#all my recent posts have been queued

[butch-bakugo]

Maybe im being defensive on a different blog or maybe im just tired of making excuses but it litterally pisses me off sometimes on how we as communties on this platform, refuse to even tap the glass surrounding the topic of a "dni" or "do not interact" as something that is, in truth, totally outlandish and entitled.

Its held up as everyone's special little perfect scroll that makes anyone a monster for not reading and completely adhereing to. Like its your fault for existing in the same space as someone who finds some innate thing about you triggering and its your fault their mental health is now in "utter shambles". How dare you exist in their space. How dare you not explore every aspect of them before mindlessly scrolling down after liking one of their posts. How dare you not read every piece of the fine print in their 20 paragraph 3 teir with 6 paths per teir caard before following them for 1 thing they post sometimes. How dare you step on their lawn. This blog is their property and they have every right to be upset when you step on it!!

Dude... Blogs are public property. Blogs are your little stall in a sea of a billion stalls at a festival held in a city park. Some people will stop and buy shit, other might spit at your feet. Others steal shit or yell at you and heres the reality...

You chose to put up the fucking stall.

You chose this public place. You picked it and decided to sit there and make things and wait. You cant check every customer and why would you? Why should they give you a pamplet of a billion facts of themselves before you could even consider allowing them to just merely stand infront of your stall? Why do i or anyone have to prove to you that we are "worthy" of your blog? Of your content? Why should we have to fit your mold to like a few pictures or pieces of art? Why do i have to sign in?

This is public property and yes, its my fault if i insult you or steal shit but you cant be a white karen and cry to the people crowded around your stall that i merely exist near yours. Thats why i utterly disregard them and will continue to because why?

Dnis are fucking stupid, it dosent stop the people you dont like and if your gonna beg for likes and reblogs, you cant pick who likes and reblogs it.

When i say this, people point out that i have a dni. But heres the thing. At the tippy top of mine, i state that i fully understand and expect it to be disregarded and not adhered to and thats honesty. I dont expect people to and why should i? Its merely a statement of me saying that these people are ones im going to advocate againest and thats it. What grinds my gears is the people who cry and scream and hurt themselves then beg for sympathy from their muturals because they "genuinely" expected it to be respected.

You genuinely expect people to care? When your blog is about cookie run character edits? When your blog is about winx club fanart? Why should they care? Its not my job to follow your rules on a public platform. Its not my job to check every blog i like or reblog from. Its not my job to make my existance something palatable to you and its not my job to respect something i dont have to.

The sickest part of all of it is that its so disconnected from reality. In reality, every person with more than 5 things on their dni has loved ones and close friends who would fit their dni and they don't cut them off like they try to cut at internet strangers. My own damn friends would meet my "dni", my mom would, my sister would. Dose that make them all horrible terrible bigots? Fuck no! It makes me realistic. Its this understanding that just because you dont know someone, one opinion of theirs that dosent align with yours on mundane shit, automatically makes that person a horrendous disguesting bigot who hurts everyone and should never be trusted again with no reason or ability to get better or become more educated or could educate you.

Ive had fully white people not touch important racial posts because im "panphobic". Ive had fully abled people ignore important disabled articles about our rights being taken away cause i support he/him lesbians. Like... The issues dont match each other and you need to be able to put the tumblrina bong down and hold hands aginest actual important issues when they arise instead of mundane fandom bullshit. I dont care if you like the dream smp when im trying to get you to spread more important info about sexism. I dont care if your a demipansexual pro-shipper when really fucking important info about climate change activists are dieing.

Like you gotta be able to step away for a moment and if you find yourself genuinely caring about stupid bullshit like "endogenic rights!!" in real life that dosent affect anything over any of the big 5 of oppression: mysogny, racism, lgbtphobia, ableism and classism... Then you need to step away and get a fucking grip. You need to breathe and leave. Stop like and a ride a bike. Delete and move feet. You get the point.

Get up and get out and get some perspective. None of it matters. Move on.

[izel-scribbles]

malevolent: friendship is magic

(click for HD // closeups + wip shots under the cut)

they get to hold hands bc im nicer than harlan /j

(also, read my fic!!! please!!!)

[buglaur]

[geodebright-fr]

Trans Visibility day!

So of course my dragon sona gets to show my trans pride. The amount of antenna are not important since perma babs only have two nomatter the gender.

Please ignore that I didn’t glimmer the horns I got lazy lol

[despairforme]

[dragon-spaghetti]

Guys send me some rottmnt requests to maybe doodle tomorrow 👀

[shurisasthmaticgf]

wait a damn minute: max verstappen x black fem! reader

summary: in the midst of the biggest worldwide IT outage you realize your name has come up at the worst time possible

author's note: i wrote this on friday when the entire thing happened, i thought i posted it but turns out it was camped out in my drafts still. this is my first max fic so i hope it's an enjoyable read! feedback and comments are always appreciated and highly encouraged, i like to know what you all think of my work!

warnings: google translated dutch

the hungarian grand prix was only days away and you couldn't wait to surprise your boyfriend with a visit. it killed you to miss his races but you'd recently been promoted to a new position in your company which required more days in office than remote. you'd managed to balance work and personal life pretty well but when you weren't missing due to your new job, you had something else happen last minute. finally, after weeks of working long hours on end in an office, you were in the clear to start remote working more frequently.

you managed to clock out of work right on time so the minute the clock hit 6:00 pm, you were logging out and grabbing your already packed bag. one of your coworkers passed by you in the elevator, he was the only one around your age in the entire department so immediately you both clicked. he lightly bumped you with his shoulder and commented, "three side profiles and a headshot or selfie." you furrowed your brows in confusion and he clarified, "photo requests for my husband of course." the two of you burst into laughter as you teased, "was the autographed photocard not enough for you, théo? i even decorated it and put it in a holder for your desk." the young man smiled fondly thinking of the small 3x4 inch card that sat on the corner of his main monitor. he brushed one of his locs from his face and dramatically sighed, "fine i won't be pushy...i only want the selfie." you shook your head and refused with a chuckle, "i'm not asking toto wolff for a selfie, théo." your coworker let out a fake sigh of disappointment and lightly pushed you in the other direction as you parted ways to your cars. you laughed and called out, "i'll see what i can do, no promises though!" his face lit up and he blew your air kisses before calling out a goodnight.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

just thinking about seeing your boyfriend racing again brought butterflies to your stomach. although he was doing well this season a few problems had cost him a few wins here and there. fans had jokingly mentioned that you not being at races was the cause of the missed first place wins because coincidentally, every race you've ever attended, max has won exactly that. for weeks fans have asked about your whereabouts and you'd practically ghosted them simply because you were working so much. you were known as one of the more down to earth f1 WAGs who had no problem interacting with fans in person and over social media. so you suddenly not showing up for max and not interacting with people online made them wonder what was going on with you during the past few weeks. now that work had chilled out, you were happy to be back online again, and even happier to be able to make it out to hungary this weekend.

the moment you stepped into your apartment you made a beeline for your bedroom to change out of your professional clothes. you snatched a pair of scissors, a spray bottle, conditioner, a towel, a comb, and a crumpled up paper bag and cozied up on the couch with shrek queued on the tv. you sprayed your head with the warm water in the bottle and spread a glob of conditioner all over the roots of your hair. you pulled one of your braids forward and snipped the end before unraveling it and picking out whatever knots formed in the 6 weeks your hair had been tucked away. thankfully this time it didn’t take too long to get your braids out, only 3 hours compared to the usual 5 when you didn’t have your boyfriend’s help.

