#shut up mojo

[suddenmojo]

I am SO happy to have found other Warhammer 40k girlies on here. I rly thought I was alone in my delusions but then I remembered this hellsite exists and thank god it does bc y’all are feeding me SO GOOD w ur fics and art….just know im a little goblin in the dark corner cheering y’all on

might inspire some doodles from me who knows

[neverevan]

Fuck It Friday ☔️

I was tagged by @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela and @jeeyuns thank youuu 💛

Aside from some editing, my Christmas fics are all done and now I can slowly return to my main wips, so I thought I'll post a snippet from Eddie's pov in the mudslide fic (most of that part is just too spoilery and I rarely share from it, but this bit was waiting to come out for a while now, so here 🫶).

He mostly thought about Christopher; imagined him waking up in the morning, pestering Buck for breakfast and news he couldn't give, going to school and coming home, sitting at the dining table, doing his homework… Just normal things.

He would’ve given anything to be with them right now. To walk out of his room in the morning and see Buck’s sleep-rumpled face, his curls flat on top of his head, his smile lazy and crooked and his bare feet on Eddie’s living room carpet.

To watch the tattoos shift on Buck’s naked shoulders as he stretched and to hear his hoarse voice as he mumbled out a quiet “morning” on his way to the bathroom. To smell the scent of his overnight sweat still lingering on his skin while making their coffees side by side, waiting for Christopher to finally shuffle out of his room for breakfast.

To hear the sleepy mumble stifled in his own ribs as Chris gave him his good morning hug and see the toothy grin tugging at his lips as Buck entertained him throughout breakfast, making him giggle with his silly facts and jokes.

To yell “come on, we're gonna be late” at the front door as Chris ran back inside for a book he forgot and then to yell again after Chris was back but Buck just realised he had left his phone on the kitchen counter.

To sit in the car and talk about after-school plans and listen to the radio on a low volume before dropping Chris off with a hug each and then to bundle back into the truck and head to work together, barely just having enough time to stop for one of those creamy coffee monstrosities Buck liked so much — that somehow Eddie learned to like too, only if to indulge in the fantasy of what Buck’s lips would taste like on his own.

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @nmcggg @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @ladydorian05 @rainbow-nerdss

[celticcatgirl2]

“Roberto!!! We gotta run!!!”

“Hold it! Hold it! Cut! Cut!”

“…honey…NO ONE is buying YOU TWO as a couple….for one you’re both CLEARLY gay…”

[bugeyedfreaks]

I know youre THE PPG blog, so I wanted to ask, do you know why the fanbase hates a very special blossom so much?

Because they’re LOSERS no just kidding, I don’t know! I’m not sure who this fanbase who hates it is… did some Youtuber make a video about hating it and then everybody just decided to agree with them or something? I think that happened with Town and Out, too. Anyway, I like the episode! In fact, I’ve written about it here and it’s one of my favorite Blossom episodes (and IIRC it was boarded by Lou Romano who did art for the show– here is some stuff of his that I like– and worked at Pixar and is the voice of a rat puppet so I think that’s a fun little tidbit).

[anothermansjeans]

hey besties ik i suck at doing requests but im trying to get back into the flow of writing more... if you want to send me any of these prompts (or anything else you want) im open to trying to get some done today!!

[stinkman007]

she mojo on my dojo till i casa house

[emily-mooon]

Thinking about femme fatale Jonathan again.

[sinistermojo]

why am I always drawn to the characters I KNOW would find me annoying….like I know if I started talking to morpheus he would immediately throw sand in my face and leave

[funeralshawls]

i fuckin hate the doors T.T

[suddenmojo]

while I do see my art has improved, I just don’t feel like there’s anything outstanding about it that separates it from others. And it doesn’t feel…alive. Like I wish it would. My characters still feel stiff, and I don’t have a proper way of drawing faces & continually struggle on even just sketching them. It’s exhausting. I’ve been looking at references constantly (going on weeks now) and trying any method but. I’m so tired

[celticcatgirl2]

“…the viewers have spoken!!! This TV show has become TOO WOKE you have to cut the WOKENESS levels DOWN!!!”

“…boss…with all due respect…what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?”

[mydearesthrry]

harry’s house home - h.s.

a/n: this is the cheesiest thing ive ever written okay. like its really sweet and almost cringey oopssss sorry. i hope you enjoy anyway !!! (p.s. originally was supposed to be titled harrys mojo dojo casa house but thats for another time)

🎀 warnings/cw: angst, swearing?? i actually dk, fluff, mention of flying anxiety, this is also completely unedited

🐇 pairing: famous!bf!harry styles x fem!reader

💐 wc: 2.1k

summary: it's not home without harry, you've come to realize.

This almost felt like a routine now. 

Lying awake in her king sized bed, she was staring up at projected stars on the ceiling, gnawing on her bottom lip as she let her mind drift away in thought. 

She misses him. Again. 

