#let's swap notes

[kosmic-kalamity]

been a minute since i've drawn these two

(bonus doodle under the cut)

[tenojan-in-tevinter]

Honestly I really want to be able to side with Solas in dreadwolf. I think it'd be super interesting to play as an elf in Tevinter and be able to just go "yeah actually I think Fen'Harel is right let's tear down that veil." I mean I assume the main conflict will be Solas trying to convince your character to join him, or your character being told they have to try and stop him, and there are not enough games that let you side with the presented "villain" character. I want to see what the world is like with no veil I'm so interested. Also so interested to see what full-on Fen'Harel Solas is like. Is he still as empathetic? Or is he more conniving and distanced from "mortals" like the old stories would have us believe?

[seud-luachmhor]

Our whole house has been unwell this past fortnight, so my granny (80, loves a sloe gin, appreciates naked bums in museum statues) has been bringing us treats to make us feel better. This morning, she dropped us off a cake she'd made, wrapped in this very Tim-esque linen tea towel.

I dunno how accurate it still is as im sure this is an ancient print but it got me thinking.

In the beginning of Them™, Tim and Anne passing paperwork between their offices - all offical and above board except for a little flag scribbled on a scrap piece tucked in the pile of manilla folders. A meaningless doodle should anyone else's eyes happen upon it, but the message perfectly clear to the recipient; their own little code.

A simple 'affirmative' or 'negative', or a coy 'stop carrying out your intentions and watch for my signals'.

'My vessel is stopped and making no way through the water' for a clear afternoon schedule?

'Keep clear of me, I am engaged in pair trawling' when Tim just couldn't get out of back to back meetings.

(I'm not even going to mention 'I require a tug'...)

They were definetly up to some Cute Enough to Kill shenanigans, so I guess I'm now headcannoning this.

[falselyprofound]

Hey if you like really slowburn puzzlers and "found media"-style horror that actually looks like the medium its impersonating, you should go check out Basilisk 2000.

I am having a lot of fun with it, and by that I mean I thought the $2 price tag would help me kill 20 minutes and yet here I am, still in red-string-and-corkboard mode four hours later.

[highlifeboat]

Another doodle

She is Covered in Blood and Not Okay.

Meanwhile Nikolina tries to act like she didn't purposefully lead Melony down there to be eaten alive.

[aidanchaser]

ive been wanting to do a kwami swap au, but I don’t want to like... rewrite the whole series so what ep or eps would be ideal for a good kwami swap au

[badnikbreaker]

none of u are ready for the roleswap im cookin up

[trench-rot]

WIP Wednesday!

on time because I made this post on monday lelllll

Tagged by: @wrathfulrook earlier this week tysm🖤 if you've tagged me in the previous weeks too and I've missed it- you're included in this of course and I appreciate you! My brain fog cares less, and I'm tagging you in spirit D:

Tagging: @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @adelaidedrubman @henbased @direwombat @derelictheretic @jacobsneed @florbelles @vampireninjabunnies-blog @g0dspeeed @voidika @josephseedismyfather @roofgeese @strangefable @shegetsburned @inquisitors-grave @twistedvyxen @strafethesesinners and you! If you see this and want to share some works you have feel free to tag me- open tag for all creative outlets

rook & chloe angst wip for poll results!

this is from a scene in my fic where rook thought chloe had been dead after going awol rook "saves" her from a group of peggies only to realize chloe's wearing jacob's dogtags while she's stopping her bleeding

I can't wait for this to be out of the horrid awkward subcolor layer I decided to use and add clothes to these floating hands shsjanshxj

as usual bonus scraggly 1st gen under cut

[folkrockopera]

ordered food and it arrived with a note that said they added avocado with a smiley face and the thing is I genuinely can't stand avocado w my autism texture issues it's literally in my top worst foods and it's IMPOSSIBLE to extract cleanly and because it's something they added instead of something I didn't get I might not even get a refund and im genuinely so upset

[solitaireships]

✍🏼💌🪐👯‍♀️!! —CCFM

I'm gonna answer these for Shepard since she's my newest one!

✍️: Overall, how does the fandom treat you? Are you a beloved character, or hated? Are you popular, or a minor side character? Anything in between?

