found these on my old laptop:)

I go on vacation on…Monday night I think? I found the old laptop and drawing tablet (which only works on one side -w- ) and wanted to do a couple more doodles before I left, so I present both Kiwis! the ones both my friend and I created

Sinister!Kiwi belongs to @ninjapanda-3611

Kiwi belongs to me

High for This

High for This by evansrogerskitten

Dean x Reader x Sam, John x Reader

A witch’s curse hexes the three Winchester men and reader, leading to a night of desire that would change things forever.

Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Threesome (NO Wincest), Fingering, Language, Dom!John, discussion of being high, dirty talk, orgasm denial, squirting, spanking, mention of a panic attack, Feels, A lil fluff, lack of protection, canon divergence. To be clear- the characters have all consented to all sexual acts in this story. 

Word Count: 8408 | On AO3 | This is inspired by the song High for This by The Weeknd, and my first song for @mrs-squirrel-chester Album Fanficfion Challenge. 

This fic had a mind of its own but I love it. I hope you do too :)

The Impala rolled into a parking space on the street and Sam killed the engine. I straightened the sleeves of my navy fed suit, and looked over at him.

“You really think she’s going to know anything?” Sam pestered, looking through the window.

“Witnesses said two of the victims had been here to see her for readings.” I responded, climbing out of the car. I patted my jacket pocket to make sure I still had my fake FBI badge. “She does readings on love and relationships.”

Sam rolled his eyes as we walked up the sidewalk to the old house.

“What if she’s really psychic then? She’ll know we’re hunters.” Sam suggested sarcastically as he looked over his shoulder to the street.

“Then we’ll improvise. It’ll be fine, Sam.” I responded, looking around the front porch. A bright Psychic Reader sign lit up the front window.

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Sasuke: *doesn’t like it when someone touches him or get too close*

Sasuke: *is always disgusted or just doesn’t care when some fangirl is getting to clingy*

Naruto: *says one word*

Sasuke: *smashing his face to his face and breaks every personal space because he fucking can and nobody can stop him*  What the fuck what did you just say usuratonkachi come at me when you want trouble I will fucking chidori your ass you stupid baka can’t believe you said that-

1.“How did you managed to lose a thirty years old man in a supermarket?”

2.“Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

3.“You can’t live by quoting emo bands for the rest of your life”

4. “What’s up with her?”
“March 22”
“Oh God”

5. “Why would his husband kill him?”

6. “There’s no other way of making easy money. ”

“You never thought about prostitution, did you?”

7. “And she stole my last bit of–”

8. “I may be a hacker but I’m no murderer.”
“The term is hunter”
“Don’t correct me”

9. “I’m sorry but Obama’s not coming back”

10.“You don’t drown people in public pools”

11.“Can we pass today’s ‘How to be a murderer’ lesson?”

12.“He’s gonna be fine”
“You threw him in a well!”

13.“I haven’t slept in six months, do you really want to put up with me?”

14.“Go home, you’re drunk”

15.“Stop touching my hair!”
“But it’s so soft!”

16.“We’re not going to a church with you dressed like that”

17.“I never thought of reading The Bible but I might rethink this life choice. And all my other life choices. I think I’m going in existential crisis, bye”

18.“Hello, hello! Can you hear me?”
“Stop quoting Lana del Rey, for the love of God!”

19.“It’s only interesting if you’re talking about Fall Out Boy”

20.“I’m not high, I’m just really tired”
21.“Don’t broke into people’s houses!”
“How’d you got here again?”

22.“I may be dangerous but have you met my wife?”

23.“Are you silently judging me?”

“Of course not, if I judge people I’ll make sure they hear me”

24.“I’m scared of her.”
“She’s nineteen”
25.“Don’t yell at me! When people yell at me I start yelling at people and I’m not sure you want to hear a Romanian yelling at you!”

26.“You did what?”

27.“I’m not saying she’s a gold digger, I’m saying she’s a… power digger”

28.“Can you stop crying?”
“MCR broke up four years ago, what do you mean stop crying?”

29.“The bad guy’s in jail, my uncle is in the Hospital recovering and I finally got my cigarettes back”

30.“We found her playing guitar in a Devil’s Trap”

31.“I don’t react good after earthquakes and you know it!”

32.“Why do you have a photo of you in Nazi clothes?”

33.“I’m not saying you’re too old for the internet, I’m saying you’re too old to be cool on the internet.”

34.“Why is our sink made out of jelly and why is there orange juice instead of water?”

35.“You should really start packing your– Is that my laptop?”

