#genre :3

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

I'm so glad my friends are (mostly) not book lovers bc holy shit I hate she who became the sun so much and if I was surrounded by people who love it I would not be able to talk to them until they got over the hype. I only liked abt half of it and I would explain my feelings but I don't feel like doing that rn.

Tldr though: I didn't think it was feminist at all and going in thinking it was a feminist piece of literature made it a bad read for me. I liked how the author explored another gender class through the eunuchs though. Should've contested the other main character's misogyny & toxic masculinity (maybe that's not the right term here but idgaf this is just a tumblr post) though (can't remember their name bc i read it so long ago. The monk)

[hwathwugu]

A classic western tale

[artistmarchalius]

Coming Out

Aka: The inherent queerness of changing your musical genre.

[mischievous-thunder]

That's the way Wade and Logan express their undying love for each other

[soosoosoup]

Funk branch au

Au and branch design by @bbc-trolls

[remanedur]

tumblr music survey

because this has come up with a few friends before, i am curious -- in the replies or tags, can you list:

what you consider the average song length

what you consider 'long' for a song, and 'short' for one

a few genres you listen to the most/consider your favorite

[mayasaura]

There are three types of dungeon meshi posts in my experience.

One: Senshi says to eat a healthy diet and get moderate exercise in order to live longer!! ( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!! Thank you Senshi!

Two: This character is gay and autistic. Which character? Doesn't matter. It's all of them.

Three: So if you consider the implications of this bit of lore from the back of a napkin dug out of Kui's trash, you'll see how the political weight of access to food ties the series' depiction of racism into the themes of consumption and coexistence within an ecosystem—

[sun-snatcher]

That Kitsch!Gambit is so steamy LORD PLEASE write a Channing!Gambit version. I know you don't write smut but. Just a taste. Please. You'd be doing the Channing girlies a service.

♧ |  own sweet time  ;  ‘24!Gambit

summ.  A supply run goes sour. You and Remy pass time in the Void the only way you know how.  pairing.  Void!Gambit x f!Void!reader a/n.  A blurb. Allusions to smut but really it's just heavy-petting and a make out. Anyway. Don’t look at ME. You people asked for this!

The Void is vast.

Vast usually means quiet.

Which, really, is a double-edged sword for your situation at the moment. It all depends— but logistics is honestly the last thing you’re caring about in this seedy, rundown 80’s Diner that you and Remy have temporarily camped in for the night after that tragedy of a supply run, no—

Not when you’re purring under his heaty touch, and he’s sweeping you off your feet to corner you against the counter with his eyes half-mast, and that damn smirk across his face.

He always likes to play with his food.

“Foldin’ your cards already, chèr?” 

Your hands roam uselessly across the armour over his chest, finding purchase at the thick muscles of his arms caging you in.

“Mh. You’re a cheater,” you volley, dragging him close by his coat and tip-toeing to meet him in a quick there-and-away kiss.

A dimpled smile. “S’only one thing I play dirty at, chèr.”

You roll your eyes, but your huff of laughter betrays you. “You talk too much.”

“That so?” he hums, cutting.

You can’t even answer.

The taunt is enough to have him dipping down, snaking his hand loose around your neck like a collar, and devouring you like his life depended on it. Raw hunger. It sends your world careening; body unravelling. You want to reach out incase you fall apart— you want to be touched and surrounded and kissed.

“Up,” he instructs, voice like roughstone; and when you obliged obediently, let him hike you up around his hips and keep you from falling with nothing but a single arm wrapped around you, he croons out the approval that makes your head swim; 

“Attagirl.”

Some strangled sound— a wanton plea, probably— escapes you. It’s hard to miss his smile against your lips; Likes when you preen for him, the smug bastard. 

He settles you fluidly on a booth table, and you barely have the time to catch your breath until he’s leaning his tousled-head down again, tilting your chin up with his fingers, and nosing a bruising kiss over your lips and to the tender pulse beneath your jawline.

“Remy,” you manage, half-whined and half-croaked. “Please.”

He shushes you. Three consecutive tuts, almost. Chiding. It stirs something in you. 

This— arrangement— has been routine enough for him to know exactly what makes you tick; know what disarms you; lets him have his way. You hardly remember when it all started. Time doesn’t matter in the Void. Somewhere between his suggestive banter, and your wandering gazes, and both of your lingering, purposeful touches— you and he found comfort burying in each other with this make-shift intimacy.

Casual, you remind yourself. This is… casual.

He grazes tongue and teeth against your collar. Canine-sharp. 

Christ. The whole Devil thing makes sense, doesn't it?

And Gambit runs hot. Smouldering to the touch— warm and kindling and as searing as brimstone. You wonder, idly, if it has something to do with all the kinetic energy coursing through him; if it’s ever intentional. An exposed livewire that singes and thrums throughout your body as he mouths at the thin skin of your flesh.

“Remy.” You arch, helpless, trying to get impossibly closer to him.

He slides his palms up, rough and excited, working your body firmly where and how he wants you, back down the cold metal of the table.

It’s enough force that you thud the back of your head.

You barely notice it, too distracted with the pressure of him, but Remy does— and then he’s quickly pulling away from a wet kiss at the hollow of your throat.

“Y’alright?” he withdraws, slowing considerably. Irises fade bright fuschia to sea-green. The roughness in his touch quickly melts away. "M’sorry, chèr."

His powers bleed through sometimes whenever he’s kickstarted with adrenaline; tends to give way and have him end up using more force than necessary. His thumb sits at your bottom lip, breath curling with yours as he checks you over with a flickering gaze.

“It's okay,” you murmur, already pulling him forward. (You forget just how much that Cajun accent of his does it for you.) "Didn't hurt me, sweetheart."

