex coloring for it

also another point of interest! included the chromatic aberration (the red/blue 3d effect) mostly because the legs on the right side were blending into each other . but its a really interesting effect to observe in actual recording! :) im not a fan of pressing my face up to a moving picture unfortunately </3

sidney crosby with evgeni malkins helmet

ok ok okay can i be honest . that stray line next to the penguins head has bothered me ever since the day after i posted this. now YOU cant unsee it. no problem ^_^

if you look at the original post, this one has been a wild redraw because i was making up a whole new angle of an existing pose LOL. then again i dont do redraws super often so i guess its not really ridiculous but.

actually now that i think about it i was making up the angle (albeit less) with the bobrovsky stigmata drawing (though its worth noting that i referenced this gifset of the save that was less of a severe change than the original tweet) and ignoring foreground elements for the kiss redraw (theres a big ol hockey stick covering jordan eberles head IIRC?) and the mackenzie blackwood holding his partners head redraws (i was absolutely NOT drawing the audience LMAO)

but the gesture was easy enough to capture but the anatomy had me by the NECK. the THROAT. the SCRUFF!!! it still looks plenty wonky to me but IMO gesture trumps accuracy . someone in the notes tagged it with this:

to which i throw my hands up in celebration and say hallelujah he has been accepted by penguins fans he will survive the winter

kraken goalies as animals

i really like drawing animals . i really like drawing armor .

more detailed breakdown on the post LOL i just really liked this and its super different from the usual stuff i post

i havent even mentioned all my sacrilegious drawings... my art is so awesome and cool its so hard picking a favorite...

and some final notes

if you made it to the end of this one jesus christ um. hello ^_^ even i wasnt writin this in one sittin.

honest to god if this post showed you anythin i love talking about my process and thoughts behind my works and if you wanted to ever ask hi hit me up ? ask box open? dms open? i can buy you dinner or a very shiny fruit from the market?

[kingsmoot]

softly as a lover / a thramsay mix

When the last of them were gone, Ramsay Bolton turned his smile on Reek. He clasped him by the back of the head, pulled his face close, kissed him on his cheek, and whispered, “My old friend Reek. Did they really take you for their prince? What bloody fools, these ironmen. The gods are laughing.” “All they want is to go home, my lord.” “And what do you want, my sweet Reek?” Ramsay murmured, as softly as a lover. His breath smelled of mulled wine and cloves, so sweet. “Such valiant service deserves a reward. I cannot give you back your fingers or your toes, but surely there is something you would have of me. Shall I free you instead? Release you from my service? Do you want to go with them, return to your bleak isles in the cold grey sea, be a prince again? Or would you sooner stay my leal serving man?” A cold knife scraped along his spine. Be careful, he told himself, be very, very careful. He did not like his lordship’s smile, the way his eyes were shining, the spittle glistening at the corner of his mouth. He had seen such signs before. You are no prince. You’re Reek, just Reek, it rhymes with freak. Give him the answer that he wants. “My lord,” he said, “my place is here, with you. I’m your Reek. I only want to serve you. All I ask … a skin of wine, that would be reward enough for me … red wine, the strongest that you have, all the wine a man can drink …” Lord Ramsay laughed. “You’re not a man, Reek. You’re just my creature. You’ll have your wine, though. Walder, see to it. And fear not, I won’t return you to the dungeons, you have my word as a Bolton. We’ll make a dog of you instead. Meat every day, and I’ll even leave you teeth enough to eat it. You can sleep beside my girls. Ben, do you have a collar for him?” “I’ll have one made, m’lord,” said old Ben Bones. The old man did better than that. That night, besides the collar, there was a ragged blanket too, and half a chicken. Reek had to ɹght the dogs for the meat, but it was the best meal he’d had since Winterfell. And the wine … the wine was dark and sour, but strong. Squatting amongst the hounds, Reek drank until his head swam, retched, wiped his mouth, and drank some more. Afterward he lay back and closed his eyes. When he woke a dog was licking vomit from his beard, and dark clouds were scuttling across the face of a sickle moon. Somewhere in the night, men were screaming. He shoved the dog aside, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

i. polly - nirvana ii. run from me - timber timbre iii. gibson girl - ethel cain iv. tear you apart - she wants revenge v. doll parts - hole vi. bleed the freak - alice in chains vii. love buzz - nirvana viii. terrible lie - nin ix. kiss - london after midnight x. heaven beside you - alice in chains xi. covet - basement xii. no ordinary love - deftones xiii. prison sex - tool xiv. purity - slipknot xv. rape me - nirvana

❦︎ play on spotify

[sagepinkheart]

Victorian!Reader x Vampire!Miguel O’Hara

YALL DONT UNDERSTAND HOW LONG IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SCENARIO IM LITERALLY BLUSHING AND KICKING MY FEET

Warnings/CW: Bl00d, biting, violence, reader gets chased

Crack.

