#App Challenge

[brightnews]

CONGRATULATIONS NORTH COBB CHRISTIAN STUDENTS

North Cobb Christian Students Win First Place in Congressional App Challenge Four North Cobb Christian School students, Jason Osborn, Nathan Stinson, Jade Zebrowski, and Kameron Fournillier, won first place in the 2024 Congressional App Challenge for their budget and finance-tracking app, CTrack. The Congressional App Challenge is the most prestigious national honor for student computer science.…

[thesteamhunk]

“Oh we need more male S/A victim rep!” You guys can’t even handle Odysseus without insisting that him being trapped in a cave until he agreed to sleep with a woman or being put under a spell and coerced while under the spell was still him consenting fully shut the fuck up.

[vakariaan]

ultimate ships challenge - [10/10] she cleans up nicely scenes

[jesuistrestriste]

dom!art still taking the strap like a p★rnstar.

cw (18+) : teasing dom!art, eager-to-please sub!reader, brief fingering, choking, pegging, spitting in mouth, handjob, general filth

art pushes his face into the mattress as your soft, willing tongue laps slickly over his hole from behind, his left hand reaching back to grab your shoulder and squeeze it with everything he’s got. he rocks his hips against your mouth and keens when he feels you whimper into his flesh.

“f-fuuuck,” he shudders, “you’re so greedy for me, aren’t you? do i taste good?”

all you can do is nod, too immersed in his taste and his smell and his dirty language. he laughs lowly in response and then hisses like he’s in pain—even if he’s feeling quite the opposite—when you begin to ease two fingers into his tight entrance without permission. you usually have to ask in order to touch any part of him, as he likes the sense of control and you like knowing that your movements are dependent on his say-so, but it just feels like the right moment to open him up. (he’d been prepped perfectly already with just your licking, his cock hard and hanging heavily between his thighs.) he bites at the sheets, the feeling of you beginning to curl the pads of your phalanges down into his prostate punching a broken whine from his lungs. warm spit clings to his bottom lip and chin as he releases the fabric from his teeth to sit up a bit and look over his shoulder. he looks annoyed.

aroused beyond belief, but annoyed.

“that’s enough—no more, or i wont last long enough to take you. come lie down,” he pats the pillows near the top of the bed, “and tighten the harness, it’s slipping.”

you scramble to your feet, easing your touch from his core, and wipe your face with the back of your other hand before you pull at the polyester straps of the strap-on enough to keep it secure. art sprawls himself out on the bedding for just a moment; he lets you stare at his toned, flushed, willing body while you move to lay your frame down. he crawls on top and straddles you afterwards. maneuvers to smush his shaft against the faux rubbery one underneath him. he moans when he frots with it—grinding his leaking tip against yours with even, teasing thrusts. he does it until he starts to shake, his limbs locking up with an impending climax, only to pull back and begin to sit over the dildo without needing your despairing whine as a prompt. your brow pinches reflexively as you watch him devour the inches, one after the other.. he’s a pro by now, but it never ceases to amaze you. he bucks against the fullness. you wonder if it’ll bulge his tummy this time like his dick bulges yours when he’s inside. the way he starts to bounce on it interrupts your flow of thought. he’s slow at first, then ravenous with it. you’re sure that every motion is hitting that special spot in his walls.

“you look like a mess.. and i’m the one getting fucked,” he snickers between whorish groans and whimpers, his hands finding your throat and gently squeezing the sides under his palms, “you like when i ride you? yeah? just like this? fuck, shit—open your mouth—“

you do as you’re told.

is there any other way to respond to him when he gets like this?

you do what he wants you to do, or you don’t get the satisfaction of pounding him until he’s gone mushy in the head. it’s a transactional process that you’re more than willing to work through.

as soon as your jaw is slacked, your eyes fluttering, he leans in and purses his pout. a glob of his saliva is slowly spat over your tongue like sugary honey. you can hardly take it. your hands fist the sheets and you writhe beneath his weight at the viscous fluid dulling your senses. the flavor is so him, slightly minty from the gum he always chews. he taps the underside of your chin when he’s finished letting it drip. he licks his bottom lip to be rid of the remnants.