Due to Harry being on the second Europe/UK leg of tour, she had decided to stay at home for a little until the final show, and it had been a good month since she last saw Harry. She had begun to run on Harry’s time, adjusting her sleep to wherever in the world he was so that she could talk to him. Their time zone differences weren’t gracious enough sadly, and she was wide awake at 3:40 in the morning. 

Harry was busy so she couldn’t call or text him, and she wanted to let everything go as smoothly as they could so he could finally come home. Initially, she let herself be selfish and a bit greedy and took up almost 10 minutes of his time, texting back and forth and allowing her brain to read his responses in his voice. 

Contrary to popular belief, it was easy for y/n and Harry to have a relationship that could withstand whatever problems they may have faced because they communicated, but communication can only get you so far. 

She missed him. 

All-consumingly, selfishly, and overwhelmingly missed him. 

The amount of rocky moments that the couple had endured on the nearly 3 year long running tour had been more than the past 4 years of their relationship combined. Whether it be a schedule conflict, missed dates, late nights when she didn’t even know if he’d be home, nothing could compare to the feeling that she had swirling around in her chest right now. 

They’d gotten into a fight a few days ago and since then she had been hesitant to text and call him in fear that she would ruin his day, or even worse, his shows. She knew well that he wouldn’t let it show to his millions of fans, but she could read him like an open book and the guilt that would swell in her body would just make her shut down. But it was getting hard to be alone. It was hard being in such a big house that was filled to the brim with reminders of him, which in turn would remind her that she was alone and that he was on the other side of the world.

She allowed her emotions to take the reins, and as she slowly started to feel everything, she could feel a harsh tug in her chest. She put a hand to her heart, letting out a deep exhale as she felt the familiar sting of tears tingle her nose, sinuses becoming stuffy immediately. She scrunched up her nose, allowing the tears to fill her eyes as she let out her first breathy sob. It wasn’t uncommon for her now to cry over missing Harry. In fact, she’s never even told him the extent of how much she missed him, and just tried to deal with it on her own. But this time, she didn’t feel like she was strong enough to just let it pass. 

Picking up her phone, she quickly pulled up her favorites list in her phone, sobs still wracking her body as she tapped on Harry’s contact. She sniffled and tried her best to calm herself down as she heard the ringing coming from the phone signifying that he was receiving the call. 

“Hey, ‘M in a meeting. Everything ok?” And just like that, the entire dam broke open, and she let her emotions flood the room she was sitting in. 

“Harry,” she let out a pitiful whine, “I’m sorry I’m calling you like this, I- I knew you were in a meeting, and I’m sorry. And I know we’re in a fight and y’probably don’t want to talk to me, but I just… I need to hear your voice right now.” 

“Oh— um, yeah, hold on, baby. It’s okay, ‘m glad you called me. Give me two seconds, okay? ‘M gonna mute m’self t’tell Jeff I need to take 20, but I’ll be all yours in a sec.” He promises, voice immediately drenched in urgency. 

“Okay,” she whispers weakly, putting the phone on speaker and sinking back down into the mattress, laying the phone on her chest. There was an uncomfortable weight weighing her down from the inside out, and the pressure served as a good reminder to breathe as she anticipated the return of her boyfriend back to the phone. 

“M’kay baby, talk to me. What’s the matter? Are you okay?” His voice exits from her speaker, another whimper emitting from her throat without warning. 

“I jus— God, H. It’s so pathetic,” she sniffles, placing her hands over her eyes. “I jus’ miss you. So much.” 

“Oh lovie,” a few soft shuffles are heard from his end of the line, and you can only assume he found a quiet place to sit down. “I miss y’so so much more.” 

She nods even though she knows he can’t see her, but she knows her sweet boy knows her so well. “‘M trying to be supportive, trying to not freak out about you not being here, but it’s so hard, H.” 

Trying to stifle the aggressive breaths leaving her mouth, she composed the best she can before speaking again. “I just want you to come home. I know I’ll be with you in a couple of days, but I just want you home. ‘M sorry, it’s so selfish of me to say this when you’re all alo-“ 

“Shh, my love. It’s okay. Take deep breaths, can y’do that for me first really quick, sweet girl? Sweet sunshine baby, miss you so much.” Harry cuts her off, knowing that she would cry and gasp her way into a potentially dangerous situation, and he couldn’t handle the thought of her being in danger especially when he wasn’t there. 

“Okay, fuck, ‘M so sorry, H.” She breathes out, voice still wobbly, her breathing becoming a little more stable by the second. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, ‘s what I'm here for, isn’t it? Now, tell me what’s got you so upset that you’ve cried y’self out so hard that y’got a killer headache right now?” His lips quirk up at the soft, barely noticeable laugh coming from the other end of the line. One that probably would’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else, but not to Harry. 

“How’d you know? Hurts like hell, though. But, um— I miss you, a lot, obviously. And I hate that we’ve been fighting more now that you’re on the road again and I’m not with you, it doesn’t feel good because all I want is you here with me. All I want is you to come home. It- it feels so empty without you here.” 

“Princess, I-“ he starts, but she cuts him off before he could continue. 