right as the last strands of synthetic hair slipped out of your own curls, your phone rang the familiar tune and a picture of your boyfriend flashed on your screen. a warm smile spread across your face as his camera turned on to show face. you braided you hair on each side to get it out of your face as you spoke, “hi my love how was your day?” he rolled over to his side and grumbled sleepily, “long, usual press day so you know how that goes.” you frowned slightly, “i wish i was there with you today.” max hummed and admitted, “i do as well. but your work is more important so i can deal with this.” you watched as his eyes lingered on your face and you giggled while moving out of the frame shyly, “stop looking at me like that.” although it was dimly lit in hotel room you could see the light pink tint to his cheeks as he smiled, “i can’t admire my lovely girlfriend?” he yawned mid sentence and you insisted, “as much as i love talking to you i know you’re tired and you need to go to sleep. so i’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” he sleepily agreed and murmured, “welterusten mijn liefste.” you blew him a kiss and whispered softly, "goodnight baby." [goodnight, my love]

instead of heading straight to sleep you chose to wash your hair rather than waiting until the morning to do so. the flight you managed to snag last minute to hungary was set for tomorrow evening and you hadn't packed anything. not wanting to get onto a plane with a damp head of coils, you decided to just deal with it tonight. the entire process didn't take as long since you were speeding through just so you could sleep. by the time you were done it was around 2 AM and you were more than happy with the results. a dozen thick twists hung past your shoulders until you wrapped them up into a scarf and covered them with your bonnet to head to bed.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

when you woke up in the morning you noticed your phone had over 50 missed calls, messages, and emails. your mind conjured up the worst possible thoughts as you called your boyfriend to see what was the matter. max answered on the first few rings and you anxiously stammered, "baby? maxie? what's going on are you okay? where are you?" on the other line max answered clearly confused on what you were talking about, "schat? i am fine, i'm heading to the track. nothing is wrong here, what are you talking about?" you started to calm down realizing that he was fine but you responded, "i thought- didn't you blow up my phone early this morning? i was worried something happened and-" your boyfriend interjected with a calm tone, "y/n, i promise you nothing is the matter-"

an incoming call from théo, your coworker cut max off and you spoke up, "i'm sorry i think it's work related because théo is calling me." max let out an annoyed sound and you laughed, "i don't get why you don't like him." max scoffed, "he is too touchy and handsy with you." there was a playful groan, "oh god here you go- max, we've been over this. théo is a 27 year old gay man from san francisco who's convinced he's princess diana's reincarnate. he's the least of your worries okay?" max conceded, "okay fine i guess...but i still have my eye on him." another call from théo interrupted your conversation and you added, "but he's blowing up my phone so i need to see what's wrong. i'll talk to you later okay?" max agreed and bid you goodbye before hanging up the phone.

meanwhile you answered théo's call and he was literally running through what looked like the parking garage of his high rise. he panted, "you- you nee-...oh god i'm out of shape- you need to get up right now.. i'll be there to pick you up in fifteen minutes so be ready downstairs." you looked around confused and your coworker/ friend explained, "there's some massive outage or something happening. i know we had off today but they're calling the entire office in to see if we can figure it out." you were already climbing out of bed and you pressed for more information, "what do you mean an outage?" théo shrugged and wiped sweat from his brow as he tried to make himself look less winded, "i dunno i was thinking a breach or something? whatever it is we'll find out but we gotta go right now babes." you hurriedly grabbed an outfit from your closet and started to get dressed and ready to go, keeping him on the line.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

when you finally managed to get to his car, théo pointed to your phone and told you, "check twitter too, the fans are making jokes that you did something to the platform." despite having no idea what the hell he was talking about you opened twitter to see the flood of tweets under your name on the trending topics list. a pit formed in your stomach and you nearly fainted when you realized what he was talking about. you were completely new to this job and panic coursed through your veins on the thought of losing everything you worked hard for. the look of panic drew a laugh from your best friend and coworker as he jested, "they're funny aren't they?!" you shook your head and nearly shouted, "no it's not i'm gonna get fired!" théo waved off your concern, "girl the issue is definitely not from you and nobody thinks so. besides, dante from marketing and eleni from HR were sending the funny ones to our group chat...not that this isn't serious but just to make light of a shitty situation you know?" you shifted in your seat unsure how to feel and he promised, "i guarantee it's fine."

when you actually got to work with théo you were pulled into a meeting where you all were briefed about the situation. they clarified that they knew it was an issue with an update that was sent out early in the morning. after the meeting your boss told you that he knew you weren't supposed to be working today but you did need to stay and potentially over the weekend as well to help your team mitigate the issue as much as you all could. despite it being a global issue and not directly an issue from the monaco office, you knew that he meant he needed you there to help deploy the solution when it came through. he let you have a fifteen minute break to rearrange your travel plans and make the cancellations you needed before having you start work.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

the work day ended later than usual, the later hours were spent at your home office while you were on meetings with other people on your team. luckily you were able to catch up with the results of max's first and second practice sessions through peeking at live updates while you worked. when you got the okay to clock out, you nearly fell asleep on your desk but waking back up when your boyfriend's ringtone jump scared you.

you kept your head on the desk as you opened the video call, "hey you." max's features softened when he noticed the look of exhaustion on your face, "it was that bad huh?" you gave a silent thumbs up and sighed, "i wish it didn't happen...i was so excited to come surprise you and finally be there to see you again. i'm sorry i can't make it work." max rushed to your defense, "er zijn nog genoeg andere races over in het seizoen, je kunt in plaats daarvan naar die races komen kijken." you let out an annoyed groan, "i know but i wanted to be there this time. now you'll have bad luck." max chuckled at the mention of the running joke of you being his lucky charm, "it's alright. don't worry your pretty little head about me. now come on let's go to sleep, i know you're tired." you shuffled your feet against your bedroom floor as you took your phone with you to get ready for the night. [there are plenty of other races left in the season, you can come and watch those races instead.]

as you lay in bed with your lights off max asked, "did you see they asked me about you today?" you hummed a soft, "nuh uh." he smiled at the memory and explained, "i was in an interview and they mentioned that your name was trending on twitter and asked if i saw it. i only saw that your name was trending but i didn't see what for so they told me fans made jokes that you crashed the mercedes, mclaren, and williams servers so that i could win this weekend." a sleepy smile crossed your lips and you asked, "what'd you say?" he turned over in his bed and answered, "i told them it wasn't you because you don't make mistakes in your work. you're too good at what you do. also that you aren't the one that sends out the updates so people don't need to use your name in a bad light." you grinned wider already knowing what he was going to say, "and how did that go over?" max let out an sigh and small chuckle, "the guys have been making fun of me all night for it." you let out the loudest laugh max has heard from you in weeks making him somewhat more fine with getting teased by his friends.

your laughter subsided and you told him, "tell me about something interesting." max thought for a moment then started rambling on about the geologic history of the netherlands, watching as your eyes started to droop with the passing minutes. falling asleep with your boyfriend still on the phone became a habit especially in the early days of you dating. but now you were spending more time with him that occurrences like this just started happening once more, leaving you missing his presence at night. as for now, this was the best you could get.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

the end.

[soaps-mohawk]

So...

I've been doing some thinking about a couple of things.

This blog has grown considerably, even from its start and I appreciate each and every one of you so much. Your support never ceases to amaze me and I owe all of you a lot for giving me something to focus on this year instead of spiraling into insanity.

But

Things have gotten a tad bit overwhelming recently between trying to run the blog and trying to write. I find myself either having to ignore the blog to get writing done, or sacrifice writing time and energy to spend time on the blog and keep up with all the replies/reblogs/asks etc. Definitely not complaining, you all never cease to amaze me.

But, I am just one person and my brain only has so much power right now. So, I'm planning to take some (more) time off each week right now while I focus on writing and planning since we're getting into some serious plot stuff soon. So I'm planning to be on the blog three days a week for a while: Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday. That gives me some time to get some writing done as well as some time to rest my brain.

Saturday and Sunday of course to post the chapter and respond to replies and reblogs so I don't get super behind. Monday I'll have some asks queued up as well as maybe a few reblogs. I'll still use the queue Tuesday and Wednesday for reblogs/asks with spoilers as usual. Thursday I'll be on the blog answering asks from Monday - Wednesday as well as things I get that day. I'll queue up a few things for Friday since that day gives me a little break between to prepare for the weekend and posting the chapter.

