#this took me 2 and a half hours help

[spoofyleaf]

I was too lazy to draw his armor, but I did it! It’s super choppy (I’m lazy) but!! Here he is!! Tried to mimic LMK’s style but it

I animated it over the story board of Nezha’s fight that they didn’t use in the s4 finale :D

[quinnonimp]

had a go at making lil egg accessories !!!!!! i didnt try to make them look accurate to the original eggs so theyre kind of wacky, esp since its my first time seriously trying with 3d art :3

[qvrcll]

Mornings — ELLIE WILLIAMS.

I — synopsis: God forbid you ever fell into the hands of Ellie Williams in the bright eyes of a groggy morning. Or invite it, perhaps. Either one is charming enough to send a flurry down your spine.

II — warnings: female shy reader, confident and whipped ellie, fluff, no explicit smut but insinuating facets of it at the start + kinda sensual but mostly just physical comfort but ellie is a tease, has some mentions of insecurity on reader’s end but its minor.

III — a/n: this actually took such little time that i’m a bit embarrassed. it’s so messy and gross and COMPLETELY all over the place. i wanted it to take foot into a different route but i thought ending it like this was nice enough. i hope. yeah. yeah? yeah. hm. let me know if you like this, i would love your comments. i love any feedback. ALSO a little note but i wrote ellie to be a little tanned due to missions, ergo “honey kissed” blah blah, so yeah. if ur confused, there’s that! also this was shamelessly inspired by wanna be yours by AM. caution be thrown in the wind. woe is i.

IV — word count ~ 2.3K

“Don’t miss me too much”, she’d whisper, when words felt like too much of a peeve, when her fingers would cavort across the warmth of your skin, which was already gleaming for her to just touch you.

“Already miss me, pretty girl?”, she’d chuckle into the canvas of your neck, heavy and flush against your torse when she’d want to get impossibly close to your skin, wanting to take advantage of the way you coiled into the scope of her body — breath beating incessantly against her cheek.

“Already miss me, pretty girl?”, she’d chuckle into the canvas of your neck, heavy and flush against your torse when she’d want to get impossibly close to your skin, wanting to take advantage of the way you coiled into the scope of her body — breath beating incessantly against her cheek.

“Of course you missed me”, she’d practically carve the words into the scraggy sheen of sweat on your chest, lips bruising the sloppy skin with sincere words. Until the words washed you over again and again and again — a circle, a pandemonium you couldn’t rid yourself of.

This morning couldn’t be more similar, even if you tried for it to be.

When you awoke, you weren’t sure which colours your eyes first caught, keeping your senses peeled on the prickling sensation of tough-skinned fingers guarding your hips, stationary with every breath you took. They had been caked with mud just months ago, bathed in blood that smothered you to pieces but now, they were sallow, kisses of gingerly placed freckles dotting the rough skin — it felt calloused but commonplace.

Routinely, it was Ellie who normally woke you up before duty called. But on this particular day, you were met with the blinding titillation of the sun first instead, groaning softly when you realised you were caged by her cosmic grasp — her snores failed to alert you of her awakening any time soon.

“Mn, Ellie…” you whisper, feeling apologetic to wake her up after scrutinising every rise and fall of her chest, paying close attention to the measured rhythms that strummed against the supple flesh of your back. It felt strange, even after all these months, to feel so incredibly shy under every minuscule morning breath of hers; yet here you lay, melted in her ivory grasp, flesh touching hers and in a way you could have never imagined.

“Ellie, wake up”, you repeat, expecting gold but hitting rock when she doesn’t budge against the incredible volume of your whisper — she’s winsome but one element of the girl that riddled you the most was her ability to sleep things out without waking up through it, not until an anvil dropped at her head. Even now, her breath didn’t stagger and her arms lay flaxen against the pivot of your arm and elbow, grazing the indents with heat.

“Ellie”, you repeat, barely drawling your words anymore, instead, it’s chasmic with impatience when her breath is steady, mites running across the odd hairs on your back — you don’t turn, don’t speak, at-least for a while, soaking in the obsolete air of her arms, which harrow into you, with much invited love. As much as you loved to bask in her shadow, you knew that Ellie was a one minded person who saw no qualms for the things or people she loved, ultimately being her shortcoming or, perhaps, her strength. And coupled with those brawny hands, you knew you would indulge in you for hours before putting a stop to her chambré glances — getting dressed, grabbing her bag and what not.