“In all four years of our relationship, it’s never been so hard for us to be- us? And I thought about it, y’know, been crying myself to death over you, Mr. Styles, you’re quite the heartthrob. Literally.” You snort softly, trying to break the ice. Her lips draw up when she hears a matching chuckle coming from him. 

“Tell me then, what’d you realize, silly girl?” He says. 

“I don’t feel like I can be away form you for too long. It doesn’t feel like home here, and I think,” She whispers. “None of our places feel like home when you're not there. I think home has always been wherever you are.”

“Lovie,” Harry’s voice breaks, a telltale sign that he too was feeling the swell of emotion. “Y’breaking m’heart over here.”

“I’m sorry, I just– y'told me to be honest and you needed-”

“I needed to know. Thank y’for telling me, but I’ll see you so soon, Angel. Actually, I can even-” His voice cuts before more rustling is heard, and she can hear the muffled sounds of Harry’s voice, so she assumes that he’s pressed the phone to his chest. A few more brief hums are heard before a muffled ‘thank you!’ makes her brows furrow. “Right then, what’re you doing in like, say 4 to 5 hours?” 

She makes a confused face at this. “What? Uh– nothing, why?”

“You’re coming home, baby.”

—

After exclamations of shock were given to Harry, he excuses himself from the call to get back to his meeting, leaving Y/N laying in her bed staring at the same stars that watched her weep in shock. She sits up with her hands on the white duvet, eyes wide as she whispers out, “I have to pack.”

Jumping out of her bed, she wheels her extra large suitcase out of hers and H’s shared walk-in closet, her green Pleasing beach bag already resting on one of the hooks on the bedroom door. A flurry of clothes, toiletries, makeup, and hair equipment gets sporadically thrown around the room, everything ultimately ending up in her suitcase. She places her more important items into her beach bag which now worked as her carry-on, and wheels everything out into the foyer. 

Checking the time which now reads 6:30, she calls for an Uber to arrive at their house to transport her to the LAX airport. Her flight was set to leave in 2 and half hours, leaving her with just enough time to check in, find her gate, and grab a coffee once she's got to her terminal.

—

The long flight went just as expected, her fear of flying slightly eliminated by the (in her opinion, wildly unnecessary) first-class seating, courtesy of her incredibly dramatic boyfriend. She fell asleep 2 hours into the flight and slept for the majority of the it, her lack of sleep finally catching up to her. Waking up about 30 minutes before landing, she twists her head to open the window door, being greeted with the softest sunset she’s convinced she’s ever seen. And suddenly, her chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore.

The baggage claim was a wreck, delaying her from seeing Harry by another hour, but eventually, she made it into the car of the driver that Harry sent. Staring out the window, the condensation from the weather outside slightly obstructed her view of the beautiful city that she’d never seen before, and all she could think about was how she wanted to experience it with her love. 

“Ma’am, we’re here.” The driver calls from the front, distracting her from her thoughts. Thanking him profusely, she jumps out of the vehicle, running toward the back entrance that Jeff had texted her to go to. The security guard at the door, James, a kind older man who she’s known since she started dating Harry, opens his arms and greets her with a smile. She grins and runs into his arms, James lifting her a little. Her dynamic with James reminded her of the relationship she'd had with her late father, and that made him even more important and special to her. 

“Mi sonrisa,” She looks at him with a bright smile. “Welcome back.” 

“Muchas gracias, te he extrañado,” She greets back, grabbing the VIP pass that he’d pulled out of his pocket. “I’ll see you in a few, thank you for waiting for me!” 

A wide grin is now plastered on her face, nearly splitting her face in half. This is where she belonged. Skipping down the halls of the venue, occasionally asking a worker passing by where the hallways were to get to the dressing rooms. Once she finally found them, she walked up to Harry’s, a nervous twinge making itself known in her tummy. Raising a fist to knock, she taps on the door softly with her knuckles, waiting for Harry to answer the door. She doesn’t even have time to register that the door opened at all before she’s grabbed by Harry and immediately pulled into his arms.

“My sweet love,” His voice is hoarse, strained, almost as if he’d been crying. He pulls her back just enough to see her face, a soft smile on his face and green eyes shiny with tears. He places a kiss on her forehead, before dipping down to be eye level with her and laying the softest kiss on her lips. It was featherlight, and the room was quiet, so quiet, that the only sounds that were heard were their soft, slowly interconnecting breaths, and the soft smack of their lips breaking. Harry stared at her face once more, Y/N sharing the same sentiment, nothing but pure understanding in both of their eyes. It was Y/N who broke first this time, connecting their lips in a deeper, meaningful kiss. 

When they both pulled away, Harry pressed another kiss to her temple before cradling the back of her head with his hand, bringing her face into his neck. Tilting his head down to have his lips leveled with her ear, he whispered, “Welcome home.”