I'll probably add more days as time goes on. You can still send in asks on the days I'm gone, but just know I won't see them or respond to them until later in the week. I already get behind by a couple days on asks anyway so that's not much of a change.

Don't feel bad for sending them either, I love getting all these asks, I just tend to get behind on days I spend more time writing.

The second order of business

has to do with my taglist. Most of you probably haven't noticed (which I don't blame you lol) but my taglist has gotten very big. Very, very big. It's just over 230 people right now, and I'm sure there will be others asking to join. It's quite time consuming to do all of these tags for every chapter (especially since we can't tag in blocks anymore) so I've been doing some thinking into how I can make it easier for me, and for you.

I know there's at least one blog I've heard of, though I'm sure there's more, that have made side blogs that they have people follow and turn on notifications for and just make a post on that blog when they post a chapter or fic, etc. I've been considering doing that since the taglist is a lot of work and time.

I've also seen blogs that have side blogs that just post chapters/fics and nothing else. I know quite a few of you only follow for the fic, so if anyone is interested, I could put together a side blog like that as well that you can follow and get notifications from instead of having to follow this blog and having to go through the probably 100 posts that I make a day 😂 (at least it feels that way for me)

Having a separate blog for the taglist too would allow me to schedule posts so I can have them come out a bit earlier than I get up for those of you across the world who stay up to read and have to wait for me to post in the morning when I get up (or later like today because I slept in). Of course Ao3 will get posted later because I can't schedule posts there, but at least for Tumblr I can have things post earlier.

So let me know what you think about the taglist side blog and the possible just chapters/fics side blog. Feel free to send in asks (anonymously or not) with your opinion. I might not answer them all (not tonight because my brain is fried and honestly i'm not sure if this is even comprehensible English) but I will at least use them to make the decision (or make a post with all of them and answer it as just one).

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[phlurrii]

It’s finally time to introduce the secondary project I’ve been working on >;Dc

I’ve had this queued for sometime in June, did not check when, so hello on [random date in june] ;D

I’m also here to explain how I’ll be posting this stuff going forward! Everything will be posted here, on my main account before being reblogged over to Soul’s Anchor a side bog with the place holder title. Unless it deals with more adult/suggestive content or heavier topics, of which will be exclusively posted to Soul’s Anchor side blog. As I don’t want certain themes alongside AM! I’ll also be referring to this series as Anchor for short! I will encourage any and all Questions, Mentions, and Thoughts to be directed there for those interested and those who are not, dw! You’ll only see the initial posts here, no asks or follows up, but this is still my art account and I shall enjoy it as I please ;3

Brief Synopsis about the Story:

A queer love story following a cursed pirate and a cult refugee implanted with a god’s eye as they combat the reality of living in a world which was created solely to feed the gods that govern it. All whilst a sapphic couple attempt to help guide the pair along a path to to a better future, one that’s validity comes into question. A dark fantasy story that aims to represent the disabled community, the LGBTQIA+, and SA survivors written by fellow members of these communities.

Also brief disclaimer, I, Phlurrii, am simply an ally to the disabled community, my partner in crime writing alongside me, ArtJunco on Instagram, is our resident community member ;]

Anyways onto the meat of this!

Below is a collection of some, emphasis on some, of the concept art and processes I went through to develop and create one of the two main characters, Lumae.

Here are some of the earliest ideas, the basic thoughts I had in my brain when developing this goober after a 3 hours pacing in my kitchen at 1 am when that inspiration struck. His hair was the HARDEST bit for me to figure out. Which sucked as usually the hair is one of the first things I figure out because of how much I love it, so it was Agony while brainstorming that part.

I also briefly considered a goatee, however it was so cruelly shot down by my dear friend. So in stead we compromised that he may get one later down the line story wise… and see how we feel then. However, upon finally figuring out his hair I was bloody elated, still has some tweaks now and then, but the base is there.

As for this next concept, this was actually the FIRST thing created for Lumae and what started everything else about his character/design! His eyes! They are still my favourite but about him and something I adore whole heartedly! They are the core of his character ;3c

These next few are early refs and mock ups of his full design, testing our colours, experimenting with shading, getting used to drawing humans again, and general concepts I had for him as a character! Also a sneak peak at Ayric, our second main goober for this story! Who was lovingly designed and created by ArtJunco!

And finally his most recent WIP ref! The only thing currently bothering me about his design is the colour for his boot covers, I have no idea what to do with them so I’d you have suggestion or ideas, sincerely, feel free to shoot an ask to the Anchor blog! I’d genuinely love outside opinions!

As for the main curiosity of why I’m doing this, for those that missed the last post, I’ll give a brief explanation below ;3

To help with burnout so I can hop between fixations, help to avoid losing interest in AM in the future!

Keep up practicing humans and critters alike.

To take a break from story telling to do story building! Give the telling part of my brain a break, while still making cool stuff ;]

To have a more interactive blog with ya’ll! One where I’ll likely be asking advice and discussing a lot more hypotheticals, doodling asks, and general audience interaction given I am not bound by any updates! Purely just “ooo… shiny-“ and anyone is welcome to join me ;D

Last thing I request is to please read Anchor’s blog bio/description before you follow, as this story will deal with subjects not suited for all audiences posted/discussed exclusively on that blog.

Anywho, that’s all for now folks, hope you enjoyed this brief intermission to kickoff the second project being public!

[konigsblog]

idk if you know but your being mentioned by fulltacs on their post abt simonrillleyyysss(?) bullying :/

i just read the post, and i'm pretty sure @/fulltacs mentioned me because i was friends with jordi at the time. (@/simonrillleyyysss) :P

i'm assuming this is about the situation between jordi (@/simonrillleyyysss) and bo (@/ohbo-ohno)?

keep in mind, this happened on my birthday, which meant that i wasn't very active on tumblr throughout the day, since i was busy celebrating.

i had posts queued for my followers, which meant that i didn't bother checking my dashboard or any of my mutuals recent uploads. in fact, i had only really seen posts about the situation the next morning after checking a couple notifications and reading through a few posts that had popped up on my feed.

now, back in january when this all began, i hadn't seen any screenshots about the bullying inside of the discord server. i had seen a few posts and conversations between bo and jordi, but i didn't bother getting invested in it, as it didn't involve me. i assumed they'd figure it out themselves.

i saw the post from @/fulltacs which provided a couple screenshots of the discord server where jordi had been talking shit about other creators, which i hadn't seen up until now. it's super immature and childish to me, honestly. i didn't realise how many of my mutuals were involved in this either, and to say i'm disappointed in them is an understatement. 😶

if i was aware of this before, i wouldn't have stayed friends with any of them. it's childish and immature. i'm not going to stay friends with people like that, who harass creators and have an entire discord server dedicated to talking shit about others. i'm not interested in being dragged into a drama that doesn't involve me, just because i'm friends with someone (who is in the wrong), and especially after seeing the screenshots between jordi and her friends.

after seeing the screenshots of the bullying, i decided to block @/simonrillleyyysss, @/ghostsbimbo, and @/ghostly-whiskey. i'm not interested in being mutuals with a bunch of dickheads who talk shit about other writers. 😮‍💨

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Four (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Ooh I really hope you enjoy this one! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. I so love to hear your feedback and chat more about this story! ILY :-*

Word count: 5.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way as the rest. You rejoin the group out front, Benny injecting some much needed fresh energy into the pack. He regales you all with tales of his most recent fights, delivers excruciating detail about his latest training regimen, and proudly shows off pictures of his new puppy. 

“Why am I looking at a picture of you, Miller,” Frankie jests as he holds up the screen to reveal an adorable golden retriever. 

If anyone notices that Santiago seems quieter than he had earlier in the night, they don’t say it. If they realise that you are engaging in very purposeful, overblown interest in Benny’s chat, it doesn’t get called out. There are a few exchanges between the two of you and Santiago that simulate old patterns. Lend weight to the pretence that things could even return to normal between you and him, given a little more time. 