“Ellie, you have to get up”, you nudge once, then twice and then poke the honey kissed limbs of hers and she finally groans. You don’t see an endpoint in sight, at least not for a while, till she shifts into the plush sinew of your back, and though she’d done this countless of times when she was somnolent, there was a new meaning behind those soft grazes and the heavy weight of her wide spread fingers drawing fixed circles into your thigh. She’s finally conscious and she’s quite unbreakable when she is.

“Baby…?” her voice is unruly, guttural with all the emotions you cannot find coherent; of course, your heart jumps with the gravel texture of her words and she notices when your ears flame a foxier colour of the one before — she’s had you in the palm of her hand several times before, smiling, laughing, squirming. Stroking, nudging, pushing and pulling. But this — this, she admits, is one of her favourites. When you’re placed on the hem of every limb of hers, so out of reach but smelling, feeling and definitely looking so good, within the innards of her reach but still seeming like a dream.

Ellie loved it.

“Naughty girl, why are you so shy?” she teases and every groan that’s held in your heart spills in ghostly wisps of air, sighing when she rubs your skin in her comfortable grasps, ones you could never replicate, no one could. They were numbing with the tepidity of an autumn intrusiveness, but so, so warm that you wouldn’t mind if she ripped the blankets right off the two of you, as long as those reigns of vein would hold you so tight — like you were going to escape her.

You crunch under her gaze, like a poorly made sand castle and groan delightfully when your muscles relax against her, “‘M sorry that you make me so nervous, miss Williams”, you move your hands to grip hers, that still with her confusion when your body shifts, moving left, nudging right and you’re facing her.

If she could summarise this moment in simple words — but that could never be accomplished because you were enigma to her that could only be expressed in the most convoluted of words but she tried — you were her star. Her kettle. Her emotions. Her hands, tongue, feet. You were her bare essentials, her breath when she toothily grins at you and it’s almost enough to sway your heart, almost, if not for her hands snaking into impish slithers up your thigh and you don’t even stop her — yet she stops right near your hip, just still. Stationary.

She drags her eyes to your neck.

“Sleep well?” she’s distracted, and you know it.

“As always” you play along, running a warm hand down her face, stroking the inch of eye bags that paint her skin, but they seem better than months prior, so you tincture her skin with your touch, under her lip, her nose and certainly her jaw. She’s tense, in some way. Or another. You can’t tell.

“Mm, what about you?” she’s all dry bones when you raise you voice again, scuttling within your touch and you swear you see a brush of red beneath those hearty freckles of hers, but you don’t know whether to poke, prod or hang still till she surrenders.

“Good, good” she lies. You can tell, partly due to her intermittent gaze that flows right through your irises, and partly due to the way the silence drags on even more. There’s more. She wants to say more. You know, because the taste is leaving something clumsy on your tongue that you decipher as half-assed fear, something that produced itself in the self conceived theory that Ellie was getting sick of you. Fully. Completely. You’re staring at her. She’s looking back, focused. You’re scared. But then, the taste slicks into sweetness and you breath her in like yesterday’s perfume when she kisses you, soft and unbecoming, like a rose.

“Sorry, I just… I just needed to…” she’s embarrassed. She’s kissed you into a blushing mess and she’s embarrassed. She’s a crocodile, fierce and pulsing. She’s a cloud, soft and unbecoming under your touch, hell, your gaze. You attempt to chase the mist until it comes undone completely.

“You’re too cute sometimes” you curve into a grin, literally, as your body beams at her. And she beams back, exasperated because she just can’t get enough, can she?

“Sometimes?” she grins, a Cheshire cat, too far for something fake. She’s genuine and she’s stretching you, so far past your limits, that you’re tearing. Creasing. Going molten. You decide to stop thinking before you melt.

“Other times you’re like a volcano” the sheets buck against your foot when she sits up, resting wearily against the headboard and you do the same, but the difference is that you scoot down further down the board, shoulders scratching hers. You don’t notice it.

“Angry?” she panics. She’s like an ocean, so easy to read, and right now, she’s open. The light that pours through the window hits the headboard, the sheets and pinballs onto her face and god, she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Hot”, you work to joke lightly, rolling your eyes when she sighs in relief. She moves closer, if that was even possible, and cups a space on your shoulders when her right arm slings around you, bruising the skin with that same old familiar balminess, “Does that make you the core of the earth then?”

