#i'm hiding in my tags

[aceofbooks]

It should not be physically possible for someone to have a higher published titles average than James Patterson. And yet... And yet. There is the author of my current book for work.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Danny ends up a doctor like his parents, just not the type of doctor they were expecting.

Danny becomes an archeologist.

He couldn't help it! Most of his friends were dead people, some from as far back as ancient Mesopotamia! He automatically knew every dead language by virtue of being a ghost! The way his friends talked, he wanted to know more about their lives. So he goes looking and makes a name for himself.

He becomes a well known archeologist. As a grad student, he works for the Drakes, even babysitting their son, Tim. He goes to Janet's, and later Jack's, funeral, offering to take Tim in, which the boy is grateful for but declines in favor of a bio-uncle. Eventually, Danny discovers the remains of an ancient cult in the Middle East.

Ra's learns that the remains of the original League of Shadows has been uncovered by a group of archeologists. Originally visiting the dig site to ensure the group doesn't discover any traces of the modern-day League, he finds himself intrigued by the young Dr. Fenton leading the dig. He's smart and bright and the first person in 400 years that can speak Ra's birth language. He becomes fond of the good doctor, even more so when he discovers that Danny's a conservationist and is skilled with a Xiphos (all Pandora's doing). How strange that their spars often end up with them retreating to Danny's tent to be alone...

And then Danny invites Tim Drake to visit, worried about the boy being a teen CEO with no breaks. Tim agrees.

[attleboy]

little doodle to celebrate going into 2024!!! 🎉 idk what's coming but may we make the best of it :D

[vilnmelling]

See, the thing about Jeff's characters is that all of them look exactly like Jeff, but none of them look anything like each other.

MacNamara? Yeah, he looks like Jeff.

Man in a hurry? Clearly Jeff.

Professor Hidgens? Yup, that's Jeff.

BUT THESE THREE DON'T LOOK ANYTHING ALIKE

[demaparbat-hp]

I believe July is trying to tell you something, Nico.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Valentine's Day! (and this blog's first post anniversary!)

[tapakah0]

Eh, almost forgot ;~;; Commission for sweet @celestialrose3 ;;~;;; Thank you so much *bows*

[tickletails]

They got me

[ex-textura]

okay so i've gotten some help and now i've got the power of gif and gay on my side so. Y'all are doomed 😈

[aceofbooks]

The fact that I get really awful cramps every couple of months (that I can't just eat my way through) should be enough of an indicator for me to recognize that I am still female-bodied. But I never end up bleeding, so as soon as the two to three days are over, I immediately forget about it until 4 months later and I'm like "hmmm maybe there's a pattern here?" and rinse and repeat for all time. My IUD is really doing something here.

[lampochkaart]

Hey, guess what? I finaly finished my fanart for 13 Students Remain written by a wonderful @whattheskyknows! I've been subscribed to it for a long time, but never drew anything which is actually a crime. I'm fixing my mistake now!

This is probably my favorite fanfic ever, I highly recommend reading it (especially if you like oumota and amamatsu)! Very well written, and full of both funny and sad moments (that now live rent free in my head). It's pretty long, but it's REALLY worth it! I don't want to say more because I don't want to spoil anything. Just check it out. It's so underrated it's insane!!

Vague fic spoilers below "read more"

I wan't to point out little details I put in this.

I depicted here the main characters of each simulation loop after the main game, along with the people they became closest to (and who supported them a lot), as well as the main "antagonist" of their respective loops. In Kaede's and Kokichi's cases it is Tsumugi, but Kaito was most shaken by his memories.