✿✿✿

[jesuistrestriste]

sage I have art donaldson ideas and ik it's 3 am but HEAR ME OUT.....

he wins for the first time in like forever and reader let's him o whatever he wants and hes like dominant but not in a bitchy way he just took control and it's making me 🥴🥴

bri omfg u have me thinking thoughts rn. . .

this type of dom!art is what i'm trying to incorporate into pt. 2 of you're such a loser, but i'm making this a separate drabble bc im thinking abt this concept too hard now

the way that i'm writing this instead of finishing pt. 2 of YSAL is crazy

content warnings: soft dom!art donaldson, switch(sub)!reader, praise, gentle throat fucking, kinda fluffy.

word count - 2k

---- ✩ nsfw below, 18+ ✩ ---

The large crowd in the stands behind you burst up from their seats and roar with praise and cheers as Art successfully wins the volley against his opponent, resulting in the winning score of 7-5 for him. You can't help but jump up from your seat too, clapping your hands together and shouting things like "YES!" and "there we go!"

Weirdly, you felt like crying on behalf of your player. This had actually been his first win in over several months. He had hit a real slump about a year ago, and beat himself up for it, which only worked to decrease his overall morale and result in more losses down the line. You never actually told him this, but you were genuinely worried that his career might be over.. that he might never win again. But here the two of you were: many long mornings, afternoons, and nights of training and practice later, and he had fucking won.

A huge grin was splayed across his pink, sweaty cheeks as the score was announced and he went to shake his opponent's hand. The other player put on a brave face, shaking Art's hand, but as soon as your husband's back was turned, the player's face dropped into a display of resentment and anger. You scoffed at this, feeling a sense of pride in your partner and smugness at his win. This might have been a slightly hypocritical reaction on your part, though, as Art had been the resentful loser one too many times in the past year. You shrug the feeling of cognitive dissonance off. Who cared? He had his mojo back now.

Art jogs off of the court and makes a b-line right for your open arms, which he joyfully runs into before lifting you off of the ground and spinning you a bit. Once your feet are back on earth, you pull away to look into his eyes, and they are positively beaming with happiness and confidence. It was like looking at a whole new man! You brushed some wet pieces of hair from the middle of his forehead back into place, and then cupped his cheek. He smiled into your touch, and then pulled you back into his chest.

"You did such a good job, pretty boy. I'm so damn proud of you," you spoke quietly in his ear as he held you. He squeezed you tighter, letting you know how much he appreciated your praise.

"Thank you," he whispers.

You pull back and take one of his hands in two of yours.

"Let's get back to the hotel, yeah?" you smiled, and he nodded tiredly with a grin before using the back of his free hand to wipe beading sweat from his temples.

--

The taxi drops the two of you off outside of the huge hotel, and you both exit the vehicle after you pay the fare with your credit card. Art takes your hand in his with a renewed sense of self-assuredness, and you smile at him as you both walk into the building and take the elevator up to the twelfth floor.

Upon arrival, you pull the key card from your pocket and hold it gently over the red light above the door handle. A brief beeping noise is emitted and then the light is green. You turn the door handle and step inside, Art so close behind you that you can actually feel his body grazing the back of yours, and the door shuts quickly after. As you begin to pivot your body and congratulate him once more, he's suddenly all over you before you can even speak--

He's grabbing hungrily at the fabric of your dress, hiking it up and gripping your soft thighs, as he leans in to bite and suck at your neck. You can actually feel his canines nearly puncturing your skin as he places one of his palms at the nape of your neck so that you can't pull away from him.

"mm-! fuck!" you moan softly, using one of your hands to grab a handful of his hair while the other wraps around his upper back. He groans as you press your body against his, almost grinding into him.

"wh-what.. what are you doing?" you breathe out, swallowing thickly as he continues to leave bruises and bite marks on your flesh that are wonderfully sore and stinging.

He licks at your neck before responding, "I'm just so proud of us, and I want you to understand how proud I am."

The warmth of his breath kind of tickles and gives you goosebumps as you reach for one of his hands and bring it down to your panties.

"You can do whatever you want, love. You've earned it," you whisper into his ear, and then he's hooking his middle finger onto the inside of your underwear and pulling them down to your upper thighs in one smooth motion.

"I know I have, now jus' let me play with you a little,"

He rubs circles into your clit with his thumb, while his other fingers slide through your slick folds.

"You like this? Me having complete control over you?" he coos.

You nod, whining as you lift your leg to wrap it around the back of his legs and give him more access to your parts. He plays with your needy pussy for a couple of minutes more before you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your leg. He pauses his finger's movements, and breathes heavily against your shoulder.

"Kneel."

A beat of silence. There is no noise, except for the faint echo of your heavy breathing. You buck your hips against his hand.

"Wha-?" you mumble, still riding the high of your previously fast-approaching orgasm.

"You heard what I said, babe. On your knees for me," he saids gruffly, before pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

Without hesitation, you drop down to the floor, kneeling in front of him and making direct eye contact with the tent in the front of his white athletic shorts. He runs a hand though your hair, peering down at you with admiration as you begin to reach down and rub at your own clit. Art smiles at your desperation, and then he's pulling down his shorts and boxers until they're almost to his knees.