36.“Is your brother in law seriously Satan?”

37.“Why do the Greek Gods have a restraining order against you?”

38.“What do you mean that’s not how to get tumblr popular?”

39.“Don’t listen to them, lyrics spam is always the answer.”

40.“How ‘bout you give up?”

I think it hit at the end

Tree Bros Oneshot: Evan’s Birthday

AN: hey everyone! this is my first deh oneshot, so i hope you enjoy. 

July 10: Connor and Evan have been dating for a few months now, and today is Evan’s birthday. Connor has no idea what to get him, so he seeks help from his sister Zoe and Evan’s other friend Jared. Unfortunately, they’re as clueless as he is. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,123

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Connor panicked, pacing back and forth in his bedroom.

It was currently noon, and Connor had planned to pick up Evan for a little birthday date at four, but there was one problem. He didn’t have a present. 

“Dude, calm down. Just get him like a plant or something. He likes trees, right?” Jared sat in Connor’s office chair, spinning in circles and acting calmer than the Murphy boy. 

“Why don’t you buy him a Keurig? Everyone loves Keurigs,” Zoe chimed in. She was sprawled out on Connor’s bed with her head hanging upside down off the side. 

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so i basically locked myself in my room last weekend and ended up reading a copy of the no. 6 novels i found on my old laptop. then i spent the whole week watching the anime. what i’m trying to say is.. i dont think you can ever truly escape no. 6 hell.
second one is a redraw (ish) of some official art

giacomctti  asked:

for the promp thing! victuuri and 60) things you said that surprised me the most ♥

hiya alli!! (and thank u to @teekettle​ for your input ♥)

60. things you said [make your own]

“Tadaima,” Victor called, tugging his scarf down from his mouth. The loss of warmth was distinct when he slipped out of his trenchcoat, but a smile made its way onto his lips when he heard Yuuri’s voice drift around the corner, soft and lilting around the okaeri.

He placed his shoes by the front door next to Yuuri’s, straightening them just so, before padding over to where Yuuri was snuggled into the couch. A thick, fluffy blue blanket was draped over his legs, along with Victor’s old Team Russia jacket zipped over his torso. He looked very warm, compared to the chilliness of the evening outside. A pastel green mug sat on the coffee table, thin wisps of steam still rising into the air, and his laptop was perched on the arm of the couch.

Yuuri offered him a sleepy smile as he came closer, his hair slightly damp and curling at the edges. Yuuri had felt stressed this morning, so had come home from the rink a few hours earlier than Victor did. And Victor was glad, because he looked so much better rested after taking that time for himself.

“Hi Vitya,” he murmured, pausing the video on his laptop and patting the spot next to him. “Wanna join me?”

“Always, lyubov,” Victor said, already grabbing his own purple blanket from another armchair and moving to sit down by Yuuri’s side. Once there, he noticed exactly what was playing on the screen. “Are you watching my old programs?” he asked.

Yuuri’s smile became a little shy. “They’ve always helped me relax,” he admitted, turning back to his laptop and hitting play. Almost immediately, the tinny sound of his Victory program floated through the speakers and the grainy image of a twenty-five-year-old Victor Nikiforov began to move.

Victor found himself critiquing the movements of his younger self almost instantly—he was too stiff in this one section, he wobbled slightly on the landing of the triple axel—but when he glanced at Yuuri, he was surprised to see a look of admiration on his face despite all the obvious flaws.

“I love the way you flicked your wrist here,” Yuuri said, his eyes sparkling as he pointed the movement out a second before the Victor on the screen even did. “It had perfect timing with the music, and I could feel the triumph you were trying to convey with this program. I ran out to the rink to practice my own program almost immediately after—it was really inspiring.”


“The costume choice could’ve been a little better though,” Yuuri continued, sounding thoughtful once the last notes of the music faded and the camera had cut to Victor’s smiling face. “If you were to reuse a costume, I think the one from 2010 would’ve been perfect for a free skate about victory.”

“You’re such a big fan,” Victor teased, resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Have you been following my career for that long?”


They were quiet again as the video continued and eventually settled on an interview right after Victor received a score that shot his name to the top of the board, assuring him as world champion for the third year in a row.

“How did you feel about this performance, Victor?” a reporter asked, looking eager, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

It was this season.

Victor had thought there was something strange about the program Yuuri was watching, why it had made him so uncomfortable, and now he knew. It was the year that Victor had grown tired of skating and winning and putting on plastic doll smiles for the public and his country.