Also Kaito is here providing support in each loop. And in his own everyone is there for him (just like he deserves)

Version without text

[sprout-fics]

hey! imagine if Konig could scent Red during her period, like before she even knows about it? And he just goes crazy for her during that time? just a little brainworm :)

~🐸

Monthly snack

(Period sex, cunnilingus, blood, werewolf sex, I can’t believe I’m posting this let alone writing it, wtf is wrong with me for real)

“Please, Schatz.” He begs, head in your lap, arms wrapped around your hips as you perch on the edge of the bed. The glimmering gold of his eyes glints through the shadows of his hood, illuminating the darkened cast of need there. His massive hands knead into your back, cup under your ass, and you can feel the dull prod of his forming claws against his fingertips that will no doubt leave marks across your flesh come morning. 

“I-I want to taste you.” Konig pleads, voice high, keening, whining as he asks once more. “I’ll make it feel good, I…I promise.”

You teeth your lip uncertainly, fingers teasing the worn fabric of his hood between your fingers. It wasn’t that you were opposed, per say, but that the idea of Konig…involving himself in you while you bled was…well, embarrassing.

“It’ll help.” He tries again, voice strained, scooting closer to you. “It’ll make the pain go away. I…I want it.”

You blink then, at the pure desire that colors his voice, choked and needy as he all but throws himself into your lap to beg for it, to taste you despite it all, offering you pleasure like he worships you like an altar of the moon. Konig was always a little too aroused during the full moon, and those nights always ended with you on your back, on your hands and knees, fisting the russet fur of his back and shoulders and crying out for him until your lungs were fit to burst. Echoing his name over and over like an offering to the goddess Selena herself, crying into the night sky.

This. This was different. The need, the hunger in Konig’s eyes was no less rampant, but now it was softer at the edges, deferential as his eyes turned downwards, as he nuzzles into your lap with a bubbling little whine. When you lift his hood you can see his parted lips, can see his fangs just barely poking out from his teeth as they form a single word.

“Please.”

You hold your breath for a moment, feel it curl warm and damp inside your chest as you look down at him, into his glimmering eyes with pupils eclipsing all but a faint ring of gold. Konig’s chest rises unevenly, breathing in stuttering, ragged inhales that tell the tale of a barely restrained lust, a ravenous desire that you think will let him swallow you whole.

When you nod, he surges upwards, knocks teeth against yours in the sudden urge to kiss you. His fangs skim over your lips as you taste his high, cracked whine across your tongue. Yet there’s no time for you to kiss back, to loop your arms around his broad shoulders because suddenly you’re being tipped back, body hitting the soft goosefeather mattress hard enough to force the air from your lungs. 

Konig has your underwear gone by the time you look up, his hood tossed alongside them so you can see his shift beginning to take hold. Large, pointy ears form from the soft, curly bed of his hair, fangs drawing outwards with his elongated muzzle, the hands gripping your thighs shifting, morphing into the monster that had nearly devoured you so many moons ago, and now seems fit to do it again. 

The soft fabric of your skirt puddles around your waist and you yelp as Konig lifts you up with immense, monstrous strength, hauling you up to meet him. Your hips rise high off the bed, the small of your spine barely grazing the sheets as you’re tipped at a severe angle to accommodate his massive size. Your legs fold over his shoulders, the hair tickling the inside of your calves, entrance exposed clearly to his hungry, wolf-ish gaze. 

“Gott im Himmel.” He groans, voice deeper, rougher, a tone no human can muster. “You smell so good, liebling.”

You smell like blood, you think. The scent hangs heavy and iron in the air as you fist the sheets, feeling your face warm to an uncontrollable temperature that sears down your neck, across your shoulders and chest. Quandary colors your expression, and you lift an arm to toss across your face, hiding you from his gaze in your embarrassment. 

“No.” He growls, and there’s the prick of claws against the soft flesh of your thighs. “Look at me. I want to see you, want to see your face while I do this.”

You comply, but your brow is knotted with a mixture of shame and need that spools warm and liquid under his gaze. When you meet his eyes Konig merely growls at the arousal he finds there, pressing his snout against the junction of your thighs and relishing the high, arching gasp that escapes you. 

“K-Konig-” You try, and you aren’t even sure what to ask for. To leave you be? To take you how he wants? Maybe simply to eat you alive.

