#poor fuck

[caparrucia]

Cor and Titus' first meeting

Titus meets Cor on the seventh month of Regis' reign - which is already six months longer than Titus initially assumed Regis' reign would last, considering Regis came to pacify the writhing madness left in his father's wake, supported by the erstwhile enemy of a couple hundred years. It shouldn't have worked, but Regis made it work. He had the charisma and the sheer presence to make it work. His silver tongue and his unflinching pragmatism made quick work of the opposition and, reluctant more than anything, they folded under his rule. Titus had seen them tear each other to shreds in the days after Mors' death. Titus had given up any hope of sanity remaining in the greedy vultures scavenging the kingdom for what little remain useful in it.

And yet, there was Regis at the center, commanding loyalty and respect, without magic or his heirloom crystal or a divine decree. Reluctant, sure. Insincere in places, undoubtedly. But functional.

He was King by no greater power than his own - and his ability to seduce Niflheim to his side.

Titus' refusal to be impressed and accept him at face value was almost ground to nothing, resigned to live in the service of a King worth serving, but then, he met Cor.

Regis was due to promote the new Marshal of the Crownsguard, a title Titus was warily expecting to have to refuse, considering only he had seniority, among the survivors of Mors' last self-destructive spiral and the vicious purge that followed. Titus had been told no less than four times, that week, that people were expecting and anticipating his promotion. And then the night wore on, the speeches and the ceremonial bullshit, and when the time came, the name in Regis' mouth was Cor Leonis, not Titus Drautos, and the silence in the hall was heavy enough to crush bone as the newly minted Marshal walked up to kneel before the King and recite his vows so quietly no one but Regis heard them.

Titus was angry at the betrayal and angrier still that he considered it betrayal in the first place. It was not that he wanted the post and felt denied, either. He was better than that. He didn't want to be Marshal, and he would have declined, protocol be damned, if Regis had offered.

No, it was that Regis was supposed to be better.

Regis was supposed to be fair and smart and sly and cunning and better. He wasn't supposed to be seduced by a young, pretty face, because that was all Cor was - this became even more obvious, the more Titus tried to dig and find out who this mysterious, taciturn stranger was. Pale skin and pale eyes and no name and no history. He was a ghost, an empty husk of nothing of importance. Except every so often, the King would hold a grandiose ceremony, and summon his Marshal to bow before him and whisper his loyalty only to him, and then Cor would raise up, pretty face and all, holder of another impossibly important title.

It would be one thing, of course, if Cor did use his power - military and political and economic: he was master of the Crownsguard and landlord of Insomnia and keeper of who knew how many vows, he had power beyond compare - but he did not. He wasn't cunning or sly or terribly interesting, the way Regis was: Titus knew, he'd made an effort to approach the apparition more than once, to try and crack through his facade.

In the end, Titus was left with a bitter pill to swallow: Cor was a young - distressingly young, clean shaven and clearly not fully grown - vapid idiot that Regis kept around for reasons Titus refused to consider in depth, lest he abandoned his post in disgust. (But he couldn't, because he was doing good, he was making a difference, he was granted power of his own, to use at his own discretion, and unlike Cor, he knew the measure of his own worth.) And deep in his gut, with every new title, with every new secret smile shared between King and Marshal, with every new secret betrayal he couldn't quite define, Titus seethed and refused to acknowledge why.

[botslayer9000]

watching mp100 s2 episode 7. the second hand embarrassment.... oh god reigen run away. leave the goddamn studio. get out of there

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

[footlongdingledong]

[moonscape]

like idk maybe this is just me but i'd genuinely rather throw my loose change into something that could possibly be but is very unlikely to be a scam and just be like "oh well" if it does actually turn out to be a scam than try to denounce every single palaestinian that just wants to live in safety. tripling down on that behaviour is just fucking embarrassing. "it's not racist to be skeptical of donations asks" that's true but saying that a group of brown people are all hustlers running a mass scam ring is undoubtedly extremely racist you fucking clowns.

[specsthesecond]

Werewolf boyfriend who tries to be dominant with you but fails every time.

He wants to be the growling primal Dom he thinks you want but he just can't because every time he's pounding into you his brain short-circuits and he just becomes a good obedient puppy for you.

He's trying so hard to keep his dominance while he fucks you and then you just have to look up at him with your beautiful fucked out eyes and moan,

"Ah~ so good, such a good boy."