The Victor on-screen smiled then, and to him it was so obvious how fake it was. No one else seemed to notice how forced it seemed, how his eyes were dark with fatigue, how his voice was overly bright as he answered.

“I’m really happy with it!” Victor replied, still smiling. “It was a difficult program to perfect, but it seems that all my hard work paid off.”

Victor remembered that the reporter had given him an almost patronizing laugh at that last sentence and said—

“Well, how hard can learning programs be for a three-time world champion, right?”

That had happened a little more than three years ago, but those words, no matter how well-intended they may have been, still stung even as he heard them now. He’d felt so much freer after meeting Yuuri, but hearing this and seeing the plastic smile he’d put on for years reminded him of how much he didn’t want to go back to a world that saw him only as Victor Nikiforov, Living Legend, instead of Victor Nikiforov, a man who liked to go on nighttime walks with his fiancé, cook anything and everything he could in the kitchen, and read as many books as there were stars.

It had bothered him more than he let on how people dismissed his hard work and drive in favor of placing him on a pedestal.

“You weren’t happy.”

Victor blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “What?”

“You weren’t happy,” Yuuri repeated, his smile a little sad. “I could always tell in your interviews.”

Victor could only stare at Yuuri, frozen. “You—what?” He swallowed down the growing lump of emotion in his throat. “…How did you know?”

He thought he’d hid it so well. No one seemed to question his loneliness or growing weariness once he started winning—no one stopped to think about how all this was affecting him. So Victor assumed that no one had noticed.

But Yuuri was there, thousands and thousands of kilometers away, watching as Victor’s energy and love for the ice was slowly sapped away by the pressure of years spent at the top.

And seeing Yuuri’s quiet, earnest expression in front of him now, and telling him how he knew how much Victor needed someone to stay close to him, all those years of suppressed emotions tumbled out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered against his hair, arms wrapped tightly around him as he cried. “But I promise that I’ll be here for as long as I can.”

Victor laughed wetly, tightening his hold on Yuuri. He was currently under two blankets, a fiancé, and a wandering poodle on the couch of his apartment in St. Petersburg, and God, he’d never imagined that his home could feel so warm.

“You never fail to surprise me, lyubov moya. Thank you.”

Then Yuuri pressed a kiss to the crown of Victor’s head. “I love you,” he murmured, and Victor smiled into Yuuri’s side.

“Love you more.”

A thirst for whiskey and gold (3)


Pairing: Lance Tucker x photographer!plus size!reader

Warnings: None.

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Soulmate AU where people see their whole life flash by before their eyes when they first kiss their soulmate. After Y/N receives word of her husband James’ death, she moves to Ohio where her best friend Karen has just given birth to a baby girl, hoping to find some piece of mind. Karen has asked Y/N to be the godmother and it just so happens Lance is the godfather to this little bundle of joy. One night, Lance gets drunk with some of his friends and they play ‘truth or dare’ which leads to an unexpected discovery.

This is written for @whotheeffisbucky her writing challenge. I know this is terribly late (life got in the way) but I poured a lot of love and soul into this, so I hope it makes up for my tardiness.

Series masterlist can be found here

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Went digging through my old folders and found some unexpected files I thought I’d lost when my old laptop died! These were made originally as a pair of icons for a friend and myself maaaany many years back (Tumblr will probably screw the size, these really are supposed to be tiny). Jou’s pet came out alright, but U2 could have been far better. Still, I think they’re good for some nostalgia.

Coffee shop AU

-Midoriya is a new barista in the campus coffee shop. Between studying to be a veterinarian and working a part time job, he doesn’t really have time to meet new people despite Ochako’s attempt at setting him up with some of her friends.

-He notices the frequent customer just one week into his work. Always arrives the moment the shop opens, orders a large mocha with extra ice, takes his preferred seat by the window and buries himself in writing away on his computer. Everyday, like clockwork. 

-The customer is cute. With odd, half white half red hair, heterochromia eyes and a sort of pensive look as his default expression, the customer looks like a character from Final Fantasy. Ethereal, out of this world, and certainly out of Midoriya’s reach. 

-The customer has a worst case of dark circles under eyes, however. Midorya isn’t really one to judge because dark bags under eyes are a thing among university students. So when he brings the customer his order, he also brings a small tube of eye cream with him. 

-”For your eyes.” Midoriya shrugs at the questioning look the customer sends his way and goes back to the counter. When the customer leaves, Midoriya finds the eye cream used and a sticky note sticks to it. ‘Thank you,’ it says. 

-Sometime later, the customer comes with a serious cough and he places his usual order. Midoriya purposefully makes a small hot mocha, and after thinking things through, makes a cup of honey tea. 