Yet Konig does exactly that, the warm, broad stripe of his tongue pressing flat against you and you cry out, feel pleasure lace across your hips and dull the bite of cramps that press down on your womb. 

“Just like that.” He tells you, voice obscured by a dark, grinding rumble that drags from the hollow of his chest. “Just like that, Schatz. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you, want to hear how good I can make you feel.”

Your chest rises in ragged, gasping inhales as Konig sets about his task, the width of his tongue circling your clit, your entrance, the sharpness of his teeth occasionally grazing across the insides of your thighs. There’s a coiling tightness in the core of you that brightens with every swipe of his tongue, every vibration of his feral, untamed noises grunted against you. 

You arch against the bed, whimper and mewl for him, sweat making your clothes cling damp to your form as the climax inside you only builds, forces itself higher and higher until it’s fit to burst you at the seams. Yet when Konig forces his tongue inside you every nerve within your body seems to light on fire, and you come across his tongue with a shout, calves locking behind his broad neck as you try and contort yourself to push up, onto his muzzle. 

You can feel yourself flutter around him as you come down, and when he pulls back you whine, a touch overstimulated and raw. The world feels hazy around you, your eyes lidded and lip swollen with your teething. Yet Konig takes only one look at you and huffs, clearly pleased, adjusting your legs across the broad, furry planes of his shoulders before lowering his streaked muzzle to you once more. 

“Moon is still rising, liebling.” He purrs. “We’re not done yet.”

[batburgerofficial]

hi i think about this way too often for a so-called “functional member of society”

[gale-in-space]

Okay posting the full pic of this lol. Some space bloodweave for my dear @antstarion :D gotta stay warm and comfy in space

[jacensolodjo]

It is easy to make jokes about the Eastern European and Jewish prerogative about food. It is not so easy when you know both groups have been literally starved to death through no fault of their own.

It is easy for someone to say "why didn't they just leave" but not so easy knowing because these murders by starvation were intentional, the victims were actively prevented from leaving. Which in itself is proof it was intentional for these people to starve to death.

If you want us to believe something like the Holodomor was a natural famine you shouldn't also tell us about internal passports (something many countries have done in order to keep an eye on where their "undesirables" are going) and people being shot for trying to board trains, planes, busses, and carriages. If, instead, it was natural, why stop people from going somewhere that there IS food?

Through the lens of epigenetics we can begin to understand why a third generation American of EE/Jewish descent might have this anxiety about food, about making sure there is enough, that we remember those who are less fortunate, that we appear to subsist entirely on leftovers. Or, indeed, why many with these epigenetic changes tend to trend towards higher percentages of body fat. Our bodies through our genes remember a time nobody could be even a pound overweight and it knows that the body literally eats itself as we starve and the first to go of course is body fat so our bodies, knowing all this, make sure we have extra "God forbid (ptoo ptoo ptoo), just in case".

"They tried to kill us, they failed, let's eat" isn't just a pithy saying. We outlived them even despite being unable to eat. We do not hoard food, we just happen to have a lot of leftovers through this anxiety about food. "Oy, I ate too much" is a blessing. With it, we are aware of how few times our ancestors could say the same. During Pesach (Passover), we have an entire dinner party (complete with perhaps a little too much wine) and recline in style as we eat matzo and remember why it is just so damn flat (we rushed off to escape from Egypt without finishing making our dough. D'oh!). Everything on the seder plate has a meaning, with some items being added or removed based on the traditions of the family or congregation doing the seder. Such as in the past couple years the olive is added to symbolize the hope for peace in Ukraine (or, for some, peace in the Middle East). Or the orange to symbolize the inclusion of the LGBTQ community.