She is now wide awake. This is the third time that she’s heard aggressive rustling from the thorny white roses that lie on her balcony. She doesn’t want to, but she knows that she should investigate. After all, it’s still her palace, even if it is ran by her aristocrat father.

She swings her feet to the side of her bed, her nightgown(https://pin.it/8mKPiAN) draping over as she is slipping into her flats that lie beneath her bed frame. The slapping of the souls of said flats echo through the dark and empty corridors, the only light being the one shining through the big Palladian stained glass windows.

She enjoys the silence. It’s a great contrast from the bustling noise of everyday life in a palace full of elegant snobs and yes men. She strolls with much grace, a trail of white tulle and lace followed behind closely as she dragged her steps. She reaches the entrance to the garden, the place she feels most at ease, and where she can see where the noise is coming from, or who it’s coming from.

༺♥༻

The grass crunched beneath her feet as she took cautious steps through the garden, leaving the glass greenhouse and entering a large field of roses that sprawled for miles. The cool wind blew her gown that dragged along her feet, a chill running up her spine as the night ran cold and moon shined bright.

Crack.

She was grasped out of her trance when she heard the same rustling sound. She approaches the area in which the sound had come from, the hope of a stray cat being her only drive to investigate. As she got closer and closer to an emptier part of the rose field, she saw what looked to be a tall dark figure.

A man maybe? Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, and she was right. A man stood there maliciously, his back facing her. He sported a white shirt which needed to be laced at the neckline with ruffles at the hems and pants a shade of burnt sienna(https://pin.it/6VibqO7). There was a red stain on his shirt, which surprisingly made her feel less threatened. He could just be a drunk from the gala whom overstayed his welcome.

His pointy left ear twitched as she approached him, her intentions to escort him out and get her chauffeur to take him back to his estate. He turned his head to face her, looking over his shoulder. Those eyes, those dastardly crimson eyes. They glowed, like the roses that lie dead around him. She could stare at them forever. She was intrigued, yet, terrified. Her eyes trailed down to what he was standing over.

A corpse that seemed to be one of her nightly watch guards lie dead in front of him.

Her fight-or-flight senses took over as she slowly took a step back. Step after step, her arms folded to her chest with her palms out, her body language telling him to ‘stay back’. Walking turned into running. She turned away and ran through the field, in hopes of signaling one of the servants.

As she turned back to see if he was following her, she was met with his face right in front of her. How could he have ran so fast? Before she could comprehend anything, he pinned her to the ground. The roses squashed under them. He pinned her wrists to the sides of her head, straddling her with his muscular thighs.

They stayed like that for a while, panting while looking into each other’s eyes. She notice that his mouth was oozing blood, assuming it wasn’t his.

She wanted to scream, oh so she wanted to scream her lungs out until steam rose from her throat. Shrill an echoing screech that would alert the whole earth that she was going to die. But she couldn’t. The lump in her throat stopped even the smallest of whines from escaping her lips.

He started to lean over her, the tension thick enough to cut with a butcher knife. Then, he stopped. His face sitting right above the soft skin of her neck. She tensed up. Was he going to kill her? Was he showing mercy? She had no clue. She softened a bit after he had stopped and let out a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, he sunk his teeth into her neck. She let out a hallowing shriek, one she didn’t know she could do. How could his teeth go through her skin so easily?

Amidst the excruciating pain, she felt him start to suck. Wait…she’s heard about this before. A creature with pale skin, sharp fangs, and a desire for blood. But it was surely just a myth…right?

He only had one of the three qualities though. His hair a chestnut brown and his skin a fine caramel. But he had eyes a shade of scarlet and teeth sharper than blades, not to mention he stood a whopping 6’9 ft.

He sunk his teeth deeper, cueing another hair-raising scream. His talons dug into your wrists, instantly causing bruising. Blood started to spill from the open wound on your neck, painting the white roses red. He retracted his fangs and sat up, staring into her eyes as he licked the remaining blood off of his upper lip. There was still some blood on his chin, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Actually she felt quite faint. A lot of blood had been drawn and the pure shock alone could send her into a coma any minute.