“swallow.”

and you do—you want nothing more. he sits upright again and splits himself open harder on the toy bound to your pelvis. each time he slides down it, you get to watch as his abdomen curls and his blonde locks are strewn about his forehead. he tightens his hold on your neck just enough to remind you who’s really in charge, and his length jumps in response to the resulting look that crosses your face. you mewl when it dribbles glassy precome like a river; it glosses over the throbbing vein running down the underside of it. a sound that’s a mix between a shout and a sob then escapes his chest.

“god, i’m close,” his hips stutter in their efforts, his blue eyes shielded by low lids, “c’mere—“

he takes one of his hands from your body and reaches it down to take one of yours that’s still grasping at the sheets. he guides your limp fist to wrap around the base of his cock, keening as he starts to hump it.

“touch me—jerk me off.. fuck.. that’s it—that’s good—don’t stop.. beg me to come for you..”

the heat in your gut swells and contracts in time with his noises and his movements, your hand pumping him quickly to aid his consumption of the pleasure he’s being abundantly given. your thumb swipes over his tip, you can tell it aches. he jolts forward at his sensitivity, dazedly moving both of his hands to your chest for leverage, and you dig your heels into the mattress to help you rut up forcefully into his ass. he almost screams.

you beg. you slur out a multitude of pathetic, indulgent sentences that spur on the wave of ecstasy about to crash into his figure. ‘please, come on my strap’ and ‘i’m begging you to let it all go for me, let me watch you lose it’.

it does the trick. in fact, it does it perfectly. everything snaps.

he topples forward with a sudden wail; brows furrowing and thighs quaking and back arching in an unbelievably filthy manner. his legs begin to close as the pleasure floods in and squirts from his erection in several bursts—the ropes coat your fingers and dribble over his stomach like fresh milk. still riding the toy, he digs his calloused touch into the sides of your torso, his fingers moving there in the midst of his orgasm. he hangs his head as he pants.

“fuck, i’m coming,” he gasps, growling afterward as if the sensations are causing his hair to stand on end, “keep stroking me, i’m still—yeah—god, you’re my favorite way to get off..”

you can tell that he means it, that the intoxicating effect of his release isn’t making him drunk enough to be insincere. you pump him until he seizes up and starts to hiccup. when the overstimulation becomes too much, he drops himself on top of you in a boneless heap; a sweaty, spent, satisfied mess of a man. the strap-on is still buried in his heat, and his cock is softening rapidly, but he shows no sign of moving anytime soon.

he reaches up quietly and cups your cheek, brushing his nose against it. you can feel him swallow down a jumble of words before his final ones sound out lowly and tenderly.

the way you like them, and the way he knows you need them.

“good job.. you did so well for me, thank you. give me a few, and then i’ll let you have what you really want.”

there's no need to place any bets on his integrity; you know he’ll keep his promise.

he always does.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist

[storytellering]

Weakness.

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Rewind

Pairing: Joel x f!reader (drabble) - Joel tries Tinder for the first time. His girthy digits get in the way lmao.

Word count: < 1.0k

Warnings: none, just a fluffy and clumsy Joel!

Main Masterlist

Joel Miller sat on his well-worn couch in his cozy flannel pajama pants, the soft glow of the TV flickering in the dim light. With his broad shoulders and rugged good looks, he exuded a kind of understated handsomeness that only came with age and experience.

His dark hair, now tousled after a long day, had a few silver strands, and his deep-set eyes held a warmth that made him feel both strong and approachable. But tonight, those eyes were filled with uncertainty as he stared at his phone.

It had been ages since he’d even thought about dating, let alone using an app like Tinder. But after Ellie had teased him about being a “lonely old man,” one too many times, he’d finally given in.

With a reluctant breath, he downloaded the app and set up his profile. He chose a picture from a rare sunny day when he and Ellie had gone fishing, both of them grinning like they’d won the lottery.