He seals you into a talisman of a kiss. Another apology; a promise. Gambit didn’t mean to, chèr, it translates. 'Lemme make it up to you.

Gentleman at heart. Always. You love it about him.

Gambit may have learned how to make himself a hard read from his years being a thieving, gambling, cheat; but Remy’s touch— sleight, dextrous hands borne from mastered legerdemain— never fails to give everything about him away. 

Everything devolves into something more tender, now. Like he’s making up for his harshness. You can feel his fingers slide from your jaw and run through your hair to cradle the crown of your head— quiet precaution from hitting it again as he latches onto your mouth. 

Subtle awareness; Not only a turn-on, but also sickeningly sweet of him.

Too much, truthfully, for this to be just a casual thing between you both.

Sweeter than whatever had been in the air that day Elektra had sent you both out on a recon that turned sour, and he came away with bruises on his chest so dark he looked like a walking contusion— and you took care of him afterwards in the only way you knew how: 

Sitting astride on his lap, and letting him mould you into his blissful distraction; have him forget the pain; disassemble the raw dread in his marrows after such a close call.

He shifts you carefully to the table edge, nudges your knees wide so he can stand bracketed between your legs. The skirting coat he shoulders slowly slips off.

...God. You’re going to leave half-crescents around his biceps by the time he’s done with you.

“Easy, chèr,” he laughs, when you entwine your fingers with his, anticipatory. It's a cigarette-burn of a voice; drowned in hazy, saccharine affection. “Gambit ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Too sweet, you want to scold him—

But then he’s pressing against you, looming above you like a shadow, and every single thought dissolves into eager pleasure as he curls another hand under your shirt and drags up, up, up.

Too sweet. Sweet, and takin’ his own sweet time.

Laissez les bons temps rouler, or whatever it is he says.

[carry-the-sky]

okay help i'm still stuck on a feeling that is like torture, but one which i cannot, will not, do not want to give up. he is straight up telling her that his feelings for her are killing him but if that's the price of loving her than so be it. like in the context of this scene colin has no clue that she reciprocates and in fact felt this way long before he did. other people have said this far more eloquently but he is putting literally everything on the line and opening himself up to the potential devastation of losing not only the love of his life but also his best friend. but he's saying you know what that's fine!! yeah i might lose you yeah i might have to watch you marry someone else yeah i might feel like dying every day for the rest of my life knowing i can't have you but none of that matters because it's you!! i'd rather love you and be miserable than not love you and be normal!!!! it's like how violet told anthony last season that she'd do it all again with edmund knowing she'd lose him because real love is worth it.

[coldasyou]

American singer-songwriter Taylor Swift has released 10 original studio albums.

insp

[leetaehwan]

some cozy chris for @channieblossoms | happy holidays from your stayblr secret santa! ✨

bonus ! and a very Berry christmas ! ♡

[qwakque]

love seeing bunny day epel fanart bc its always something like this:

[letgomypartypiece]

another one to my joost kneeling collection

[suashii]

"give them back," tsukishima grumbles, harshly rubbing his tired, golden eyes with the heels of his palms. his already blurred vision is even more bleary when he pulls his hands away.

"mm, no," you refuse, resting the stolen frames on the top of your head. "i don't think i will."

the lines of a frown are etched into the skin between his eyebrows as he stares at you from his desk chair. you're sure his aim is to look intimidating or at least annoyed, but you can't take him seriously knowing that he probably sees you as nothing more than an indiscernible blob of colors without his glasses.

"come on, i need to finish this." he points to the intricate yet unfinished drawing sitting on the table in front of him. you're sure your eyes would cross just attempting to pick out all of the details; you can't imagine how strained tsukki's eyes must be from staring at and adding on to it for hours.

"what you need to do is rest your eyes," you scold him. "this little artist gig is going to be over before it even begins if you keep this up."

he doesn't respond because he can't argue with you; you're right. late nights spent working under nothing more than a soft, dim lamp have become the norm for him. he's grown accustomed to the irritation burning at his eyes and the need to squint in order to focus on whatever project sits in front of him. before now, he would have excused his irresponsibility as hard work—dedication. thanks to you, he's willing to acknowledge it as a bad habit.

tsukki sighs. you're nervous that your words were too harsh, worried that they bordered discouraging. you open your mouth, readying to apologize for your brashness when the man clears his throat. "fine. i'll be done for tonight."

"good." you curtly nod. if you’re being completely honest, you weren't sure that you'd be able to convince him. you tell him as much, too. "if you said otherwise, i would have dragged you out of here myself."

for the first time since you barged into his studio, a smile breaks out on the blonde's face. "is that so?"

"mhm." you hum in confirmation. seeing his lips curled upward makes you grin as well. you jerk your head in the direction of the door, stretching your open hand out to him. you wiggle your fingers and ask, "shall we go?"

he takes your hand in his, gently squeezing it as he stands up from the chair. "can i have my glasses back now?"

"nope," you pop the 'p'. you almost forgot about the lenses perched on the top of your head, but, even so, he isn’t getting them back. tsukishima is stubborn and you wouldn't put it past him to end up browsing his phone for inspiration if he got a hold of his glasses again. "you should keep your eyes closed. i'll lead you down the hall and get you comfy in bed all on my own."

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. he can't say he's seeing clearly at the moment, but the thought of being blindly guided down the hallway keeps him from closing his eyes. "you have way too much faith in yourself."

you scoff, "take it back or your sleeping in your studio tonight."

[lionfission]

Initial rescue didn't go as planned, had to try again 2 weeks later...

2/3

Part 1 / Part 3

[yourocdoeswhat]

OC's that are happier once the world has ended

OC's that thrive in a disaster

OC's that fit into a hard uncaring world better than the world before

OC's that were always looking for an excuse to abandon their past