-The customer tries to protest, but the cough has already taken away his voice. Instead he typed on a his laptop. 

‘It’s not my order.’ it says as Midoriya leans in to read. 

“I can’t really let you have more ice when you can’t even talk now can I?”

‘I don’t bring enough money to pay for the tea.’ The customer types

“Don’t worry, that’s on me. By the way,” Midoriya says as he rummages around his apron pocket. “Have some of these. They help.” He places four yellow ginger candies on the table and cheerfully goes back to his place. “Have fun studying.” He pretends not to hear the hoarse amused snort.

-Snow and wind are the bane of his health. Midoriya comes to work that day with a runny nose and a mild headache. The customer takes one look at him and gives him his pristine white handkerchief. Then he proceeds to unravel his blue scarf and wraps them around Midoriya’s neck to Midoriya’s eternal surprise and embarrassment. 

“You should take a day off.” The customer chides him, his eyes narrowed in worry and disapproval, and really those do not help the butterflies doing somersault in his stomach.

“I’m-” Midoriya sneezes, and isn’t it a great sight with how much fluid is in his nose. He wipes it away quickly with a tissue (no way in hell he is using the customer’s handkerchief!) before continuing, “-fine.”

Judging by the arched eyebrows, the customer isn’t convinced.

-The customer keeps sending questioning glances his way while drinking coffee and Midoriya can’t keep the smile off his face.

-The customer leaves, not without urging Midoriya to call it a day. And well, that’s what he was originally going to do anyway but he wants to see the customer. With that done, he can now go back to his bed. 

-An early morning one day before Chirstmas break, Midoriya sees a familiar figure huddle in front of the door to the coffee shop. In the sub zero temperature and heavy snow, the customer’s thin hoodie offers hardly any protection. He is not wearing any gloves, hat, scarf, ear muffler. Nothing to ward off the cold. The customer raised his head briefly as he saw Midoriya approach and made to stand up but he swayed on his feet. Midoriya quickly catches him and oh god the customer is so cold! With dept hands, he opens the door and guides the customer inside. He sits the customer down in front of the heater and whips up a hot chocolate. 

-The customer does not even register the hot drink in his hand. It takes Midoriya physically guides the customer’s hand to bring the cup to his mouth for him to start sipping on it robotically.

-They stay silent. Midoriya uses it to observe the customer. He looks, well, bad. His lips are an unnatural blue. There are frozen tear tracks on his face and-is that a hand print…? 

-”My dad wants me to become a lawyer.” The customer starts to say, his voice wavering with every word. “I don’t want to. So I apply for a Creative Writing degree behind his back. He threw a tantrum when he found out, but it was too late. I’ve already sent my acceptance notice by then. Then he tries to stop me from studying. He locks my laptop and phones when I come home and only returns them to me in the morning right before he goes to work. My classes are all in the afternoon so I make do. I though it would stay this way until I graduate, but no, my old man is too conniving for that. He withdrew me from school and secretly enrolled me to a law school across the country. I argued, he back-handed me, I ran away from home with nothing on me except for my clothes and I have no friends to run to. I apologize. I should leave.” The customer tries to stand but Midoriya stands with him, grabbing a firm hold of his arm.

“My apartment is just across the street. You can stay there until things die down at your house. Don’t argue, it won’t change my mind,” Midoriya says, adopting a stubborn glare. He is spitting profanity at the customer’s father in his mind. 

“I don’t have anything to pay you”

“No need. You sharing this with me is payment enough.” And Midoriya starts for the door, not giving the customer a chance to get another word in edgewise.

-The customer’s name is Shouto. So cute!

(EDIT: @emerald-psyche​ has written a lovely fic for this dumb idea of mine. Check out her fic You’re Brew-tiful)

The year is 2054. I sit in my grotesque but useful antler rocker, staring out the window, knitting intentional blood spatter onto my favorite antler sweater. Hannibal has been off the air for many years, but lives on in our hearts and in every room of the home i built with my own hands from found animal bones and stage blood and printouts of nice things people have said about me on the internet. Tumblr, somehow, lives on.

I get up from my antler rocker and move to my antler desk and chair. I open my ancient laptop–it too, somehow, made of antlers– and find myself on the blue hellscape that has been my home since I was but a wee fandom grandma–one that hadn’t yet begun to understand the definition of Tired–to see that I have one new message. I click on my inbox.

Tag your bottom Hannibal!!!!! the anonymous visitor to my decades-old archive of shame demands. I sigh and go back to my window.