The other pictures he added to the profile were of him and Tommy with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, and there was a photo Ellie had snuck of him on a rare day he was wearing something other than his dirty work clothes. “Well, don’t you look pretty,” she teased and snapped a photo of his slicked-back hair before he could swat her away.

For his bio, he simply wrote, “Just a simple man lookin’ for a bit of happiness.” But as he stared at it, doubt crept in like a thick fog. What if nobody found him interesting? What if he made a complete fool of himself? Even worse, what if someone he knew saw him and told everyone how desperate he was.

Shaking off the nerves, he started swiping. No, No, No, he continued swiping left, either put off by something in their bio or not feeling drawn to them. Most profiles began to blur together until he stumbled upon yours.

Your smile was like sunshine breaking through clouds, and your bio spoke of adventures and cozy evenings. You seemed down to earth, and judging by the pictures in your profile, you didn't take life too seriously. A warmth spread through his chest, and he felt a flutter he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Lord have mercy,” he whispered to himself, heart racing. He meant to swipe right but, in his flustered state, his thumb fumbled, swiping left instead.

Panic shot through him like lightning. “No, no, no! Shit,” he exclaimed, almost dropping his phone. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. How could he be so clumsy? He let you slip away. "Damn sausage fingers."

Joel frantically tries to go back and undo the mistake, but the app denies him; it's a premium service to rewind a swipe and try again.

He stares at his phone screen, contemplating. Is he really about to spend $10 to go back and swipe right for the slim chance that the two of you might match?

He leans forward, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and sighs.

Fuck.

Yeah, he is.

Frantically, Joel digs through his wallet for his debit card and quickly punches in the numbers, upgrading to a premium membership.

Each second feels like an eternity, he doesn’t want to lose your profile. Finally, he swipes backward and your face flashes across the screen again, relief washes over him.

He swipes right quickly before he screws up again, but his heart sinks—no match. Shame washes over him, and he flops back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly.

Embarrassed for wasting 10$ just to get rejected he gets up from the couch with a sigh and calls it a night.

Hours later, he lay in bed, replaying the day in his mind, tossing and turning in his mess of sheets. Every time his thoughts drift back to you, that sweet smile, he feels a pang of longing.

Just as he is about to drift off to sleep, a buzz breaks the silence.

Curiosity prickles at him, and he grabs his phone, squinting against its bright screen with his sleep-fogged eyes.

You have a new match!

His heart races with anticipation. Could it be?

With eager fingers, he opens the app. There it is—your name and profile glowing on the screen.

A match!

A goofy grin spreads across his face, chasing away the earlier embarrassment. Without wasting a second, he types a message, his heart thumping like a bass drum.

“Hey, darlin', I'm Joel. You have no idea how glad I am we matched.”

He sets the phone down, a giddy mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in his chest as he waits for your reply.

[loveanddeepsecrets]

“I don’t want a sleepover…”

Ft. Caleb

⤠ A headcanon turned one shot inspired by a couple’s prank I saw on TikTok

How I’d imagine the LI’s would respond to you when you say you don’t want to spend the night anymore. This would’ve been shorter, but it felt hollow writing bullet points & quotes (I had to set the scene LMAO) so it’s a series now.

⤠ I’m not confident calling this a fic, but this is my first time writing in a fic-like format, so please bear with me if the tone of voice is off

⤠ Tags: Caleb x gn!reader, needy Caleb, fluff, angst if you squint, inaccurate timeline (I think? Mentions Springfresh Day but takes place a few weeks after Lucid Dream myth)

⤠ ft. Xavier| ft. Zayne| ft. Rafayel| ft. Sylus|

⤠ Word count: ≈1.3k (mostly proofread)

It’s the weekend leading up to Springfresh Day, and Caleb insisted you stay with him in Skyhaven because the white Fringetrees are perfect this time of year, and you hardly see any in Linkon. His excitement paired with the laundry list of activities he planned, had you thinking this would be the perfect time to try that couple’s prank you saw on social media. Caleb knows you too well you when it comes to petty, almost juvenile pranks, so you knew time was of the essence.