Still, every time your eyes glance off of one another there is this intolerable heat, and you find you still can’t meet it head on. At times, your gaze is dropped hastily into the sand. At times, your eyes needle Frankie pointedly so that he might come to your aid, even if he does simply shrug and clasp the neck of his bottle a little more tightly. 

You know Santiago. And in a sense, contradictory as it may be, the hardest thing is how easy it would be to fall into your old patterns. Eventually, you begin to wonder if this tension and this awkwardness -this disconnect – is simply manufactured, in a way. Your heart’s tactic to keep him at arm’s length. A defence mechanism, because you ran away from a whole continent and yet you still fear ending up right back where you started if you can’t extricate yourself from him. 

At some stage, you tire of the beer-addled chat, and especially of Tom. Even more so of the effort of trying to make everything feel normal, whilst at the same time fearing what might happen if you could actually achieve that. What it would mean. You announce to the group that you’re going to take a long soak in the tub, and you head upstairs to the main bathroom, languishing in the sweet-scented bubbles, and attempting to wash the burdens of the day from your body, along with the gathered sweat and sand and smoke. Of course, you seem entirely unable to scrub this urge humming beneath your skin. 

When you eventually emerge there is a hush over the house, a cocooning darkness in the hallways – and you realise that at least some of the group must have retired to bed already. You’re tired, sure; but you’re still a little buzzed and not sure that you could sleep yet. You certainly don’t like the thought of staring at the ceiling, thinking about who might be lying awake too on the other side of your wall. 

“Hey. Cat. Everyone gone to bed?” you ask Frankie softly as you see him round the stairs to the landing in his socked feet, his footsteps purposefully softened. 

“Yeah, chiquita.”

“Already? Such old men,” you snicker gently. “What the hell happened?” 

Frankie’s subdued throaty chuckle cuts pleasantly through the dark. “It was a long drive,” he defends playfully; then, his tone shifts, an injection of caution evident. It puts you on edge. “Pope’s still out there though, if that helps.” Frankie must feel you bristle, as he raises his palms in the air in surrender. Or, more than likely, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Do with that what you want.” 

“Mmm-kay,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, and, from the sidelong glance Frankie throws at you, you know he isn’t buying it for a second. 

“You two okay? Something happen in the kitchen?” 

A flare ignites under your skin. You remember a different kitchen entirely. Not the one downstairs. Instead, you recall the hot, close air of the Colombian night. The flash of cool metal against your flushed skin as Santiago pressed you back and-

“-It was fine,” you lie tersely, and before Frankie can wheedle anything further out of you, you quickly hook your arm around his neck for a distracting, albeit halfhearted, goodnight hug. “’Night, Cat. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” With a grunt, he offers a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek, his scruff tickling up against you. 

“Yeah. G’night,” he returns, looking as tired as he probably feels. And, as you part ways in the hallway, Frankie watches with resigned interest at the fact you don’t similarly retreat to your room. That instead, you shuffle onward towards the mouth of the stairs. “Don’t let the Pope’s bite.” 

And then, with Frankie’s nonsensical and yet somehow apt warning ringing in your ears you head downstairs, meandering through the quiet house until you reach the exterior. 

You are arrested in the doorway at the thought of experiencing Santiago alone all over again, but at the same time, that is exactly the thought which propels your feet over the threshold and out into the balmy night air. 

You find him there, stretched out on his back in front of the dying embers of the fire, knees folded and pointed up to the sky. An orange glow is cast over the contours of his chest where his button-down shirt now falls completely open, the wire of his headphones snaking down and around his torso. He looks peaceful like this at first. Relaxed and loose, his chest rising and falling soporifically with his breath. His eyes are closed and he has his headphones in his ears, his fingers gently drumming and tapping where they rest against the softness of his bare stomach. Your eyes follow his happy trail, until the thatch of hair disappears beneath his shorts, now tugged tight over his thick thighs. 

You note the appealing cushioning around his middle forming rolls as he shifts marginally - to better prop his head up on a second cushion. He looks beautiful. Tranquil, at first glance. 

That is, until you see him tug in a huge breath, his ribs flaring with it. Until you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose before letting out a slow, sad exhale. 

You know in that moment that you should without a doubt turn around. That you should go right to bed, even if that does result in staring at the ceiling for hours with the image of his gorgeous body seared into your mind. But, you can’t do that. 

Instead, you already know exactly what you’re going to do. You’ve known since before you came downstairs. 

Truth be told, you’ve known since before you came to the beach house at all. You’ve known since your new fella asked you to be exclusive and you said “no”. You know, because you don’t know what’s good for you. 

“Santiago,” you say to announce yourself.  “Mind if I join you?” 

He pops a bud from his ear and opens his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t even look surprised to see you standing there. 

He blinks at you wordlessly for a moment. He could say no, of course, but you know that he won’t. 

Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him either. 

He doesn’t respond to you at all in words. Instead, he rises, shifting to the corner of his tartan blanket, arranging himself cross-legged with a groan. He pats the opposite side invitingly, gesturing for you to join him. 

You hesitate. The setting, down on the sand on that measly square of wool, seems already far more intimate than the looming camp chairs had.

“Warmer down here,” Santiago encourages, as though reading your mind through how well he can read your body, evident tension snaking through your limbs. “Come and get comfy.” 

Okay. 

You hunker down, both legs folded to one side and your weight propped on the opposite arm. You take in the setting for a moment. The beach, shrouded in a blanket of dark. The sound of the waves shushing, and the gentle crackle of the fire. 

It would be calming, if the silence between the two of you wasn’t so taut. Still, you know Santiago will shortly reach to fill the silence. He always does. You don’t even have to wait all that long. 

“Good to see that Benny’s still… as Benny as ever.” 

“Yeah. Good to see some things never change.” You look at his lips. 

“His latest training regimen sounds pretty brutal, huh?“ 

“Uh huh.” Your eyes trail wantonly down his torso, and it’s not lost on you that he sucks his stomach in a little when your gaze drops to the soft rolls of him there. You’ve never seen a whiff of insecurity on the man before now. He’s confident as a rule - or so you thought. It’s appealing though, the softness of him. Sexy. You want to tell him that, but you don’t. Instead, you simply allow the soft smile to radiate over your face unfettered, your eyes warm and fond. 

“What are you listening to?” you nod down to his phone, headphones still strung from it and one bud remaining in his ear. Wordlessly, he passes you the spare bud and you slot it in, allowing the droning sounds to wash over you. Voices talking, and smatterings of financial and investment jargon. You quickly get the gist of it, and just as quickly relinquish the bud back to him. 

Your nose wrinkles. It’s not what you were expecting, honestly. “Financial podcasts?” 

He tilts his head to the side. Looks suddenly as old and mature and serious as you’ve ever seen him. “Gotta think about the future sometime, right?” He says it lightly, but even so, you are somewhat hurt by it. Hurt that he’s never managed to envisage any kind of future with you. 

“Right.” You nod, as neutrally as possible. 

He looks at your mouth. 

You note the brief fleet of pink tongue along the swell of his pillowy lower lip. 

You both let the silence hang there for a moment, full of possibility, and again, you know he will fill it. After all, you made it clear, right? You told him: don’t. Even if you want precisely what you asked him to deny you. “Did you see that documentary about the octopus on-”

“-I can’t get off anymore without thinking about you, Santi.” 

You interrupt him, and his jaw hangs slack for a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head as he fully registers your statement. Apparently, you don’t want to talk about Benny. Or podcasts. Or fucking octopi. You don’t want to fill the silence with meaningless chat. 

With Santiago, it had always meant something. You don’t want to stop that now. 

You let the words fall into his lap, and you aren’t even sure what reaction you were expecting. Therefore, you don’t even feel any particular type of way as you watch the multitude of emotions and stunted responses play out one by one across Santiago’s features. “Jesus, honey,” he eventually croaks. 