He holds his stiff cock out and gives it a couple stokes, which makes him toss his head back in pleasure, before he wiggles it slightly in front of your nose. He bends down and forward to give you a sloppy, warm kiss on the lips before he's back to standing upright. Two of his fingers from his free hand tap the underside of your chin.

"Open up, baby. I wanna put it in your mouth so bad.."

You oblige, opening your mouth up wide and letting your tongue loll out and rest against your bottom lip. Your brows turn up in arousal as you continue to get yourself off with your fingers, staring up at your pretty husband. This whole situation was so incredibly hot, given Art's lifelong streak of submission. He rarely took the reigns, but you guessed that today's win must have flipped a switch that had previously been off and lying dormant within him.

He takes a step closer to you and places his leaking tip onto your tongue, which you promptly wrap your lips around and engulf in the wet heat of your mouth.

An involuntary whimper tumbles from his lips at the feeling, but he tries to stifle it by pressing his lips tightly together. He grabs a fistful of your hair, and shallowly bucks his hips into your mouth. Your tongue swirls incessantly around the limited portion of his cock that he's gifted you, and you make sure to swallow whatever drips out.

"Okay, honey, listen to me," he groans, hips still twitching, "I'm going to fuck your throat now, but I promise I'll be careful. You can tap my leg twice if you want to stop. Nod if you understand me."

You nod, his erection still filling your mouth, and you look up at him with pleading eyes. You want this just as much as he does.

"Good girl," he says softly, praising your obedience.

He slowly pushes his hips closer to your lips, successfully stuffing his length down your throat. It takes a second for you to get adjusted to the slightly unpleasant feeling, and you choke a little around him. He studies your face as he continues to stuff your mouth full, making sure that you don't look too uncomfortable or uneasy.

"There you go, baby.. taking me so well, oh ffffu-uck-"

His hips are now pressed flush to your lips, and your eyes well up with tears as you feel the stretch of your throat. You feel a bit of drool drip down your chin and land on your leg below.

Art delicately grabs your head with both of his hands now, brushing some of your hair behind your ear, and then he starts to thrust needily into your mouth. At first, it's small jerks of his hips, but these jerks soon turn into full-on pumps of heady cock in and out of your throat. Your head feels fuzzy at the sensation of this, plus your approaching orgasm and the lack of direct access to oxygen.

"mm-mm-mm-mf-!" you whine high in your chest as he fucks your mouth mercilessly, lost in his own storm of arousal and desperation. Your other hand moves to grip his leg and steady your body from rocking back and forth. You wanted to be a good toy for him right now. After all, he had worked so hard today.

He moves one of his hands to cup your lower jaw and uses his dominant one to grab your hair and hold it back from your face in a make-shift ponytail. All the while, he's still pumping your throat full of his dick, as he lets out low groans and muffled whimpers.

Your body starts to tremble and you squeeze your eyes shut as your fingers rubbing your sensitive nub bring you closer and closer to the edge. Art immediately takes notice, and you can feel the way his length twitches and jumps with interest as it pummels your mouth.

"Are you close..? I'm getting close.. I'm so close.." he moans out loudly, gripping your hair with ferocity.

You release a drawn-out whimper, alerting him that you were ready to cum any second, and he looks down at you with unadulterated delight.

"So pretty when you're cumming, babe, let me see you cum while you're sucking me down,"

At the processing of his words, your eyes quickly glaze over as you start to squirt all over your hand and the floor beneath you. Your body shakes with the waves of your orgasm as you cum, yet you still make sure that you're lavishing his erection with adequate attention.

He moans as he watches your hips arch in the aftershocks of your release, and then his hips are stilling as his balls draw up-

"Oh FUCK, oh fuck me, I'm cumming I'm nnnghh-!"

You feel a warm and rapid flow of liquid down your throat that follows the sound of his cries of ecstasy, and you instinctively swallow it all. Every single drop, and this effectively works to milk his cock dry as he continues to spill into your mouth and whimper with each throb and pulsation of his orgasm.

After he rides out the last bit of his high, Art attempts to catch his breath as he slowly pulls himself out of your mouth. You cough and splutter a bit, having gotten used to the full-feeling, and then swallow a few times to soothe your used throat.

"Where did that.. where did that come from?" you gasp out, also trying to regain the steadiness of your breathing.

He laughs softly with raised brows, before blowing out a harsh breath of air through puckered lips. His brows knit together in genuine surprise and contemplation.

"I honestly have no idea, but I kinda liked it."

You smile up at him, wiping at your spit-covered chin.

"Me too.. maybe this will be a new incentive for you to win," you tease.

"If that's how it's gonna be, I'll win every match from now on," he smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

"You're on."

---

im thinking so many thoughts.

ps. sorry if there's any errors, i wrote this at 3 am :,)

[balioc]

Holiday Engineering: What Not to Do

We can learn a lot from Chanukah, because Chanukah is a garbage-tier holiday.