Perhaps it seems paradoxical to eat so much in one sitting instead of saving some for a time where food may be scarce. But it goes hand in hand with "They tried to kill us, they failed". We have survived another day and have enjoyed good food and good company. In spite of everything they did to us. We feast out of spite. Perhaps because of all those times our enemies were eating without a care in the world while our ancestors watched and starved. We have proof of commie buffets while starving Ukrainians watched from the street. We have proof of Jews being teased with food, with Gentiles tossing heels of bread on the ground so they could watch as said Jews fought over it or flinging a sausage and laughing as Jews raced to get it as if they were playing fetch with a dog. Or the innumerable times people were killed for stealing a handful of grain when many times they were the ones who had farmed the grain in the first damn place.

There are many who do not see starvation as a tool of genocide. They don't understand how starvation can break a community. Death by Hunger, the translation of Holodomor, was not about control like people claim (in other words they claim the death was an accident, that the starving was meant to keep people in line. If they had just behaved themselves they wouldn't have died etc.,). It was always and forever about a stronger group ridding the world of another group without getting literal and metaphorical blood on their hands. They could cite plausible deniability. It wasn't their fault, honest, it was just bad luck.

The stereotypical scene of people in lines that stretch multiple city blocks was in fact the norm. And more often than not, only the first few dozen would get anything at all and everyone else would find they had wasted an entire day waiting for food that was never meant to be given to them in the first place. The supply was purposely small. At least for those who were either too low in the Party or not a part of it at all. For Jews, you turned to the black market which was often caught selling spoiled food as well as food that wasn't actually food at all (such as sawdust masquerading as bread). Which happened even with regular stores because as a Jew you could only buy certain things and everyone knew it and still would not sell the genuine article because why should they? It is, after all, going to a Jew. Soviet areas were guilty of doing this to everyone, too.

So if you are visiting an EE and/or Jewish home and they actively push food on you and insist you take leftovers, that is their love language. We want you to have enough because far too many times our people did not. And in Jewish culture, it is a literal mitzvah to provide food to those who cannot procure it themselves either because of money/access, or they are going thru the bereavement process or otherwise incapable of dealing with making sure they have something to eat (such as an illness that prompts them being added to the Mi Shebeirach list which in many congregations is printed and given out to refer to during the Mi Shebeirach prayer during services and may also be paired with the mourner's kaddish list). It is why when you go to a house where the occupants are sitting Shiva, you will often find their kitchen stacked with tupperware of varying sizes and cuisine and you will often be instructed to bring something as well though it isn't a requirement. Generally, your presence is considered the more important aspect of the Jewish bereavement process. (Just do not say you are going to sit Shiva with someone. Rather, you are paying a Shiva call or condolence call. Only the mourners are in fact sitting Shiva. Also important: try the door first before ringing or knocking, as usually that is seen as an interruption to sitting Shiva which is frowned upon. And do not literally call them unless told otherwise for the same reason.)

Food makes or breaks us. Food is not inherently moral or immoral. And yes, perhaps there is always room for dessert. And maybe we do eat too much but that's okay. We have survived to enjoy it, so let us do so. Nu, it is what our ancestors would want.

[babiexiao]

contains : princess / fem!reader, head knight!gojo, implied secret relationship. this is just... angst i guess with a sprinkle of fluff... overprotective gojo *moans* this is about 1k of brainrot word vomit hhhhhhhhhhhhh :D not proofread cause i'm lazy, pls ignore any mistakes!

time moved by far too slow for satoru. for someone whose day passed in a blink of an eye with all of his responsibilities, today was far too slow. it felt like watching paint dry. it felt like a snail moving across the pavement. it felt like a century had passed before the bright light of the sun finally started to set. dusk slowly turning into night, and as the moon took its place in the night sky, was he able to escape from his duties and finally able to walk to your bedroom, hands held in tight fists by his sides.