And he crumbles instantly, whining into your neck as you giggle and scratch behind his ear. He knows your little "Awww" isn't supposed to be condescending but it still makes his cock twitch and his pace quicken. He whines and cries as he frantically pounds your addictive pussy. You hold him so close to you, breathlessly panting out praises as your climax approaches.

"That's it", "So good for me", "Making me feel so good, baby"

He hates the way his growls always trail off into whines when he's about to cum. His stupid tail wagging and his tongue lapping at your throat like the dumb dog he is. He hates that he cums before you, he thinks it's weak, even though he always keeps pounding until you cum around his knot no matter how overstimulated he gets.

He hates the way you control him even when you're getting fucked dumb on his cock, and you don't even know it! You don't even know how much he loves it when you cuddle him close, kiss his face and say things like,

"Thank you, thank you baby." "Love you s'much" "Treat me so well"

The way you sing these praises and don't even notice the effects it has on him makes him so mad. It makes him want to fuck you even harder, makes him want to assert dominance and put you in your place. But he knows that if he tried he would just end up being a whining drooling mess, mindlessly bucking into your pussy like the needy puppy he is.

🦴υ´• ﻌ •`υ

[saragrosie]

Sketching while streaming s5...

Jonathan Sims I will learn to draw you (this is my doing. I could draw him however I want and I choose to stick with an image of him in my brain that is difficult for me to draw. Masochism.)

Not s5 Mahtins below I enjoyed drawing cuz hes neat:

(Edit: I yassified Martin in the do not separate cuz I wanted his hair fluffier)

[spicyraeman]

maybe this'll stay a wip or maybe it won't, either way what's more fun than learning that ur bandmate can't hold her drink than by finding her sitting in a dark corner mid way through the afterparty

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

tw: blood

[spiralling-spires]

Being jurgen leitner the day that gerry almost killed him was probably really surreal. Imagine you’re minding your business, collecting fucked up books, and out of nowhere this goth guy covered in eye tattoos shows up and beats you half to death, then stops, goes, “no you’re too pathetic to be jurgen leitner” and leaves without further elaboration. And you dont correct him, you like being alive after all, and after that you just… continue with your life. And then several years later you tell this to some random guy in the tunnels you’ve been hiding in, and he not only knows who the goth was, but seems somewhat fond of the goth. And then you get brutal pipe murdered by the random guy’s boss. Oops

[medusas-graveyard]

Contingency plan

Danny: I need you to make a very serious contingency plan against me.

Bruce: I— Danny, what—?

Danny: Okay so there is a prophecy where I go insane because one point or another that caused the destruction of worlds as you know it and it happened in one universe already and that me broke into our universe which I already took care of but Kronos said that that outcome is still very reachable and I've had an existential crisis ever since because of what exactly the extent of my capabilities.

Bruce:

Danny:

Bruce: and that contingency plan requires....?

Danny: An extinct flower that I could only get by going to the past

Bruce:

Bruce: Contingency plan it is.

[Planting said flowers]

Damian: Are there any specific requirements to grow them?

Danny: Oh, yeah. Let me just— *takes the gardening shears, about to slice his hand*

Tim: Danny what the fuck are you doing?!

Danny: I'm pretty sure they grew them with blood soaked soil—

Damian: Are you as stupid as the fucking pilgrims these die with? That means they were high with Iron!

Danny: ...o h

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[tagerrkix]

Eden was their ✨disney princess era✨

[vampireonastick]

I’m sorry but Stolas emptying the entirety of his fridge onto the floor just to shove his lanky ass bird body inside of it because he’s nervous and freaking the fuck out has to be the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

This man is a PRINCE. this man is goddamn ROYALTY. He lives in the biggest fucking palace I’ve ever seen and the best place he can think to hide is inside his FRIDGE??? this is a thirty something year old father tucking himself away with last nights leftovers because he’s so stressed about his date with Blitz.

This is why he’s my favourite. Holy fuck what a lovable disaster man.

[nouverx]

Vox won the hottest Hazbin Hotel character poll on twitter against Lucifer in the final round and I can't stop thinking about it I love my pathetic TV Girl he deserves it

[welcometogrouchland]

Extremely bad batgirls comic I made featuring Steph's sex life and Cass' ability to read everything but the room