Shepard would be a pretty significant character bcs she ends up saving Hoffman's life, so he would not be around without her. But I don't think that she would be popular, bcs while I'm not huge into the S/aw fandom, I know that much like with many fandoms, they are not a big fan of women, and they do not like it when you hc any character as being bi or pan. Especially with Hoffman being in a popular fanon mlm ship, I feel like people would take out some frustration on Shepard for daring to be a female love interest for him. But also I know the yuri warriors in the fandom would be there to love her despite her questionable taste in men (and potentially give her some toxic yuri with Amanda)

👯: What canon character are you most similar to?

I've said before that I myself am probably most similar to Perez or Kerry, so probably one of them

🪐: What would be your most popular AU and why?

I think that co-apprentice au would be pretty popular for them bcs it would be an interesting spin on things, with that meaning that the two of them would have met earlier, and it having the potential to set them up to be enemies. bcs if Shepard's an apprentice, she would be following John's ideals a lot more closely than Hoffman would, like she would make sure that every trap she makes is actually winnable and she would not be going completely out there for the sake of brutality. So you could get some fun drama in there with the possibility of her being called to counter Hoffman when he gets out of hand

That, or you get some couples that trap people together stay together stuff where the two of them are a little insane and a lot evil together. The showman ship with Shepard involved would make those traps pop off. There'd be themes and stuff

💌: How would your dynamic be portrayed? What might people focus on most? Any misconceptions?

I feel like the fandom would actually be mostly good about handling their dynamic, even if it probably wouldn't be a favored one. There's a bit of flavor to it that's similar to some of the other apprentice-based ships, but I think the main concern would be Shepard being made nicer than she is. bcs yes, she is someone who fully believes that anyone is capable of change and becoming better as a person. But also she isn't a push over, and part of what allows her to fix Hoffman so to speak is that she is willing to be a little mean to him

[simptasia]

they didn’t have to make daniel from massachusetts. they coulda made him from one of the many states jeremy davies grew up in (moved around a lot). i say this due to the lowkey lament that daniel doesn’t have a mass accent

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

I didn't even come close to finishing this fic in time for Halloween, even though I've been working on it literally since I posted the first entry in the tim&steph role swap au, but it turns out detective stories take way more effort to write than dumb, cheesy character interactions. who knew! (I did. I just also watched 32 horror movies this month.) anyway, I wanted to share something spooky for the holiday regardless, so here's a peek at what's to come...

"I'm not crazy," Melanie Diaz said, tightly. Her long, wavy dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun, slightly stringy with oil and sweat, and her jaw was clenched tight. She picked at her long sleeve tshirt, where it was pilling near the bend of her elbow.

"I know."

She snorted, rolling her eyes, and took a step away from him as she waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, it's that simple. I tell you I'm seeing ghosts, and you just--"

"Hey," Tim interjected calmly, holding up a placating hand. "Look, first, there are lots of things that can cause hallucinations. Mold, gas leaks, fear gas. This is Gotham, after all."

"I told you, I'm not--"

"That would not make you crazy," Tim told her firmly. "It would mean that there was a physical substance in your apartment causing a measurable chemical reaction in your brain. Hell," he snorted, "even if you are just hallucinating because you're hallucinating, there's still a chemical reaction happening in your brain. What's happening to you is very real, in one way or another. Alright?" He gestured her over to the couch, crouching down next to her as she sat and offering her his hand. After a short, distrustful moment, she took it, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

"But I actually had both a second and a third point that you never let me get to," Tim added gently. "Second is that there is plenty of technology that could be utilized to make you think you were hallucinating. Speakers, projectors, stuff along those lines. And, third, and perhaps most importantly, we live in a world where Wonder Woman exists, and a stage magician who is actually magic is one of the most powerful members of the Justice League." He settled his other hand over hers and offered a gentle squeeze. "Those kinds of things don't bleed over to boring, normal people like us all that often, but it still wouldn't be completely unheard of if you were actually being haunted."

"Oh, god." Melanie groaned, setting her other hand over top of Tim's and bending over to press her forehead to it.

"Whatever is happening, we are going to figure it out together," Tim promised her. Something wet slipped between her fingers as her chest heaved silently.

[youngavengerscameos]

Will you add Marvel Voices: America Chavez? She's there, as well as Loki!