You look over to the bed-side clock whilst Ellie breathes you in mindlessly, glass split beautifully like cobwebs on the surface but working just as fine as the day Ellie had stuffed it into her bag, after you wordlessly eyed it through an empty store on a lookout. It had been an eccentric shade of maroon, and also with hand painted flowers all over the sides, back, creases, when you last saw it months ago. Now, it was easily a duller shade, more a light claret and nearly every painted flower looked like a dot, a star in the galaxy. The hands pointed to 9AM, leaving you a time bracket of an hour before any changing, packing or leaving must be done; Maria was crisp with her regimen and her coffee, and if you knew any better, you ought to be on time. But the voice of reason was no longer there, because Ellie’s lips on your neck had killed the instinct.

Normally, you would’ve chose to usher her away in a fit of giggles, enjoyed to watch her slouch all the way to the bathroom to wash up, but your body was alarmingly cold, had been. But with her lips against any inch of your skin, the tantalising heat covered the canvas, and there you were, falling and falling and falling like a snowstorm in the svelte burn of a winter outside, “Ellie”, you breathe.

It’s dangerous, she’s dangerous, her lips are dangerous, sweetly producing sounds just as sweet that you feel embarrassed — rightfully so, because her mouth blends with your neck, the back of your neck, your shoulder blade, and she’s thoroughly melting into you. So abysmally slow, like a static volcano, magma inert. “Y/N”, she breaths, but adds more unlike you, “you’re beautiful”.

Beautiful. Right. She says that a lot. And you? You malfunction, for fucks sake. Your breath? Trapped in your throat. Your hands? Wedged at your sides, where you can’t visibly see but feel as they’re crinkled with profound confusion — no, anticipation, for her chapped lips to score against your ear roughly but she stops. Stops. Fucking stops. You want to be annoyed, you want to cutely nerved to the point where she gives you want you wants. But she’s staring at you and you can almost smell the earth of her scent. You’re shy again.

She notices and grins, “An hour? I need more time” her grin widens. On occasion, Ellie would wilfully pick at your patience like petals on a flower, one at a time, licking her lips in concentration as she watched you get vexed, twisting and turning into dead ends, corrosive sanity draining at her toes when she plucked again. But not now. She’s staring into your eyes, genuine and naked, when she first told you she loved you.

Loved, not liked.

Loved.

It had been so foreign, you thought it was a joke. But Ellie was the last person to fiddle with your feelings for a stupid crumpled dollar and a dare, so you fell. Hard, fast, no chance of landing back on your feet, because you’re no cat. You’re hers. Hers. God, you’re hers, aren’t you?

“Hey”, Her rigid voice on your neck fills you with surprise again, ripping you out of your thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” she purses her lips, breathes you in, holds you like a halo all at once and it feels like a conflicting cycle. But you’re addicted. “About you”, you’re bold and she gives it to you, swiping a messy finger over the top of your hip. You jolt. She doesn’t. It’s monetary but sublime and you swear to not bite on your lip, but you’re only human.

Your steely teeth rub at your bottom lip when you’re nervous, sometimes you draw blood when you’re sure you’ll die. But now, you’re barely pulling it into the butterfly grip your teeth have on the bottom one. Cautious, it misreads as, but in such-and-such truth, you’re delicate in her embrace. Prone to break, shatter into fragments dressed to impair past relief.

But Ellie is careful today, at this minute. She stops. Stares. Stares some more and smiles.

“Come, let’s get ready”.

You don’t know what you expected but whatever she gives, you take. Whatever she touches, you grip. Whatever she breathes life into, it sure as hell always comes back to you — a circle. Undeniable. Unfathomable.

“Help me up then”, you fake a pout and she staggers into confusion, then realisation and then a fine line of giggles.

She’s yours. However many times she inked the words into your skin, however many times she painted her world with the colours of you.

She’s yours and you? Infinitely hers.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Lotd have mer y ADC looks so good with her new selfie. And she’s posting flowers as usual 🥹

And wearing a white shirt. I'll say this, you can't accuse the girl of not staying consistently on brand 🥴

I will say also, she's never escaping the Victoria Pedretti doppleganger allegations any time soon (although I guess it'd be the other way around since she's older. Whatever) Anyway they neeeeeeed to play sisters at some point cuz what the actual fuck are we doing here like what is the point of all this if that never happens

[closedrop]

I drew this with a mouse, be amazed tumblr users!