Then, his second-hand embarrassment finally jars you too. In a delayed flush of self-pity, you bury your face in your hands. “Fuck. How pathetic is that?” 

Santiago’s agape mouth finally closes then, a hard swallow bobbing down his corded neck. Your own self-deprecating laugh finally causes his face to split into a bemused and tentative grin. It is short-lived, however, his thick brows quickly drawing down. “You know. You’re giving me fucking whiplash over here, cariño.” 

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You tug your knees up to your chest for whatever comfort it can offer. “Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Benny, or whatever else. I love the guy but I… I missed you. I missed you and I just want us back. I want us to be okay, you know?” Santiago’s face twists in a mirror of your own, as if he doesn’t even know how possible that is anymore. “And, I don’t know how else to do that anymore – to make us okay - without… without that. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” As you keep talking, your voice seems to break into a thousand pieces, as if sand in your throat is grinding it down, eroding the body and timbre of it away. “I try. I try, Santi, and it… I never…” 

Your name rises from his throat, and the sound is tired in his mouth. He knows what you’re asking him; and he doesn’t even seem surprised. “It’s a bad fucking idea.” 

“I know.” He’s not even wrong. “I know it is, but I… I don’t care anymore.” Emotion weighs down your tone. Makes it heavy. “It’s like a wound in me - the way we left it - and I just need…” Your eyes flicker and flit everywhere as you reach for the word, dancing around the scene, around his face, like the licking, greedy flames. 

You can’t find the word, the concept, the sentiment, but, as you search, Santiago’s voice filters through to you, certain and resigned. As though he understands perfectly what you crave after the wound that he left that night. “You need healing.” 

Your head whips towards him and you nod slowly, with conviction, searching his face for any sign that he might give it to you. For any sign that he might be able to repair you. He had hurt you, yes. But his fire was so hot that you think he is the only thing capable of cauterising the wound he left in his wake. The only one who can ignite you enough to heal you, as selfish and misguided as your desire may be. 

However, Santiago’s demeanour remains calm and cool even in the face of your desperation. You see only a vestige of desire dancing in his eyes now, as though all you had might truly be in the past. “You wanted out, remember?” he says thinly. With regret. He smiles even thinner than that. “No need to repeat your old mistakes, huh?” 

“I wanted out of that life, man. You were never a mistake.” 

“Heh. Don’t be so sure. If you know what’s good for you-“ 

Unconsciously, and with ill-timing, you shift on the mat in discomfort, rolling your spine to try and release some of the niggling, tight muscles – another old injury which continues to plague you long after the fact. 

“Still got that damn tweak?” Santiago asks, seemingly grateful for the diversion.  

You nod. “Mmm.” 

“Want my fingers?” 

You look into his eyes, mellow in the dancing light. How could you say no to that? “Please.”

“Come here then,” he encourages, shifting position to the edge of the porch step, his thighs spread wide apart and leaving space for you to settle on the sand before him. “Let me help you,” he insists, tipping up his chin, and his eyes softer and brighter again. 

You hesitate, but you can’t find it in you to decline the invitation. Can’t possibly find the strength to say no to his hands on you. To some relief, even in this form. “Turn around. Back to me, hermosa.” His voice is soft, so soft. Rough and undone around the edges like this frayed edge of land you perch on. 

You settle before him, and, just as he had promised, his fingers and his hands begin to inch over your body, on top of your clothes, seeking to unravel the knots. To bring you some relief. He used to do this for you all the time – always took care of you like this, and it’s bittersweet to recall a different, more innocent way his hands used to touch you. He would do this for you after training. After a mission. In the field. At the mouth of your tent when camped out in some desert or field or jungle. In the back of a Humvee on the way to the F.O.B.. At Benny’s fight nights when you’d had to sit in those shitty plastic chairs for too long. Whenever and wherever you needed it. 

His hands always knew how to fix you, long before you learned all the ways they could take you apart like a weapon in his palm. “Santiago,” you keen, as the pad of his thumb works into all your sweet spots. You don’t know what his name is in your mouth. A plea; a promise; a prayer; a poem. Perhaps all of these at once. 

“I know,” he soothes. “I know, cariño.” 

You close your eyes against the sudden tears you find threatening at the corners of your eyes. Knowing his touch again is everything you wanted, and, despite yourself, you are eminently glad it is happening like this. That he is giving, instead of devouring you, for if he did the latter, you don’t know that there would be anything left for him to take. 

His touch like this though, deft and tender, reveals that perhaps, there’s another way. That maybe, instead of burning you, Santiago could merely warm you. Maybe his flames only hurt because you had dared to get too close. Maybe you could simply learn to stay at arm’s length, where he had always attempted to keep you anyway. 

Still, that’s all very well, but… his touch - as it skims down your body - is enough to subsume you. It is a tide swallowing hot shores. It is a relief. A balm. Healing. 

“You’re so tight,” he complains gruffly, and you wonder if he is simply being careless, or whether his words were chosen ever so deliberately to remind you. To remind you of him praising you for that very same thing, under other circumstances. 

Regardless, Santiago shifts then, shuffling his hips closer towards you. His thighs -either side of your torso - boxing you in a little more tightly. Then, he braces one hand carefully against your shoulder, the other digging and kneading into your knotted muscles at the spot he always knew how to help you with. 

You moan for him, willingly, as he takes all your tension and melts it like butter. 

“Santiago,” you keen, and there it is again. A promise; a prayer; a poem. 

A plea. 

You hear him swallow thickly. Hear him exhale a sound like sea trapped in a seashell, his face dipped closer towards the shell of your ear in this new position. His breath continues to quicken as he manipulates your body, pliable under his sure hands, his warmth practically coiled around you like the fire around its fuel. 

“Do you want my fingers?” he repeats, voice now flecked with grit, even as he remains slow and languid, not whipped into any frenzy. “Tell me.” 

A stone plummets through your belly, sinking heat through your core at the mere suggestion he might touch you there too. 

“Mmmph,” you plead – a strangled affirmative wrung from your chest, and Santiago’s hand reaches around, calm and slow and tantalising. He winds his arms between your legs and his index finger trials along the seam of your shorts, up towards your clit like he’s following a carefully laid fuse line. Like he knows precisely how to detonate you, and all he needs is a spark. “You want my fingers here?” he purrs, and you moan his name, throwing your head back into the crook of his shoulder. “Want me to help you like this too?” 

You submit an unintelligible string of sounds to the air, which you hope he recognises as an affirmative. 

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, as his fingers deftly flick open the button of your shorts and you squirm in search of his friction. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you, cariño.” 

You sigh out a broken, guttural noise now, rolling your mound against his palm as his girthy fingers travel eagerly below the waistband of your clothing. Barrelling towards your want without dwelling on the implications even for a moment. On what this might mean. On what this may fix or further fracture. 

It is too much to think about that, and it is enough to know that you need some relief. 

Specifically, the kind of relief you have not been able to give yourself. The kind of relief you have not been able to find from elsewhere. The kind only Santiago knows how to give you. The only kind Santiago knows how to give you. 

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” he praises, all rusty-voice and practiced fingers, and with the ease that the thick pads of him glide through your folds you know it is true. “Holy shit, come here.” 

You would oblige if you were not so loose-limbed already; and so, in the next moment, Santiago is dragging you up towards him, settling your ass in the space before him on the porch step, so you sit a little higher. He is shucking your shorts and panties down and hooking your thighs over his parted, sturdy legs to spread you wide open. To give him better access to you so he can give you what you need. 

Your hands clamp down on his thighs like claws, your back flush against his chest and your head still languishing in the apex of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm in his shoulder as his arm reaches between your legs. With his other arm he simply gathers you up and holds you close to him, until the warmth of his skin seeps right through to yours. 

“Fuck! Santi,” you keen, voice ragged with need already as his fingers tease and circle where you need him. “More. Please, I need more.” 