I'm reading it and enjoying it! I love every single possible permutation of Loki and America's dynamic, so it is feeding me well (even if it's not saying or doing all the much yet, like most of the Infinity comics)

Unfortunately I've been really low on free time and energy recently and the hobby that is running this blog isn't returning the energy that I need it to, so I'm taking a step away for a bit. I hope to get the comic posted eventually, but that eventually may be a good long while in the future (and the longer the comic ends up being, the longer "eventually" will likely become)

[nexus-nebulae]

I'm sorry, Charli D'amelio is on Dancing With the Stars??????

[vulpinesaint]

shrugging helplessly when my mom asks about wellbutrin effects cause our issues are fundamentally different and so the medication does different things for her than it does for me. sorry ur emotions all feel muted and you haven't cried in a month since u started taking the meds babe. i spent years feeling nothing and then wellbutrin made me cry at the fucking macy's thanksgiving day parade

[gutsby]

Love Tap

Pairing: Dad!Joel x Reader

Summary: Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

Warnings: 18+. Joel Miller is a MUNCH Oral (f!receiving). Unprotected p-in-v (quickie). Slice of life, domestic-style and Joel calls you ‘Mama’ a whole lot. One playful bite.

Word count: 2.4k

Note: ‘You better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck up’ is a line from 2Pac’s song, ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’

Joel Miller was a wonderful father.

Occasionally, he forgot how to act like one.

He had a tendency to get a little careless. Sloppy.

Letting the dignified, ever-respectful façade slip every now and again and smacking your ass when you walked past. Copping a feel when you had to squeeze by him in the kitchen. Best of all, pinching your cheek through your skirt while you were cradling the baby—his baby—and leaving you no choice but to shoot him a quick back-the-fuck-up-before-you-get-smacked-the-fuck-up look and a covert middle finger to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be slapping your butt in front of the kids.

It was just bad practice to engage in those dumb, flirty antics, particularly when your four-year-old son had made it his mission in life to imitate everything dad did.

But again, Joel would sometimes forget that.

On a morning when he’d woken up a little too early with an erection that was a tad too stubborn to ignore, he got especially forgetful. He found himself plastered to your backside at the edge of the bathroom counter with a grin, knowing damn well you only had twenty-five minutes to get the family dressed, fed, and on the road.

“Joel, you are so—”

“Quick. I’ll be quick.”

His eyes suddenly pleading with yours in the mirror. You just might’ve had the willpower to turn his honeyed gaze away were it not for the lips that followed it. Tracing the shell of your ear and behind it, down your neck, leaving trails of soft kisses down the skin until he reached the collarbone, your sweet spot, and licked it—the bastard.

“Five. Minutes.” Your words were equal parts invitation and warning as you shimmied your PJs over your butt.

“You know I’ll have ya finished in two, sweet pea,” Joel teased—but deep down, you knew he wasn’t kidding.

Both of you had cum and were done in a record-breaking four and a half minutes, swapping pyjamas for normal clothes in less than half the time and stepping back out of the bathroom with your hair only marginally tousled.

By now you had the ‘Pre-K starts in thirty’ types of quickies down pat. You were proud. You glanced over your shoulder to see a similar glint in Joel’s eye, and as you started out the bedroom door, you felt a tap on your ass—or, with the sheer breadth of your husband’s hand, more like a WHACK, followed by the sound of a stifled laugh.

“Can Daddy get some more’a that later?” he quipped.

“More’a what?”

Aw, hell.

Your sweet, forever nosy mini-Joel was standing directly in front of you with two pinched brows and a mostly eaten dino nugget clenched tight in his tiny fist.

You opened your mouth to conjure up some half-assed excuse for the spank your son just saw, but then your husband was scooping the kid up in his arms and toting him straight down the hallway, and you heard, faintly:

“Whatcha gettin’ from Mama later?”

“None of your beeswax, bubs.”

Joel got his second helping around lunchtime.

He’d been in between calls with what felt like an endless stream of subcontractors, suppliers, architects, and project managers when he swung by the house. You were in the midst of baking cardamom buns when he blew through the kitchen like an EF5 tornado and decided he’d be feasting on something else entirely.

“Joel, my buns,” you whined as soon as he’d carried you up the stairs and tossed you onto the bed, eager as ever.

“Fuck your buns.”

“You already fucked ‘em this morning—can you relax?”

Your husband already had your pants tugged halfway down your legs. You let him, then helped him kick the fabric the rest of the way off when it got to your ankles.