I mean this in a mostly-detached, mostly-analytic way. Like many people who were raised Jewish, I have some very fond and happy memories of Chanukah. Anything can accrue fond and happy memories, if you have a way of getting people to do it. But Chanukah is full of features that actively detract from its being resonant, impressive, memorable, or fun. It is an anti-advertisement for its community.

If you're a would-be designer-of-holidays, this is actually a really useful thing. Mimicking the good and successful holidays is quite hard; their quality tends to hinge on a lot of idiosyncratic hard-to-replicate factors, and "invent something as cool and punchy as the $WHATEVER" can be a tall order. But it's easy to look at a design failure and say, "I"m not going to do that."

With that, let's go into the details:

CHANUKAH: THE GOOD

Timing. It's a midwinter festival-of-lights. Solid start. Everyone loves those. Brightness and festival cheer, in the long cold winter nights, is practically a need for many. The holiday mostly skates by just on being the winter light festival for the Jews. A+. Or, really, we should knock that down to an A, because Chanukah usually comes too early to be ideal for this purpose, but -- still, quite good.

Traditional food (side dishes). Latkes are incredibly popular, and for excellent reason. If you're trying to settle on a food that everyone will love, "fried potatoes" is a damn good choice.

CHANUKAH: THE NEUTRAL

Symbols. There's really just one that matters: the chanukiyah (nine-branched menorah). Which is, on paper, a very cool and snappy symbol. Distinctive silhouette, ritual engagement, plus the allure of fire. But it loses a lot of points for the fact that you don't actually light the whole damn thing, and get the proper visual effect, until the very end of a long-ass holiday when everyone's enthusiasm and attention have ebbed. On the first night, in particular, you light just two candles in your chanukiyah, and it looks lopsided and sad.

Traditional food (sweets). Jelly donuts are fine, I guess, if uninspiring and uninspired. Chanukah gelt is pretty lame as candy goes...but from a holiday-design perspective, it's hard to go too far wrong with giving kids candy.

Music. "Maoz Tzur" is kinda pretty. "Oy Chanukah!" is kinda fun. That's pretty much it, barring some silly kids' music (and I guess that Adam Sandler thing). Nothing that will knock anyone's socks off. But, honestly, two decent songs is more than many good holidays have.

Gifts. Being the big annual gifting holiday is a double-edged sword. It's some super-powerful mojo, culturally speaking. People are obsessed with giving and receiving gifts, in a way that's very hard to excise or evade, no matter how often you trot out your utilitarian language about deadweight loss. Chanukah gets a lot of its traction out of the fact that it's the holiday where you get presents. But. (a) In the modern world, the gifting holiday is unavoidably a locus of stress and misery for many people, and Chanukah doesn't have nearly enough upside serving to support that burden. (b) Chanukah is bad at being a gifting holiday. The gifting is not well-integrated into the event, it's a tacked-on thing copied over from Christmas, and it shows. There's no real ritual surrounding it, no presents-under-the-Christmas-tree equivalent, certainly no Santa Claus. Worse yet, the eight-day-holiday thing means that either you need a set of gifts whose awesomeness is equally divisible by eight (mega-awkward), or else you have inconsistencies and disappointments.

CHANUKAH: THE BAD

Theme. What is the holiday about, when everything is said and done? What is our key takeaway message from all the shit we're doing. "God is great, God looks out for His people, God performs mighty miracles." Stop. Shut up. You fail. That's every holiday, if you're operating within a religious tradition. You need something more than that, something powerful and deep and important and special, to be even halfway-decent as a holiday. But for the vast majority of Jews (including Jews in the most orthodox and observant denominations), that's pretty much all you get. Because...

Mythology. The story of Chanukah, the holiday's narrative raison d'etre, is just unconscionably bad. In some extremely vague sense, it's a story about Jews overthrowing foreign oppressors and casting off foreign influences...which is already pretty bad from a modern liberal perspective, we don't like jingoistic ethnonationalism these days. But the actual events of the Chanukah story are less about Jews-against-foreigners than they are about Jews-against-other-Jews. It is a story about fanatics seizing power and murdering cosmopolitans. Virtually everyone hates that shit, up to and including the most tribal-minded Jews. The rabbis of the Talmud were pretty iffy about Chanukah for exactly this reason, and didn't talk about it much, with the result that the holiday doesn't have much in the way of supporting cultural infrastructure. And you really can't tell the Chanukah myth without that horrible stuff; it's so baked-in that it gets incorporated into even the most sanitized propagandistic Hebrew-school versions of the tale (with exactly the effects that you'd expect on Hebrew school students). The miracle of the oil feels like a tacked-on narrative coda, because it is, because without it the only possible moral of the story would be "kill your neighbor if he's not pious enough for you." But it's much too little, much too late. The miracle of the oil is super lame by miracle standards: no one is saved from danger, there are no memorable SFX, the whole thing is relevant only to the rituals of a long-vanished Temple.

[There are several lessons that can be learned from this particular problem, at multiple levels of abstraction.]