You two decided to enjoy the warmer weather and fresh blossoms by roller skating around the city to commemorate the new season. The afternoon was scenic and lively. A day filled with festivities like sampling small bites at food trucks, to browsing local street vendors, to strolling through the park, now ends with a race back to Caleb’s apartment.

You hunch over holding your sides, sore from laughter. Your eyes are misty from the wind and tears, but you successfully manage to reach the end of the hallway to tap his front door.

“You’re unbelievable!” he pants, finally catching up to you.

“I only learned from the best! Don’t beat yourself up.” you tease.

Though you’re a skilled and nimble hunter, your muscles still ache from today’s mini excursion. You lazily roll into his living room and faceplant onto the plush sofa. Caleb, trailing close behind you, lets out a small chuckle as he plops himself next to you to remove your skates.

“Ya know…I would’ve carried you back, but you just had to try and best me again didn’t you?”

“It was starting to get dark, and you said you wanted to chase the sunset!” you retort while painfully turning on your side. You let out a low groan as he starts to massage your calves.

“I didn’t mean for you race me! Besides, we only have this weekend together pipsqueak. I don’t want to chase time when I’m with you.”

He grabs your leg to pull you onto his lap and plants a quick peck on your cheek. A comfortable silence lingers between you before he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You knew it was cruel, but with his guard down, relaxed your embrace, now seemed like the perfect time to try the prank.

“Caleb…” you say quietly.

“Yeah?” he replies teasingly, matching your hushed tone

“I don’t think I want to sleep over this weekend.”

You feel his muscles tense under your hold. He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours filled with concern and confusion.

“Wait, huh?”

“I don’t really feel like sleeping over. Today was so much fun— believe me I had a great time, but I kinda want to be by myself for a bit.”

He shakes his head in confusion. “Why? What changed your mind?”

“I don’t know. I just like the feeling of being in my own bed right now.” you explain, slowly pulling away. The sadness in his voice grows more apparent.

“You know I’d never expect you to share a bed with me when you come over. That’s why I made sure you had your own space. Is your bed not comfortable?”

“No it is! It’s just— not the same as laying in my own bed at my own place you know?”

You were confident you could save face until he gave you that look. You know the look. The one with hurt and helplessness in his eyes whenever he can’t read you. You know he hates feeling like you’re hiding from him.

He slightly shifts under you and reaches for your hand. He softly traces his thumb back and forth along your knuckles.

“Ever since we were kids, the only time I’d see you chicken out like this is if you were really spooked by something.” He stops tracing his thumb and gives you that look again.

“You’re not scared of me, right?”

Your heart sinks and you start to falter. “Of course not, I—”

“I know you still need more time to trust me again—”

“Wait, Caleb—”

“And I want nothing more than for us to get back to the way we were before. But if you’re serious about heading back to Linkon, I’ll let you go under 2 conditions. 1: I drive you back to your place. I don’t care that it’s far. Our time is shorter now, and I want to spend all that’s left of it with you. Plus, we haven’t had a good road trip in forever.”

He hesitates a bit before grabbing hold of your hand once more to continue.

“And 2: At least stay for dinner? I sorta bought the ingredients already to make your favourite.” he added shyly.

You didn’t expect this side of Caleb to lay bare so soon after you agreed to give your relationship another try. Then again, you were far from strangers. His vulnerability paired with the sad puppy eyes always failed you when you were kids, and it was about to fail you yet again. Finally, you give in; cupping his face, your words spurt like rapid fire. “I’ll definitely stay for dinner…and dessert…and breakfast later. I don’t actually want to go back, it’s a prank. I saw it online and wanted to do it to you—I’m sorry!!”

Caleb lowers his head in disbelief at your admission, laughing to himself. He leans back, dragging both hands down his face with a heavy sigh.

“You got me.” he concedes defeatedly.

You’re as relieved as he is at his reaction. But the moment quickly passes as you seize the opportunity to gloat.