"you two may leave. the king wants me to be stationed here for tonight." a lie. but the two guards didn't know any better. why would they ever think their head knight would ever lie to them in the first place.

what they don't know, won't hurt them, was what gojo told himself, watching the two salute him and proceeding to walk down the corridor far away from your bedroom. he waited till they were out of sight first and then listened out for the clunking noises the armour made as they walked down the stairs. when it was finally silent, he opened your door, shutting it behind him quickly.

you almost let out a scream at the sudden intrusion into your space. fear from the attack on your life only a night prior still too fresh in your mind. but the white mop of hair on top of the males head had you sighing in relief, aware that it was not an intruder but in fact satoru. but that relief didn't stay for too long. you were well aware that the king would have placed guards outside your door to keep you safe after what had happened and you could not afford to let your relationship with satoru be revealed just yet.

"satoru, what are you doing here? my father–" your worried whisper was cut short rather abruptly.

"fuck your father." if satoru was in a better mindset than he is now, he never would have spoken of the king, your father, in such a way and he's never been more glad there were no guards standing post outside your bedroom to judge his vulgar use of words towards the monarch either.

"are you hurt? did they touch you?" immediately, he's bombarding you with questions, eyebrows furrowed deeply as his eyes start to dart over your body. inspecting you. "would you let me have a look at you. please?"

you nod slightly, but turn your head to the right side a little, fearing what he'll do when he sees it.

his takes large but quiet strides towards you, hands that shook with fear now reaching out to hold your wrists. he inspects your skin, slowly, letting his hands and eyes travel across your skin, and it all seems fine until he brushes the strands of hair out of your face and finally notices the freshly dried blood on your cheek. it looked deep. no, it was deep. gojo was no stranger to cuts and bruises, even with a simple glance he could tell it was deep. it would leave a scar behind and it would take time to heal.

"i..." he inhales shakily, trying to keep his voice low as he could. an attempt to keep himself calm, to keep himself from lashing out. "i-i should have been there."

"satoru..." you began, only to be cut off again.

"i should have fucking been there." remorse. that's all satoru could feel. remorse for not being by your side like he had promised many moons earlier as you two hid from the maids attempting to prepare you for bed. remorse for not being by your side to keep you from harm. but hidden in that remorse, was also anger. anger that anyone even dared to touch a princess – not just any princess. his princess. the very princess that would become his queen in the future. the very princess that should have everyone in the land bowing to her. the princess he loves and swore to keep out of harms way.

"i should have fucking protected you. shit– i should have been there. i should have been protecting you like i said i would... i'm sor–"

"toru. i'm okay. please look at me." you place a gentle had over his chest, albeit over his armour, you swear you're able to feel how furiously his heart is beating. it doesn't take a genius to see all the emotions swimming in his eyes.

worry. hurt. pain. regret.

"satoru - the strongest knight in the kingdom... my favourite knight - gojo. i am okay. i promise you." the praise earns a brief smile from him before it fades, his thumb brushing the deep cut on your cheek ever so gently but it makes you inhale sharply anyway. it causes gojo to flinch, withdrawing his warm hands immediately but you reach out for his wrist with both hands desperately. "n-no! it... it jus' hurts because it's fresh... please, i just– i just need to feel you, toru. please, don't be afraid to touch me."

it was all gojo needed to hear from you. all he needed was your permission to touch you and he does. he cups your face in his hands, watching as the tension and stress leaves your body, jaw loosening and eyebrows relaxing. he watches as your eyes close for a few seconds before fluttering open. you place a kiss against the palm of his hand. "will you please stay the night with me? i'm... afraid they will come back." gojo watches you tense up at the mention of the men who tried to hurt you last night. his response is immediate.

"of course i will." his thumb finds its way to the wrinkles in the middle of your eyebrows, rubbing the spot a little. "do not frown so much. you will start looking older than you are, princess."

his teasing earns a smile from you, and he's glad when he sees you soften in his hold. the both of you stay silent for a while, finding comfort in the silence and each other. you've always felt safe with satoru, and tonight is no different.

"princess," he begins, pulling you in by your waist ever so slightly, your body pressed up against his armour. "i swear on my life, i will kill any bastard who dares lay so much as a finger on you again. i promise you. i'll execute them myself." you do not bother replying to him, instead sealing the promise he's made by standing on your tippy toes to press your lips against his.