He does not disappoint. He plunges a girthy finger into your heat, and the lack of resistance is telling, your cunt opened up and eager for him as the heel of his hand rocks a steady rhythm against your clit. He goes slower than you would like, but it turns out to be the exact pace you need -two fingers now- dragging molten heat through your core with each curl and pump and scissor he applies to your giving walls. 

“Ohhhh. Fuck!” 

“I know, baby. This is what you need, isn’t it? I know.” 

He does. He does know. He knows every damn inch of you and how to make you sing. 

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Don’t come, Princesa. Not yet.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially as his rough voice - all honey and grit - filters into the shell of your ear. As the fleck of his stubble rasps against your neck as he sucks an angry mark into your skin. Your core flutters in straight-out defiance of his orders then, and he feels you clamp down on him, tightening around his fingers. “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Hold on to it for me. Gonna get you there. Don’t worry. I got you.” 

Christ, you slosh around him as he makes you molten, and you feel his thighs begin to shake beneath yours. You feel his insistent hardness pressing at your back. “Fuck, princesa. I missed this pussy. Holy shit.” 

“Santi. I- I can’t hold on.” 

His thumb massages circles into your swollen, needy clit. 

“No, baby. Hold on for me. I know you can, huh? Don’t even think. Let me give you what you need.”

“Mmmphhh,” you moan out like a woman possessed as Santiago builds you up. 

He chuckles darkly into your neck, and smothers his spare palm over your mouth. “Shhhh. Quiet, hermosa. No-one else can take care of you like this, huh? I got you now.” 

The way he’s touching you, fingers speared inside your wet heat, is everything you’ve needed for so long. God, you’ve so needed him to help you like this. And now, he’s finally giving you relief. It’s welcome, and it’s good; but you still have enough about you, even in this state of becoming putty in his lap, to realise that he’s not giving you everything. You turn your head, tipping your lips wantonly up to him, but he won’t kiss you. His arousal presses insistently at your lower back but he isn’t making any move to get himself off. It seems obvious, even in this state of coming undone, that even as you lose yourself he won’t allow himself to get lost in you; not entirely. 

He’s navigated some extreme terrain in his time, but perhaps his feelings for you really are a jungle far too dense for him to navigate. 

Still, you certainly do not feel any lack, even if you get the sense he is holding back. It would be hard to feel any lack at all with his thick, warm fingers buried in you up to the knuckle, stroking and curling with precision against your swollen arousal, coaxing hoarse moans from your lips which he buries in the meat of his cupped palm. The pad of his thumb rubs haphazardly -almost roughly- in circles over your clit, puffy with need. Your thatch of hair is soaked, and your plumped folds are slick with your pearly, moonlit juices. 

“Holy fuck,” you rasp as Santiago’s  fingers draw a broad circle deep inside your walls, stretching you open and sending a delicious spiral of bliss through your core. He curls his fingers against your g spot, rocks his palm roughly against the mound of you, and God, it’s so good. You’re on the edge, but you still find you can’t quite let go. 

You don’t need him to give you everything, but you do need him to give you just a little more of what you’ve been craving. Just a little more healing. 

“Santiago,” you plead, tears of emotion and bliss and disbelief and sadness balling in your eyes. Relief at the fact you get to feel his touch again, and despair at how long you may next endure the lack of it. 

However, as though he senses what your body is telling him, that you are getting far too in your head by now to let go, you realise Santiago knows exactly what you need to get out of it. He always does. Always knows how to help you. “Mmpph,” you moan as he wraps his hand more tightly around your mouth and nose, playing with your air supply - just enough to provide a gentle thrill. To offer this simulation of a loss of control just long enough that you feel a secondary surge of adrenalin and arousal building within you. You gasp as he releases his palm and you suck his fingers easily into your mouth, wanting to feel full of him wherever you can. He obliges by shoving them deeper, over your tongue. 

“That’s it,” he praises, soothes, encourages, feeling it coming before you do, reading the signs in your body. Almost immediately, pleasure blooms out from your middle, completely engulfing you. 

You screw your eyes shut tight and you can barely even focus on his fingers pulsing in and out of your wet, suckering heat, or on this string in the middle of you being drawn so tight it’s about to snap. Instead you focus on him. On the warmth and sturdy form of him at your back. On the way he knows just how to touch you – where, and when, and how. The way he soothes you and relieves you. The familiar scratch of his stubble against your cheek. The soft, sweat-tacky rolls of his bare stomach cushioning your back, skin-on-skin where your t-shirt has ridden up your back. His meaty thighs. The familiar press of that hard promise up against you. But most of all his warm, sandy voice, slipping into the shell of your ear like the sounds and shushing of the sea. 

Hermosa. Cariño. Princesa. 

His words melting out of you like liquid pearls and making you shine. 

He praises you, and the sounds of him slip inside you just like his fingers, a smooth glide like the surge of the tide devouring an aching shore. His touch relieves the ache, the burn, the fire, the hurt, as you find your release. You gush over his hand, your mouth open with a hoarse, hollow moan, silently echoing the roar of the sea as your whole body becomes liquid on top of his. 

He holds you, and he works you through it, tears squeezed from your eyes with each wave of bursting, engulfing pleasure which radiates through your core – not blistering like the heat of your fire, but gentle and soothing. 

Your breath is ragged now. You have the feel of a tide between your legs.

You are sated, and yet you want more of him. You may feel healed in some ways, but your whole body still sings for him like a wound. 

He stays inside of you. Feels you for a moment, with a shuddered, satisfied moan you feel vibrate against your back before he draws his fingers out, painfully slow. You shudder too, your core still fluttering for him, and you would reach for him if you weren’t still boneless. Would seek to satisfy him too. 

“Fuck. I missed your fingers,” you purr. 

“Uh huh,” Santiago says, a little too morosely for your liking, and he unslots himself far too quickly from around your form. Far too quickly he comes to standing, leaving you feeling cold and alone on the porch stairs, shorts shunted down past your knees, exposing you to the night air. 

“Don’t you want… something for you?” you ask in confusion, in hope, eyeing the bulge tenting at his crotch and the way his hand is hung curled at his side, his fingers still shined from you. You enjoy all of that, but you certainly don’t enjoy the heaviness bedding down on his brow, and you reach to pull up your shorts as quickly as you can, the moment of relief fast-retreating, like the deceptive tide. 

“No,” he says firmly. “That was just for you.” 

You bristle at the implication in his words, your momentary bliss falling quickly away. 

He did you a favour. 

You were the one undone by your desire – your want. Not him. You were the needy one who couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t even get off without him. And damn. Here he is, slow and controlled and, for the better part, seemingly unaffected.

You know that’s not wholly true – that he does still want you, but your eyes still swim when you wonder if his desire is subdued compared to what it used to be. If it has lessened. 

Don’t you cause this frenzy in him anymore? This quickening, like he does with you? Is the flame burning in your chest -or your loins- not catching, any longer? Like the dying embers of this fire, is it almost out? 

Could there truly be an end to this? 

Soldiers. Friends. Lovers. 

What next? 

You had, at least, assumed something would be next. 

And so, as you regard him, stoic and impassive, you can barely even look at him. “You’re right, Pope. This was probably a bad fucking idea.” 

Of course it was. 

You should know better than to think you can take a piece of him without wanting to devour the whole. After all, you could never see him in fragments – only all at once. 

Had that always been your mistake, thinking that he could ever give himself over to you completely? He’s far too afraid of getting lost, even if he does hold the map to your heart in the palm of his hand. Strange then, because the palm of his hand is also where he has become so accustomed to yielding a weapon. Maybe for him, love and pain were always destined to feel the same.

You push past him, and you feel a pit open up in your middle. 

“Goodnight, buddy,” you say, your tone surprisingly sour so soon after that. “Thanks a bunch for the fingerfuck.” 

You guess the mindfuck came along for free.

You don’t want to hurt him. Don’t want to be bitter and to deepen this gulf between you all over again. But, apparently, you just can’t help yourself. 

You don’t know what’s good for you. 