She felt her eyelids get heavy as blood drew from her face, a white cast bestowed upon her skin. He started to take notice of her drowsy expression. He said one word to her. “Rest.” That was the last thing she heard before she fell unconscious, drifting off into a far away land in her head.

༺♥༻

He watched the girl as she lie numb. Her head shifting to the right as her body relaxed. He hadn’t planned to knock her out, but he couldn’t help himself. Her blood was so delectable, like the blood of a new born, or someone who had never been ill. Goodness, he wanted more. He bit down on his wrist, fighting his aggressive temptations. He stood up, staring down at the body in front of him.

She was beautiful. Breathtaking even. If he were human, he would definitely court her as his own. Oh wait…if he were human. Flashbacks of her terrified face flashed through his mind. How could someone like her love a monster like him? His eyes trailed to the bite mark his fangs left on her warm neck. Oh to get another taste before disappearing into the night. He fought himself again, he didn’t want to kill her to fuel his own hunger.

The screams. He knew someone must’ve heard them. He had to hurry to return her to her chambers. He looked back down at her, admiring her beauty. He suddenly heard motion in the palace. This was his cue to escape, but he was not in favor of leaving her lying outside, for fear of another vampire finding her.

He put his hands under upper back and her knee, like a groom carrying a bride. He walked slowly through the field, each step making the roses around him wither. He saw what looked to be her room, the one he had been briefly watching her from. With one step back, he leaped onto the balcony. Pushing back the curtains, he approached her canopy bed. He carefully placed her down on the silk sheets, crossing her arms over her chest. He towered over her resting body, her breathing playing as music through his ears.

It felt like the first time he saw her, at her father’s gathering, which was just another silly event for him to boast about his political success. He still remembers that night, you stood on the side, sipping Claret and Hock wine. Your gown as ravishing as always.

Unexpectedly, fast footsteps were heard around the door. A guard bursts through it, pointing his index finger at the brunette. “Hey!”, he shouts, motioning to the intruder that stands over the woman. The vampire sprints towards the balcony, hopping onto the railing. He glances back at the sleeping woman, taking a final mental image, before dashing off into the night.

I wrote this during school so like it’s kinda rushed, but if y’all want a part 2 or a flashback to the gathering then I’ll be more than happy to serve.😛

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for slowly trying to drop my friend at a bad time?

the title may make me sound like. not a good person but. hear me out

okay so. i was friends with this person (lets call them R) for a few years. at the beginning it was fine, and i loved hanging out with R! but then, they got less. cool i guess? they were overly emotional, waay too "mature" for their age, and too comfortable sharing unnecessary details about themself. some examples are crying over not riding a horse, having certain. items shipped to my house, and they would tell me about all these adult men they were messaging (i forgot to mention this, but were both minors). R was also just very draining to be around, as they would fake mental disorders and change their name constantly, and then vent to me all the time, like when their mom couldnt keep up with the different names, and like when they messed up something when they trained for their sport. R has also physically harmed me before, such as when they choked me during a DnD game.

after about two, three? years of this i had finally had enough. while i was trying to figure out the best way to stop talking to them, R had to be sent to a mental hospital. this may make me sound like a jerk, but i thought that this might be my best chance at dropping them. while they were gone, i had found a better friend group, and felt way better about myself.

after a couple weeks, R messaged me and told me that they were going to be coming back soon, and if they could sit with me during lunch. i said something along the lines of "oh, sorry, our table is full". R then proceeded to ask why i hadnt talked to them over the summer, and i simply said that i had been super busy (not a lie, this was around the beginning of the school year), and i wasnt sure if phones were allowed in the hospital (also not a lie, as ive never been and wasnt sure). R got extremely mad at me, and said something like "oh, so you were able to hang out with your new friends, but not me? just say you dont want to be friends with me." and then blocked me. i thought they probably didnt want to hear from me, so i didnt try to reach out on any other social media.

after this, R came back to school, and was sitting at the table across from mine, and would shoot me dirty looks. eventually, i stopped seeing them around school, and learned that R had transferred schools. a bit after that, i was talking to a friend that goes to the other school, and learned that word had spread about R, and that they werent making any friends at the second school.

ive always felt slightly guilty, as i didnt mean to make them loose all their friends and transfer schools, so AITA?

What are these acronyms?