“You were gonna make my favourite huh?”

“Don’t start, pipsqueak.” he warns.

“And you were right about the road trip. It’s been way too long. When will we actually go on one this time?”

He looks at you for a moment before answering.

“Whenever you want.” he says earnestly.

Taken back by his sincerity, a warm flush spreads to your cheeks. You try looking away, but his face follows your gaze, and he closes the little remaining distance between you. His lips nearly brush against your ear, “You owe me.” he whispers with a hint of mirth.

Before you can respond, he curls one arm under your legs and scoops you off the couch. You yelp and quickly grab hold of his shoulders for stability. You flick his ear for startling you.

“You still have skates on, are you crazy?! We’re gonna fall!”

“Well pips, you bested me 3 times today, and every winner deserves a victory lap, right?” He slowly glides his way around the living room.

“You tricked me into racing you, you tricked me with that cruel, sick prank and now you’ve tricked me into making your favourite tonight. I was actually planning on makin’ it tomorrow.” he says as if he’s revealing a big secret.

“Please, you would’ve made it tonight if I asked anyway—oh! And the road trip!”

“And the road trip” he adds, playfully rolling his eyes. “Always a sore winner.”

“So that’s me: 4 | Caleb: 0. What do 4 wins get me?”

He smirks mischievously and holds you tighter.

“A victory lap at 4x speed.”

“Wait, no—!”

But you were too late. Caleb was already zooming throughout his apartment at breakneck speed; skillfully weaving around furniture and sharp corners ensuring you don’t bump into anything.

Your eyes shut tightly as you held onto his neck even tighter, laughing and squealing. The speed, mischief, and sounds of shared giggles, briefly transported both of you back in time with memories of a young Caleb running around the house with you on piggyback. Always chasing the clock until you’re inevitably caught by grandma with a new punishment and long lecture.

ꨄ︎ A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes and comments are appreciated as always. Writing dialogue in the tone of the LI’s is the hardest part imo and this was certainly a challenge. This took weeks to write on and off no lie. I think I’ll stick to tiny drabbles and headcanons once this is over

Side note: Why is it so hard to find Caleb fluff? I’ve been searching so long to find some on here but it always ends up spicy! Nothing wrong with that, but I want more lover boy Caleb 😤 (If you know of any pls lmk!)

Dividers by: saradika-graphics and @/strangergraphics

[gooseco]

[catherinegraffam]

I recreated Da Vinci's "Lady with an Ermine" in the iPhone Notes app with my finger. Near the end the app just totally broke lmao. You can watch me lose my mind trying to make it over on youtube.

[nimbusclan]

Moon 9 Part 1

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

NimbusClan is back :)

--

“Fog?” Moonstar calls out from where she’s busy scratching shallow grooves into the earth under a large evergreen bush, the only plant in the area that has more than just a few stubborn leaves still clinging to its skeletal branches. There’s a haze of mist that hangs suspended in the clearing that hides her brother from view, but she knows he’s somewhere nearby, prodding around for moss that hasn’t been soaked through yet. 

In an effort to let Fogfreckle feel useful after his long few moons cooped up recovering from the eagle incident, she’d asked him to assign her a task, as deputy. It isn’t much – there’s not much for them to do that isn’t hunting and keeping an eye out for potential camp spots – but he’d beamed all importantly when he told Moonstar to find somewhere for them to sleep tonight while he gathered moss for their nests. 

A sense of pride had warmed Moonstar like a sunbeam. Eventually, when there’s an actual Clan for Fogfreckle to really boss around (and there will be, swear to StarClan), she knows he’s going to make a great deputy.

“Is that what this stuff is?” Fogfreckle calls back, his voice drifting from the fog somewhere to Moonstar’s left. With a snort, Moonstar backs out from under the bush and heads in his direction, peering through the thick haze until the shape of her brother is visible in the mist. He’s batting at the air like he’s trying to scoop the low-hanging clouds into his paws.