[nonsensical-pixels]

MY WEDDING TRAUMA: A SURELY-SIMS x ICE-CREAMFORBREAKFAST COLLABORATION, CONVERTED TO THE SIMS 2 [download - 👰🏽🤵🏽]

are you tired of brides in white dresses and toddlers with perfect pink flower baskets? is cereal packet gameplay just not doing it for you anymore? maybe you'd like your weddings to put the 'strange' in strangetown? search no more, the ingredients for the strangest wedding in sim nation are finally here!

so, since i caught that one virus, i've been playing around a bit more with ts2 cc creation and finally had the time to work on converting a big set again. but then... what to convert? the answer came to me in the links section of a random lookbook... in a sort of fever dream. a set that captures the recent theme on my blog, families, and yet completely destroys it at the same time: my wedding trauma.

everything here is remarkably versatile. i mean, i know for a fact that people aren't just going to use that jumpsuit for a wedding, elvis needs more freedom than that! there are 9 cas items and 6 buy items for a total of 17 items in this set!

the original ts4 collaboration is complete perfection; it has just the sort of trashy, nonsensical vibes that the ts2 wedding department is sorely lacking. my conversion of this isn't perfect, i'm still learning how to do clothing and there are some minor issues mentioned below the cut, but overall i think that it came out pretty good and i hope it invokes some chaos in your game. 💥

credits go to @ice-creamforbreakfast for most of the cas part of this collaboration, and to @surely-sims for the buy mode part!

keep reading for more info, rambles, and preview pics!

PART 1: BUY MODE (6 items by @surely-sims)

ITEMS INCLUDED ARE: 1 - Fancy Folding Chair - 1.7k polys 2 - Margarita Tower - 3.4k polys 3 - Pizza Party Banquet Table - 1.5k polys 4 - Tiki Mug - 1.7k polys 5 - Toasting Bucket - 2.3k polys 6 - Wedding Arch - 10.2k polys*

individual previews are also to be found in the download!

THINGS TO NOTE: - The wedding arch is quite high-poly compared to other objects (10k) but that is the max for the polycounts. - The collection file included in the 'Surely-Sims' folder should go in the Collections folder in Documents.

PART 2: CAS (8 items by @ice-creamforbreakfast and 1 by @surely-sims)

ITEMS INCLUDED ARE: 1 - Brandi Dress (YF-AF) - 3.9k polys 2 - Elvis Glasses (TU-EU) - 1.7k polys 3 - Elvis Jumpsuit (YM-AM) - 4.9k polys 4 - Goopy Jacket (TM-AM) - 2.3k polys 5 - Jess Hair (YF-EF) - 5.4k polys 6 - Kelly-Marie Hair (TF-EF) - 9.4k polys 7 - Malborough Dress (YF-AF) - 7.1k polys 8 - Newport Headpiece (YF-AF) 9 - Trashleen's Cigarette Bouquet (YF-EF) note: the Jess Hair is not part of the original set but is included because the Newport Headpiece is meant to pair with it.

individual previews are also to be found in the download!

THINGS TO NOTE: - The clothing may have some bone assignment issues (especially with straps) & mild gaps. - The 'Goopy Jacket' has a mild discoloration around the neckline. - All hairs are in @skittlessims Skittles Hair System - The 'Elvis Jumpsuit' is paired with 4t2 SP01 Pointed Stud. Converted by me :) - The 'Malborough Dress' is paired with Ice-CreamForBreakfast's Jessica Shoes.

PART 3: THANKS & RAMBLE

have one final pic of the quirky couple and their patchwork family (ex-wife and dog included) 💞

this set was such a rollercoaster to work on, but also so, so much fun! i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do 🥺

for anyone who's wondering--yeah i'm back for now, requests are still closed, wips depend on whether im in the mood... but from now on releases should be less queued and have a more 'personal touch' 😏

i'll get around to posting the discord-exclusives i released while i was gone... eventually. there's a few that i'm keeping for myself x

anyway... happy simming, hope you enjoy these conversions, and have a lovely day simming! if you use these feel free to @ me, i wanna see the chaos and the cool stuff these are used in 🥰

love,

~ Ky (nonsensical-pixels)

[subway-boss-jericho]

Queuing posts for most of my AUs! Check out this Masterpost! ᵈᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ ⁻ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶦᶜᵒⁿᶦᶜ ᵏⁿᶦᶠᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵍˢ! ᴵ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉˢ ᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵇˡᵉ.

Steady Tracks Do Not Waver

-Premise- On the return trip home from Hisui, Ingo does not return the same as he left. By some unknown cause, he has been transformed into a pokemon- 13ft tall, Steel, Ground, and very very out of his depth, he finds himself roaming the eerily familiar yet unfamiliar tunnels of Gear Station. Desperate to find a way to his "home" and remember who he is, that is when he encounters Subway Boss Emmet.

This story is not about Ingo. Or at least, not about his return. Ingo was taken out of the story many years ago, leaving Emmet behind to pick up the pieces of the life they always meant to spend together. The last several years he has walked without Ingo have forced him into an active, unavoidable struggle with grief and loss, until recent, when he finally began to come to terms with his solo-car life moving forward. However, now things are changing again. In the days leading up to their meeting, he hears rumors of a strange, powerful pokemon lurking in the subway. When Emmet finally stops in the right place at the right time to challenge it face to face- the face looking back is far too similar to the one he lost years before. It all bubbles back to the surface again; now, with an uncanny passenger in tow, he must keep moving forward down these uncertain tracks. Battling with grief once again, as he avoids pushing his old pains onto this new, familiar, face.

-Noteworthy Points- IF THIS AU INTERESTS YOU, please consider reading the prologue and chapter one on Ao3! Steady tracks! This is the one you probably know me for, if you know me at all. My poster boys!! My favoritest guys,, I want to include so many notes but I know most of the notes I want to write are all spoilers. Please poke me to keep writing <3 This AU is not even remotely dead I just have chronic burnout and it WILL continue please bother me about it whenever you want <3

This story is (and probably will continue to be) almost exclusively told from Emmet's point of view. It is a post-canon exploration of grief, change, and how to go on after everything you know is lost. THIS MEANS there is a LOT of discussion of death! NO ONE IS DEAD, but Emmet believes Ingo has died, and regularly experiences grief and/or talks about him as if he is dead. If that still bothers you, no problem! This is not going to be the fic for you. However, if it at all eases you to know that everyone is still alive, then have fun and maybe bring tissues because I really like writing people being upset (and also them getting better but, that involves them needing to be upset first.)

Also! New STIngo reference!! I have been working on updating the shape language of his design to look more like a pokemon and this is the most up-to-date version! If you want to draw him, reference this one! I swear I will get that side view done eventually, I fucking promise.

Enjoy <3 <3 I love this AU a lot.

-Links- Official Writing - Steady Tracks Do Not Waver Artwork - Fanart by Nyacat39 Artwork - Fanart by Dontmineit (1) Artwork - Fanart by Dontmineit (2) Discussion - The Luxury Ball Artwork and Trivia - Official Reference (Outdated) Artwork and Trivia - Updated Reference (Also Outdated) Discussion - "Awla Boah" Artwork - Fanart by Maelysgriffonne Artwork - Fanart by Dontmineit (3) Artwork - Big Nap (Durant <3) Artwork - CH1 Concept Sketches Artwork - STIngo Sprite

[sexydreamgirl]

My babies, this isn't really that shocker since I'm always away but I'm taking a small break from this blog for now, all of my questions are queued as of whenever this post is up (I will decide on a posting time once I finish typing this out) so if you've sent me anything after Wednesday it won't be answered for a while.

Just want to tell you guys that it's so important to get off Tumblr, stop consuming post after post and finally apply what you've learned. Don't let all of your knowledge about the law of assumption go to waste. Pleaseeee less hoping and wishing, more being and accepting. Start listening to our advice, apply it daily, your lives will never change if you do not change within.