Structure. You can have a good eight-day holiday, but a festival of that length needs an arc. The days need to be distinct from each other. You need to be either building up to a climax, or -- more commonly, as with Passover and [the twelve days of] Christmas -- coming down from a main celebration at the beginning in a long pleasant haze of semi-special time. Chanukah is flat and internally undifferentiated, except for the addition of more candles to the chanukiyah. You can't sustain real holiday feeling that long, and there's no particular day on which you're supposed to do anything special, so it all just turns into a mush of "how much do we care right this moment?"

Activities. The traditional dreidel game is the worst, most boring, most unbalanced game in the history of games. Pushing it on children only makes those children hate Chanukah, and Judaism, and games, and you.

Traditional food (entrees). There's no classic Chanukah dish that can serve as a viable main course, unless you're one of those people who can happily eat fried potatoes as an entire meal. This is a glaring omission. It's particularly bad for Chanukah, because Chanukah has so little else going for it that it really needs to lean hard on the standard holiday "gather for a festive meal" thing.

Social role. As many people will eagerly tell you, Chanukah was a pretty minor holiday for most of Jewish history; it got big largely because of a marketing push in the 19th and 20th centuries, mostly because people got scared about the prospect of the younger generations assimilating, and wanted to give them a holiday to compete with Christmas. Which is maybe the worst idea that anyone has ever had. For more reasons that I can easily list here, modern Western Christmas is an absolute SSS-tier holiday, one of the very best of all time. Setting yourself up as a direct competitor to Christmas -- inviting your own people to make that comparison -- is tantamount to telling them that your traditions and your community are worthless and weak, and that they should join the ranks of the gentiles. And that would be true even if your own offering were something halfway decent. Trying to do it with Chanukah...it's like Estonia declaring war on the US. It's the ultimate "we have food at home." It is, if you'll pardon my saying so, Christian rock.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

hiiii! I hope you’re doing well!!

I saw the post about Gotham X readers and I was wondering if you could write a Dom!riddler x fem!sub!reader smut where he doesn’t let reader finish until she gets his riddles right and it leads to her being overstimulated?

Thanks in advance!

‘THE HILLS,

-GOTHAM!EDWARD NYGMA X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Since killing oswald, ed’s at a breaking point and needs to get his mojo back.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!riddler x female reader. smut!! pure porn, no plot. sub/dom dynamics. orgasm denial. degradation, dumbification of reader. Eddie needs to let some frustrations out. First time writing penetrative sex so hopefully it’s good! Also, thank you anon, i love this idea.

♫ “When I'm fucked up, that's the real me” The Hills by The Weeknd

Oh, he's been an absolute wreck. Ever since the falling out with Oswald, hyped on those god forsaken pills. You catch him mumbling to himself often, yelling and screaming at his reflection at night. You can hardly sleep.

He's absolutely fucked up. You can tell. You've known him forever, and you know the signs. The sweat on his brow, disheveled hair, loose tie. His hands rub together insistently, babbling on to you. He needs a nemesis, a stress reliever. He tells you about the hallucination of Oswald- he needs a replacement. Something to fuel him, make him the Riddler he knows he is.

So, you offered your...technique. It was simple- just distract him for a moment from his desperate scheming. He looked at you like you were absolutely crazy at first.

"...You want to what?" He growled out, slowly, legs sprawled across an arm chair, rubbing his temple. He looked like a mess. A hot mess.

After elaborating, he still looked at you incredulously. His mind was racing with thoughts, about how this could fix him. Before you knew it, he was gradually standing up, wrapping a hand around your throat and gently kissing you.

The soft and gentle kisses turned more and more raw. His hands gripped tight around your throat, sure to leave a mark, and he groaned as he held your leg up. You messily and hastily kissed your way to the bedroom; which is where you are now.

His suit jacket thrown on the floor, your blouse unbuttoned. You lay bare beneath him, gasping for air between hot open-mouthed kisses he lays everywhere.

"Ed-" You struggle out, feeling his fingers plunge inside you. It's a bit painful, and he only mumbles incoherently, he's in a hurry.

"SHUT up." He growls out against you, "I'm thinking."

His fingers rapidly work on you, prepping you as fast as possible. You whimper and he doesn't seem to pay any attention. When the sounds of your wet slick finally fill the room in messy, sopping noises- he looks up at you with his glasses on his face.

He raises himself up from your thighs, staring at you with a vague look of intrigue. It's a small gesture to ask if you're ready.

When you nod, he buries himself in to the crook of you're neck.

"...Wonderful." He whispers.

He finally breaks out in a shit-eating grin, giggling maniacally at your pleading writhing form.

Removing his fingers, his grin stands still, and suddenly rams his cock inside your slit.

You both let out an embarrassingly loud noise at this, his low groan filling the room as he grimaces in pleasure. You feel your eyes roll back as he rams himself into you, filling you up to the hilt. His hand grasps your neck once more, slightly choking you.

He mumbles theatrically in your ear, and you realize just why he wanted to do this.