He looks almost like how Moonstar would imagine a StarClan cat outside of a dream to look. His pale pelt is ghostly with the heavy hang of clouds shrouding him, and his cobalt eyes glow with a dim blue halo.

She grins at his antics, suffused with an amusement that chases away the pervasive damp that’s trying to work its way into her fur. Flickering across her mind like a hummingbird’s wings, a sharp pang of nostalgia for their kithood washes through her, painful and heartfelt and gone in less than a heartbeat.

“Don’t be a smart-ears,” Moonstar chides her brother, flicking her tail against his flank. “I’m nearly finished with the dens; do you want me to help you gather moss?”

“That’d be great, actually,” Fogfreckle  mews. “I think I’ve found just about everything in this clearing that’s still dry. I got lucky with a hollowed out log, but we could use a bit more.”

Meowing an affirmative, Moonstar picks a direction at random and trots off into the cold, unfamiliar mist, mouth open to scent her way. The heady smells of damp earth and dripping branches fill up her senses. The blurry, unfocused leaves hanging still and silent in the trees press against her ears and muffle even her own pawsteps.

“I can hardly see past my own whiskers…” Moonstar muses quietly to herself. She squints into the fog. It’s thick like cobweb and sticks to her fur just the same.

Moonstar picks her way across the damp grass of the woods, heading for where the trees thin out on the cliffside. She’s hoping for a bit of wind that may whisk some of this fog away. It’ll be easier to find moss if she can actually see it. The ground starts to slope down towards the cliff, so Moonstar angles herself to slide carefully along the grass.

The silence is eerie. It makes Moonstar miss her Clan - the old NimbusClan - and the hustle and bustle of cats going about their daily schedules. She aches for the regular ho hum of days where she knew what happened next, where the hunting party would return with plump freshkill from the meadow and where she got to work on sparring with her brother and mentor in the shade of the mountain. The constant undercurrent of meows in the camp, days that were never spent in silence.

She puffs her fur against the chill and the memories.

Every day since she and Fogfreckle left the wreckage of the landside behind has been uncertain. Full cycles of the sun and moon filled with the unknown. StarClan decided that she deserved to be leader, but most days, Moonstar feels as incompetent as a bumbling kit. She could run a Clan that worked like a real Clan, she thinks. It would be easy, even, with a plan to follow.

Hissing, Moonstar remembers that she’s supposed to be hunting for moss. She doesn’t do well with this loneliness – she gets too lost in her thoughts. Some leader.

The ground slopes down sharper still, and she adjust the angle of her body and flicks her tail out behind her to adjust her balance. The wet grass beneath her paws isn’t much to hold onto.

A whisper reaches her ears then, a sigh of the wind, except none of the trees sway their leaves and the bushes don’t quiver. All is still when Moonstar jerks up her head, glancing around for the source of the noise.

“Hello?”

The murmur is there again, wet like water and blurry like fog, and Moonstar can feel the thick weight of eyes on her pelt, prickling there like ants. She whirls around, sure she’ll find somebody, some cat, maybe a predator, watching her through the fog, but the damp grass slips out from under her paws.

Flailing, Moonstar looks down in horror as the ground falls away underneath her, the mountain sloping steeply down at the edge of the treeline. Distracted, she hadn’t noticed how close she’d been to the edge.

She hits the scree slope hard, her teeth gnashing together and her paws skidding as she tries to find her footing. The mountain is steep and the gravel underpaw is loose and sprays out from under her as she tries to sink her claws into it.

Larger rocks dislodged from her descent tumble past her like clumsy kits, knocking into each other with bangs and cracks that quicken her pulse and claw at her lungs. The sound echoes across the slope, fenced in by the fog that surrounds her on all sides like a stranger’s breath too close to her face. Memories wreathed in scent and sound clamor for attention in her head, there and sudden and real and bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

She can smell it. The tang of blood, sharp, filling her nostrils, choking her with the thick scent of it. The wails of her Clanmates and the deafening, roaring crash of boulders falling into camp pound in her ears. Sharp stones dig into her paw pads as she races down the slope but she feels like she’s an entire mountain away, that night rushing back to her like she’s there all over again, living it for the second time.