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac, Miller, y’know that?”

Something in the way he smirked as he sank his face between your bare thighs told you he already knew that. You would’ve liked to try and scold him again—give him a little more grief for the baked treats that would surely be burnt to a crisp by the time he was done—but then you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your slit, and you refrained.

Even if you’d wanted to, you scarcely would’ve been able to form a single word apart from, ‘Fu-cking hell, Joel’ and ‘Right there, right thereohfuuuuuuckfuckfuck.’

That was just fine by your husband.

In fact, he seemed perfectly content to lap at your slick, glistening folds while you moaned and cursed his name; it made him proud. Appreciative. Maybe even a tad too smug for his own good, if he were being honest, because the way you fisted his hair and rutted your hips against his face made you act a little more like him. A touch more reckless, sloppy, and desperate than your daily obligations as parents would seem to allow. A bit less proper and refined and a lot more slutty—all for him.

Joel teased your clit with a few soft touches from the tip of his tongue, and you almost tore the sheets in two.

“That feel good, Mama?” he hummed.

“F-Fingers, fuck, Joel— fingers,” you begged.

Still using his tongue, Joel drew the shape of a lemniscate extra slow just to spite you. You whined and bucked your hips in protest, but the man was undeterred—he knew exactly what he was doing. The only way he could be tempted to use his fingers now would be to spread your lips apart and lick you more, which he did.

Joel licked and sucked and drove you up the fucking wall with those figure eights until you nearly couldn’t take it. In one hasty, desperate move, you tilted your hips and tried to slip a finger past Joel’s mouth, into your cunt.

He bit that finger. You yelped.

“JOEL!”

It wasn’t that the bite actually hurt—his teeth barely grazed skin—but rather the way he refused to speed up. Gauging your wants and your needs with expert precision, he massaged the hood of your clit with his tongue and took care to plant suckling kisses as he did. You moaned and squeezed the bedspread, relishing the vulgar sounds of his mouth and the need he was building inside you. You turned your head to the side and whined into the pillow, knowing from the depths of your soul you needed release, but Joel just wouldn’t oblige you…yet.

When he grinned against your wet, warm, and slippery folds, his mouth might as well have joined in and said, ‘Keep going—you’ll cum on my tongue when I say so.’

Instead, Joel opted to say ‘Mama’ again, softly.

Mama.

He always called you that when he took you extra slow. Sometimes when he took you quick, too. Like a reminder to you both that you were, in fact, the mother of his children, and if the man had had it his way he’d have given you fifty more by now, daycare bills be damned.

He was generous like that. Always giving, giving, giving.

Just not when it came to doling out orgasms sometimes.

“I have a divorce lawyer on speed dial, just so you know,” you hissed through gritted teeth, head falling back when Joel’s tongue sank forward—inside you, then, “FUCK!”

“Mhmmm,” he hummed before retracting once more. Licking the soft, fleshy rim and nearly eliciting a scream.

Joel traced a circle with his tongue. He savored the taste. While you were whining and grinding your hips against the wet spot underneath you—a puddle that would only grow larger the longer he went on—your husband was devouring you, kissing your thighs every now and then.

“Well, if we split, my tongue goes too,” Joel said. Smug.

“Texas is a community property state,” you murmured, “I taught you how to eat pussy so your mouth is a marital asset.”

Silently, Joel wondered how that argument might hold up in court, grinned, then continued licking your cunt. You squeezed his head with your thighs, dug the balls of your feet in the sheets, and let out a lewd, pornographic scream that could’ve woken half the street. Luckily, your neighbors were probably all at work, your bedroom walls insulated just well enough to mask the noise, and Joel’s resolve crumbling slowly as he kissed between your legs.

One wanton, shameless, ‘I’m gonna cum, Joel, please’ was like music to his ears. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with a wife and mother as sweet as you, so upright and polite in your day-to-day life and then a hot, trembling mess beneath his tongue when he needed you like this the most. Surely he couldn’t treat you so mean.

Joel wedged two thick fingers in your slick, dripping heat and beckoned you to him as kindly as he possibly could. Rubbing the pads of both digits, callused as they were, against the spongy insides of your core and flicking them forward—‘C’mere, Mama, Daddy’s right here, go on’— so of course, you had no other logical choice but to cum.

It was all habit by now. A dazzling, sumptuous routine.