"I can fill a room with just one heart. Others can have me, but I can't be shared," He begins, thrusting into you. He struggles to speak himself as he feels you clench around his member. "What am I?"

You want to scream at him, damn riddles. You swallow when he drags his cock along your cunt and chokes you a bit more, as to prompt an answer.

"L-love?" You stumble out, only to yelp when his face contorts into rage. His movements stop and you whine.

"What...? No." He snarls at you, and looks down on you- like your the stupidest, weakest, most pathetic thing he's ever seen. "No!?...The- the answer is loneliness?!"

He rolls his eyes, jaw clenched. He continues his degradation with another harsh squeeze to your throat and an agonizingly slow thrust.

"How do you not know that?" He taunts you, anger on his face. But you can see it in the glint of his eyes. He's enjoying this.

He huffs as his thrusts gradually slow down.

"Second." He mutters, feigning exasperation- as if dealing with you, fucking you- is the most tiresome thing in the world. As if he's so above you in every way.

"I can be a member of a group, but never blend in. What am I?" You feel your orgasm building up beside yourself- the way he's choking you out and has you going dumb around his cock.

When you feel the knot building up inside you, you don't answer- and he stops in his tracks.

"I give up!" You whine, incoherently, trying to bounce for any friction, but he has you pinned in place. Tall frame hanging over you. "I give up," You plead- and something in him snaps.

His hand shoves your neck even further in the mattress, and a loud slap rings out. You feel the burning on your cheek and look up at him stunned. It doesn't hurt too badly, and all you can do is struggle to regain your breath. You let out a deep inhale and feel his dick slip back and forth between your pussy lips.

He looks at you, a bit pitifully, and a bit disappointed- wrathful. His teeth are bared and he looks desperate.

"Answer me." He growls out in your ear, and you rack your brain for an answer.

His cock is teetering inside you, teasing you- fucking you at whichever pace he decides. It's leisurely and steady, and you swear you can feel him stretching you out beyond you thought was possible. You need more.

"An individual." You finally settle on, having vaguely read it in a riddle book when you were younger. Your words come out in a whine; and look to him for approval.

He seems a bit upset that you've answered correctly, stopping the fun. But in a huff, he praises you.

"...Good." He hisses, and decides to finally give you what you want. He gradually speeds up and your orgasm builds repeatedly, and you feel fulfilled.

Until...he stops, one last time.

You grab him by his hair, frustrated beyond belief, before he whispers.

"Call me the Riddler." Is all he says, and you look him in the eye. He's lost in pleasure too, and you can tell he's fighting for control as well. It's strangely vulnerable, and comes off as more of a plead. Desperate for release himself; as if he isn't the architect for his own frustration.

"Please," You decide to let him win, "Riddler, please...!" You breathe shakily, whining the words.

And with that, he finally lets himself go.

His hips slam into you relentlessly- chasing his own climax. It's hard and rough and fast, and his fingertips dig into your neck. He's baring his teeth again and grunting, pushing you both into the mattress. He captures your lips and tongue in a kiss when he finally spasms inside of you, both of you reaching your peak. The aftershocks hit you hard, and he buckles overtop of you, cock still twitching inside.

He collapses into your shoulder, and he's mumbling and muttering and ranting unintelligible "thank you's" and apologies for hitting you.

Funny enough, it's the most relaxed you've seen him in weeks.

[cherry-bomb-ships]

My brain: Hey we're drawing ur s/i for the first time you should keep it simple like a model sheet-

Me: shut up *draws them in a funky pose*

Here we are, it's my Powerpuff Girls self-insert, Cherry Coading! They work at a robotics company in Townsville and specialize in software and programming. In fact, they're one of the best in her field, which has made her a target in a few of Mojo Jojo's schemes. Even when being held hostage and made to work against her will, though, her sweet and sunny demeanor that could warm the coldest of souls never falters; they somehow always find a way to see the good in everything - and everyone.

[Reblogs are all seen and so appreciated!! 💖💖💖 S/i uses she/they interchangably.]

[WIP pics, pose reference, and tag list below the cut vvv]

Click here to be added, edited or removed from my tag list!

@ava-ships, @bee-ships, @beetleboyfriend, @canongf, @clawfull,

@cloudyvoid, @derelictdumbass, @judetama, @dissonantyote, @edencantstopfallininlove,

@final-catboy, @gible-love-nibles, @halsdaisy, @hoppinkiss, @hotrodharts,

@hyperionshipping, @iyamifucker, @lex-n-weegie, @little-miss-selfships, @little-shiny-sharpies,

@loogi-selfships, @mothfinite, @mandrakebrew, @mintpecks, @mrs-kelly,

@nameless-self-ships, @nerdstreak, @paper-carnation, @patches-and-her-selfships, @p-i-t-s,

@reds-self-ships, @rexscanonwife, @ship-trek, @spacestationstorybook, @squips-ship,

@flowering-darkness, @scroldie, @toogayforthistoday, @winterworlds