I'm dropping below the only resources/posts I would recommend:

How to Manifest Your Desires: A Guide to the Law of Assumption via Neville Goddard’s Teachings

How to use the SATS (please stop sleeping on the SATS)

Edward Art Reddit series and Youtube Channel

Neville's The Power of Awareness / El Poder de la Conciencia

FEEL THE LAW challenge by @divinegrapes and @aphrodieties

Angel's Fulfillment challenge by none other than @angelsinluv herself

The recent questions I've been answering have given me some ideas for what to post in the future but as I've disclosed, I'm always open to your suggestions for what you'd like to see.

That's all for now. Take care, stay safe, and I may or may not see you on my main account @heraisgod sometime when I'm not active on here or s+h <3

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Puppy boy Steve not in the omegaverse way just in the kinky way oh my god- hot shit.

perhaps related to this gif set? this has been in my inbox for a long time, so idk, oops

also, I hope you don't mind, but I'm linking this ask with this other one I got more recently

which is related to this

the post reads, "i need a dogboy bending me over and rutting against me crying and whining to let them fuck me because theyre so hard it hurts and theyve been such a good dog havent they? dont they deserve a little reward. cmere puppy fill me up youre such a good dog arent you? cmon you can even cum in me if you beg for it <3"

Ask 1) I fucking agree! And I have puppy boy shit for Steve! I have a lot 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Ask 2) YES! I was thinking stucky thoughts when I queued that post!!

As for what I have...

(some of these are just puppy play, the werewolf stuff is literal puppy, some are puppy-human-hybrid like Buckitty, and a few are omegaverse, too. All the flavors of puppy Steve, lol)

Soft Puppy Steve HCs Puppy Interview w/ Fun Afterward Werewolf Steve? More Like Puppy Steve Puppy Steve In Rut Buckitty & Puppy Steve In The 40s (mostly @/possibleplatypus, though, lol) Puppy Alpha Steve Puppy Alpha Steve Fisting Dom Omega Bucky High-Tech & Slobbery Puppy Steve Puppy Steve Discovering His Puppiness

Now... *cracks knuckles* more puppy Steve

"Please pleasepleaseplease," Steve is a goddamn puddle on top of him. Just a hot, soaked blanket laid out over Bucky's body. Steve is in a careless sprawl because he doesn't have enough brain cells to control himself. That's why all his movements are jerky and desperate and hold no fucking finesse whatsoever. He's pure instinct, chasing pleasure with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, drooling, and his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Hot for everything. His whole body is blushing. When he's so far gone like he is now--a handful of orgasms deep and still rutting it out for more--everything fucking turns him on. Bucky could do whatever he wanted to him like this and the big, dumb lump of need so eager to get off would eat it up. He's so eager to please.

"Please what," Bucky emphasizes, digging his hand into Steve's hip while the other holds a lube-soaked fleshlight between their bodies. That's what Steve's plowing right now, a fleshlight, doing his fucking best to fuck it until it's loose despite the resilience of the smooth, string silicone that keeps letting go of his cock with obscene squelching noises. There's more than enough tingling, heating lube poured inside of it, making a mess of Steve's cock and dripping down to his balls and over his quivering thighs. Bucky's already plenty loose from the first few rounds himself, so he's more than sated, he's just enjoying his evening at this point, sprawled out, humming to himself, relaxed, and holding Steve's dirty little toy for him. He's just waiting for Steve to be done. He's never done. He's got a fucking nuclear-powered sex drive, Bucky swears. "What is it, you silly puppy?"

"Mmmmmngh, mmgh, ngh!" Steve makes a bunch of useless fucking noises before he can wrangle his mouth in enough to get his lips and teeth and tongue to work somewhat together, admitting as he ruts instinctively, chasing the sucking tight channel in front of him, meant for pleasure, "I, oh, I-! It huuurts!"

Bucky feels his lips pull into a splitting, mean grin. He lets go of Steve's hip in favor of throwing that arm behind his head, stretching out and getting casual, as if he's not at all invested in Steve losing himself inside a damn fleshlight. "You don't like your new toy, puppy?" He asks, cocking his head to one side.

"Nnngh," Steve's eyelashes flutter obscenely, struggling to fuck and process words at the same time. He's so useless it's fucking adorable. "N-no," he battles to get the words out, but then he can't seem to stop, chanting, "I like it, I like it, I like it--"

Bucky just fucking laughs, "are you sure, silly boy? It doesn't sound like you do if it hurts." He feigns like he might pull away and not let him keep going if apparently it hurts. That makes Steve whimper so loud it almost hurts Bucky's ears. Damn puppy. He leaves the fleshlight where it is, melting Steve down into fucking nothing. Just stupid and needy. "Don't know what you want, do you?" He teases.

Steve shakes his head, then nods.

Bucky has no idea if he even knows what his head is doing. He might just be going limp, letting his hips do all the work as the only thing moving. His rhythm is fucking terrible, all erratic and selfish. If he were fucking Bucky still, it wouldn't be enough to get Bucky off, but, hey, Steve doesn't give a fuck. He's just a useless, untrained puppy. It's surprising he's gone this long without cumming again since he's obviously so new to the art of fucking, untrained, but... he has had enough Steve-gasms already that it's possible he's fucking empty. Maybe he doesn't have any more to give. Maybe he's just too stupid to notice that it's not pleasure but overstimulation keeping him hard. A puppy running after a treat, no other thoughts in his head to keep him from looking out if he's about to walk into a wall or trip over a toy or anything.

Pure pleasure. Simple. That's all he needs.

"I, I like it," Steve wheedles, his voice all high and pathetic.

"Mm, yeah, I can see that," Bucky hums, pretending his bored while he squeezes the fleshlight as tightly as he can.

"AH!" Steve almost fucking screams at the sudden added stimulation.

He's a goddamn picture. Strung-out and defenseless. Bucky can do anything to him, poor. little. puppy.

"It hurts?" Bucky unkindly parrots what Steve was trying to say before he had more interest in torturing him, just a little. Not enough to hurt anyone. Just for fun. Just because why not? It's hot a shit anyway.

"It huh-hurts!" Steve agrees unthinkingly.

"Do you wanna stop, then?" Bucky, again, pretends like he's ready to take away Steve's favorite bone for fear of him swallowing the last remaining part of it and hurting himself.

"No!" He wails.

"Why not?"

"C-can't, nngh, uhng! Can't!"

"Why not, puppy? Why can't you stop?"

"'M hard."

"You're hard, okay? What about it?"

"S-so, so hard. I can't stop."

"Aw, poor puppyyy," Bucky strings out, carding his fingers through Steve's sweaty blonde mop of hair like he's petting him, "it hurts but you're hard and you can't stop," he echoes much to Steve's whimper of embarrassment. "What a predicament you're in. Tsk tsk," Bucky clicks his tongue, "such a hard life!"

"Mmmmgh, mmm-hmm!" Steve whines his agreement with Bucky's ficticious statements. He's too gone for anything as complex as sacrasm.

Bucky loves him like this. He loves his dumb, horny puppy so bad. It's so fucking good.

"You're so dumb, puppy. Spoiled and dumb. You're getting that cock wet and you're getting to cum again and again and you're complaining? Ugh. The nerve of you, puppy." Bucky razzes him, flicking the tip of his nose just to see Steve flinch and his face melt back into mindless, slack pleasure after the surprise.

When his words finally fucking register, Steve just moans, agonized.

"Are you sorry, puppy?" Bucky teases.

Steve nods sloppily, drooling just that much more. The big, dumb animal.

"Then, where are my apologies?"

"'M, I'm sorryyy, s-sorry," he mewls.

"Good boy."

Steve shakes all over.

"And what about my pretty thank yous?"

Through a heaving sob Steve frantically chatters, "thank you thank youthankyou!"

"There it is. Good pup."

Steve hiccups through another cry, still fucking plowing forward because, really, that's all he knows. It's the only thing he can do. It's perfectly in his nature. Squirmy, greedy little hedonist too simple to look forward to the future, just completely obsessed with now, now, now.