And Joel Miller was certain he’d never tire of seeing it.

Your spine arched off the mattress an inch or two, toes curling at the feeling, and while the sensation spanned over your body, your husband was the first to see it, sense it on his lips and tongue and fingers just as well. He squeezed your hip, told you how fucking pretty you looked when you came for him, then patiently waited out the spasms and cries and fingers lacing through his soft, dark locks like he was your last remaining tether to earth.

Then he kissed the inside of your thighs and smiled.

“All better, honey?” he hummed.

“Yeah,” you breathed back.

“Still want a divorce?”

A smirk and a response of ‘Not until you knock me up at least one more time’ was hovering somewhere over your tongue when you felt the bed shake. Buzzing. Vibrating?

Joel sat up between your legs and yanked something out from under his ass. He peered down at the thing—staring into a screen—and cocked a brow as he looked back up.

“Someone’s been naughty,” he said simply. Grinning.

He lobbed the phone your way, and you just barely managed to catch it between two trembling hands.

Incoming Call: Francisco C. Morales Elementary

You shot Joel a look and answered it instantly.

Disoriented, disheveled, and slightly foggy from climax, you half-expected to find one of your son’s disgruntled teachers on the other end of the line, reminding you that today was a noon dismissal and everyone was supposed to pick their kids up an hour ago. Your husband was the one who would always keep up with school schedules, so your gaze narrowed at him, butt scooting up the bed while he tried to dive right back between your legs.

“He-llo?”

You smacked a hand away from the front of your blouse.

“Is this Mrs. Miller?” a voice trilled through the phone.

Yes, unfortunately, it was.

You almost had to backhand Joel across the face when he tried to bite the button off your brand new top, teeth ruthless in their pursuit of getting you fully naked now.

“This is she,” you squeaked.

Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line—as though they knew you had a broad, hulking husband with a cock as hard as sheet metal trying to tear your clothes off while you talked. You stifled a shriek and a giggle when you felt your relentless man move down.

Joel was busy working your blouse from the bottom with that feral mouth of his when the voice sounded again:

“We’d really appreciate it if you and your husband could come see us this afternoon to have a little chat about—”

Your eyes widened. You clutched your phone even tighter and this time, more seriously, shoved Joel away. When he frowned and started to pout, you raised a finger.

“A-About what? Has my— has he done something bad?” Your voice all of a sudden tight, words wavering just enough to snag your husband’s attention too.

“We can explain more when you get here, he’s just…”

‘What the fuck?’ Joel mouthed silently, leaning in.

“What? What’s he done?” You couldn’t help it.

You heard a long sigh across the line, and you knew that wasn’t good. It sounded a lot like the kind of sighs you made whenever your baby made a colossal mess all over the kitchen floor, or your husband slammed a door too loud and woke the kids from their nap, or your son just—

“—keeps slapping his classmates on the butt.”

“Wait, what?”

You blinked. Joel coughed. Together, half-naked on the bed, you sat up a little straighter and leaned even closer into the phone, hearts starting to thud in your chests.

“Your son was just…spanking other kids and asking if he could ‘get some more’a that later,’ and when his teacher asked him where he’d learned to do a thing like that—”

You turned. Joel paled. Your gaze could’ve seared a hole through the front of his skull if you stared any harder, and just as your son’s principal continued talking, Joel raised his hands in surrender, already trying to apologize.

“Honey—”

“—and he told her he saw your husband do it at home—”

You didn’t need to hear another word. You were already fishing for your pants, yanking them back up your legs and brushing aside your husband’s soft, red-faced attempts at consolation, and when you were dressed, you started straight for the door. Already babbling some half-coherent apology to the woman on the phone, dodging Joel’s impossibly large hands and arms and hugs as he tried to pull you back into his chest and tell you he was sorry. You just might’ve let him, and maybe even believed him to be sincere, if you didn’t see the tiniest smirk on his lips as he fought to wrangle you in.

You’d made it to the door and were just about to pivot to give Joel the finger, tell him this was not funny at all, and he was coming with you right now, when both of you halted at the threshold and were obliged to turn again.

You sniffed the air, and your husband made a face.

Was it—

Before you could think, a plume of smoke drifted out through the kitchen door. Your eyes widened, and right as the fire alarm let out its piercing scream, you wailed,

“My buns!”