As a nice bonus I shall also include some goofy Vash images

[coldflasher]

currently experiencing The Horrors (thinking abt the fact that i have to start going into the office again from tomorrow)

this will either fix me entirely or cause me to descend so deeply into my burnout sinkhole that i will never be seen or heard from again

[schneereggen]

This idea was too cheesy to actually put it into a fan fiction. So I made it into a really short story to post it here.

The taste of coke

Guren didn't really like the taste of coke. It was not that he hated it. But it was that sweet taste on his lips that he disliked.

Furthermore the taste reminded him of his first day at the High School. The day he had been humiliated, not for the first time but it had been the first day of a span of humiliation. Leaving his sheltered life in Aichi to come to Tokyo, he knew what would come for him. But still he could remember the taste of that sweet coke running down his face, when the bottle had hit him. And every time he remembered now, it made him shiver.

The taste of cola and blood. This had been the day when he also had met him. Hiragi Shinya. He exactly remembered that stupid, annoying grin on his face. The piercing blue eyes that looked right through him, before Shinya had cast that spell upon him. Guren had decided to take the hit. And it had been painful. But this spell had just been the beginning.

Sweet and way too sugary on his tongue. Guren never understood the pleasure Shinya took in it. It was one of many things Guren didn’t understand about him. Whenever he would come over, he would take a coke out of the fridge without even asking. And Guren would call him out for it, telling him, not to just help himself to his coke.

But Shinya had just taken a sip and smirked at him. With the same stupid grin that he had on his lips the first time they met, his eyes piercing through him. “You want it back?” he had asked before he had pushed Guren against the fridge.

The taste was now all over his lips and mouth. Guren had decided to not fight back, not to push him away. Even when it was too sweet, the gentle touch of Shinya’s lips on his made up for the sugary flavour. Guren really like that feeling on his lips as Shinya’s tongue was hitting just the right spots to make him tremble.

By now Guren didn’t even mind the flavour. Seemingly he took more pleasure in kisssing him, feeling his tongue and body on his. Shinya had always been on his mind, never left his side. Since that first day at High School. Shinya had always been there for him. Comforting him, listening to him. And now kissing him passionately.

Guren didn't really like the taste of coke. But he loved that it reminded him of Shinya.

-----------------------

Uploaded to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40743282 :) 

[this-doesnt-endd]

I still find it kinda wild that after 1 psych eval they immediently put me on antipsychotics

[midyearflowers]

come to toronto! we have:

endless streams of pedestrians

cyclists that materialize out of nowhere going 30km/h

construction thats been going on since before you were born

left turns so sharp you might as well have made a u-turn

and much more confusing and inconvenient things!

[teddyclara]

Man, fuck the Ebon Deer and fuck Gepard of World 3

[milo-is-rambling]

Chronic pain really got me going to bed before it’s even dark out (also my little pink unicorn lights Millie got me look so cool in the second pic)

[oncominggstorm]

So I got the written report from my autism assessment today (it was meh, some interesting things but mostly stuff I already knew, and she recommended I try cognitive behavorial therapy YET AGAIN & also recommended autism speaks as a resource so 🤢).

But there was one part that kind of shocked me. One of the many things they had me do was read these “social stories,” short little stories about people interacting, and then indicate if anyone said anything that could offend someone else. And I thought it was like, super easy. I figured I got them all correct, like to the point where I was worried that she wasn’t gonna believe me when I said I have difficulty with social stuff.

And then I get my written report back and it says:

“Beth was asked to read social stories and to identify both blatant and subtle statements that may upset people in various situations. She was able to identify three out of ten blatant statements and none of the ten subtle statements.”

Like bro. I thought I ACED that shit lol. Now I’m even more worried than before that I’ve been walking around unintentionally offending everyone I’ve ever met 🙃

[insomnia-productions]

i don’t. know what to do with myself rn

[esterigermaine]

Old people are hilarious. They tell us young people need to learn "actually useful" skills, work hard, and not be glued to a smartphone 24/7 if they want decent pay.

The second I put my IT skills and college degree in use to get more money, flexible hours, and smartphone privileges they throw a fit saying they deserve it more since they are older.

Like, isn't this what you told me to do if I wanted more than $15 an hour?

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

I kinda wanna go on a rant but I honestly just think I need to sleep

[iknityounot]

(Long post, sorry y'all)

A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.

In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.

She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.

Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.

After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:

DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.

Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!

So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.

Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.

At the end of August, the blanket was done!

I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)

She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 

She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.

And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.

Five stars, absolutely worth it!

(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)