“What’s happening?”

Moonstar lifts her head, blinking blearily as the earth under her rattles her awake.

“The ground is shaking!”

Her brother is pressed to her side, familiar and warm in the dark den.

“Rocks– it’s a landslide!”

Dark. It’s too dark.

“The apprentice den! It’s blocked!”

She can smell it, now. Blood. Her Clanmates are wailing in fear.

“Fogpaw!”

Moonstar leaps to her paws. The sound is so loud. She thinks her head is going to split open from the thunderous noise.

“Moonp-!” CRACK.

Moonstar’s heart races, thundering in her ribcage as loud as the rocks that tumble down alongside her. Desperately, Moonstar claws for purchase on the slope, but there’s nothing more she can do but open her mouth in a horrified wail as the cliff she’s sliding straight for rushes up to meet her.

She flies off the edge of the cliff, suspended in air for a long, horrible moment until her stomach reacts first, dropping before the rest of her body can follow. As she falls, she feels like she’s going to be sick. She flails her limbs for something, anything to grab onto as the edge of the cliff swallows up her vision.

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

[thewisewill80sbyers]

STRANGER THINGS 5 TEASER

[grape-souffle]

Finally had a chance to make this open collab!!!

[tranniephannie]

dan howell, professional hater of tiktok, when people are slightly mean to phil: alright fuckers we’re taking this to tiktok

[alexturntable]

Best bits: C2 challenges (via SF App)

[terristre]

new sparkle brush bc medibang put the old one behind a paywall (free to use no credit necessary)

1) standard sparkle brush

brush icon > sets > plus on top left > scatter > create from image

the import this!!! play with settings to your heart's content

i find best results from turning scatter strength lower & random particle higher

turn color/hue jitter to zero unless you want variance in colors

if you want all the sparkles in one direction switch off rotate along & set random rotate to zero. alter rotate angle to your desired placement (50 for ❌ 38 for ➕)

2) fancier one i made testing how multi brushes work

start by creating a new, square canvas (generally 500x500 or above)

go to layers > plus button > select an image to add then import these 4 images into the canvas, upon importing they'll each create their own new layer by default (WHICH WE WANT)

from there its brush icon > sets > plus on top left > multi scatter > create from canvas

same spiel as above applies lol mess with settings to your hearts content

[gazspookiebear]

Thinking about waiting for Ghost to be ready for a relationship (kind of continued from this post

(Kinda angsty, self doubt/depreciating thoughts)

When you ask 'What are we?', he panics. He doesn't know. He isn't ready to be a boyfriend, to meet your parents, to open up about his life-

His internal monolog is interrupted by your hand on top of his own. He hadn't realized how anxious he must have appeared- sweaty, hands trembling, shallow breaths, the works. He felt like he was being strangled, and all of this was over a simple question. Why did he ever think he could do this?

You tell him it's okay. You tell him you don't need an answer now if he's not ready. You say that you're fine with the way things are, and if he isn't ready to move forward yet, you'll wait for him.

You tell him you'll always love him regardless.

The world might as well have stopped spinning, because you love him?

He wants to tell you he loves you too, but he's scared. He's still waiting for you to leave. For him to lose feelings. For this to all have been a huge waste of time, or for you to realize you deserve better as soon as he confesses how he really feels.

For a split second, he thinks about leaving. About ghosting you. Maybe even breaking up with you- but that would require him to admit there was something there in the first place. It felt like you had snaked your way around his heart and were squeezing with all your might.

God, he couldn't imagine himself without you. He felt like a fool, naive and childish all over again. Why were you so patient with him? Couldn't you see there was something rotting inside of him?

Once again, he's dragged out of his mind by your presence. You look worried. He can't fathom why you would be worried about him. Nonetheless, he squeezes your hand in return. A simple gesture, but it means the world to you. You know he's trying. You know he's fighting with himself and losing half the battles.

You're determined to win the war.