Sorry no post tonight, this week has not been very good ^ ^; Here’s a preview of thing I’m working on, hopefully to go up tomorrow night but we’ll see at this rate.  >.<;

Future!verse ABO AU family portrait thingy bc I hadn’t done one yet with all the charas. Victor + Yurio + Phichit + Minami x Yuuri + 3 OC kids, eyyyy happy poly family :P

Also big poly doodles = who the fuck’s limb is that, i’m sure this is really uncomfortable for a few parties involved, is this physically possible, and wow there are just too many people here and i just spent several hours adjusting everyone bc I made one small posture change to one of them…

gintsukit  asked:

Who's Adam

“how can you not know me“

ok so, short version: adam is the worlds edgiest 15yr old ((according to him anyways)). constantly bitter and doesnt smile, ever,,

long(er) version: he’s a runaway from a home that no longer exists, tried to get into the monster hunting business to try and make even more fame for himself but got stuck with adri as a teammate (or adri got stuck with him, depends on who u ask lmao)
anyways they couldnt kill each other so now theyre forced to actually be “friends” and work together. they eventually do become friends tho, even if all they do is scream bloody murder at each other

I found you completely swaddled in blankets after my last class. You’re my dorm neighbor and I typically pop into your room to say hi. You have little plants and glow in the dark stars on the walls and ceiling. You wanted it to feel “magical” you said. Your bonzai seems to be doing well, right bit better than you anyhow. The sun has set and the blinds are drawn so everything seems to be in shades of grey. Except your cheeks. They stand out bright pink amongst the dull twilight colors. Which would be lovely little thing to note if you didn’t look so miserable. All I can see of your is the upper part of your face, but even with just that I can tell. You’re miserable. I hear a muffled chattering. It must be your teeth.

I step nearer, and you don’t seem to notice. I suppose I am rather stealthy, but even when I clear my throat your glazed and red ringed eyes don’t shift onto me. I try again. I watch as you unfocused gaze slides over to rest on my face. No, not my face. You seem to be looking right through.

I place one of my cold hands on your forehead to feel for fever. Your skin is slick with sweat and strands of hair cling to the damp surface, which I push out of the way. The heat radiating off your face is alarming, but you’re shivering terribly. Only when you feel my touch do you seem to realize my presence. You murmur something unintelligible, and I whisper some sweet nothing in return. I need to get you out of these blankets before you fry yourself. I start to peel off this cocoon you’ve fashioned, and you begin to groan and fuss and swat my hands away. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, you’re far too weak for this to actually be effective. By the time I have the last sweat soaked blanket off you, you’re sobbing softly, deliriously mumbling about lord knows what. I can’t understand it. It may not even be English, all I know is that you seem very upset about whatever it is. I plant a kiss on the top of your head, telling you you’ll feel better soon. You nod. I take solace in that.

As I run cool water into a bowl I see a shift in your demeanor. I don’t know what it means but I know it can’t be good. Before I can react your already pale face seems to go sheet white, two fevered spots standing out against the pallor. There’s suddenly sick all down your front and you’re sobbing again. I shove the half full bowl under your chin, clumsily spilling some of the water onto you as well in my haste. Oops. I hold the basin as you continue to be sick, each heave landing with a splash into the tepid water until you’ve completely wrung yourself dry. Even after the retches keep coming, dry and painful. It seems to last an eternity as tears spill down your face.

When you’re finally finished after a concerning amount of time, I place the bowl onto the desk and remove your soiled shirt and bedclothes, stuffing them into your hamper. I’ll take care of that in a minute, but for now you’re my concern. You’re doubled over yourself, clawing at your ailing stomach. It looks like you’re trying to dig out whatever is hurting you so badly. I wet a t-shirt in the sink and dab your forehead with the cool water before wiping the sick from your chin. You raise your tear-stained face to look at me, bleary red eyes finally focusing on mine. Recognition shines in them.

Yes, sweetheart, it’s me. You start sobbing again, harder than before, and I pull you close, feeling the fever radiating off you as I wrap my arms securely around you. I’m staying here. I climb into the bed with you, allowing you to readjust your position. Your stars glow around us in the soft grey light. You slowly drift off, exhaustion overcoming you. I feel your head drop heavily into my chest. Your gentle snoring lulls me into a contented restfulness. It’s hard to imagine that just awhile ago you were in agony. I lay there until sleep claims me too, arms wrapped around your still shivering frame.

We awake tomorrow as sunlight streams around your blinds, creating warm yellow slits across the ceiling and walls. One of these beams falls over your bonzai. Yes, it’s doing quite well. Our limbs are all tangled together and both of us coated in your sweat. Your fever broke in the night, and I’m very relieved. You moan a little, stretching your sore limbs and grimacing at some residual pain in your stomach. I slide gracelessly off your bed, landing with a dull thud and wincing as something in my ankle cracks.

I feel your forehead once more, and am satisfied with the only slight fever I discern. Make sure you drink some water, love. And if you need anything else, call me. You grab my wrist as I turn to leave and when I face you, your your eyes meet mine. Without so much as an utterance I know how grateful you are.

Don’t mention it.

Your hand has found mine, and you give mine a gentle squeeze. Thank you.

You’re welcome, sweetheart.

Saudade: Ch3

There was a queasy, sick, miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach. You fluttered open your eyelids, groggily waking up only to realize that you weren’t in your own house. Your eyes widened, taking a moment to recheck that this wasn’t just a dream, looking around. Nothing looked familiar. You began to roll off the mattress when you realized you were completely naked. You instantly were embarrassed and confused, slipping out of the bed and looking around. It was morning, judging by the sunlight shining through the window. You swallowed uncomfortably, trying to ignore the aching pain in your head and attempting to remember something, anything, of how the hell you got here. You closed your eyes tight and then decided to venture out of the bedroom, realizing there was a hallway with an open door leading to the bathroom. You looked around to check if anyone was there before rushing towards it, locking the door, trying to process everything that had happened. You felt your stomach doing flips before you ducked your head into the toilet, puking into the porcelain bowl, feeling absolutely horrible. What the fuck had happened last night?

Steadying yourself on the toilet seat, you staggered up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, closing the lid and flushing the contents down. You walked towards the sink, starting to wash your face. This was absolutely crazy. That’s when there was a knock on the door and you froze, the only sound between you and the stranger outside being the rushing water flowing into the sink. Well, that was, until your heard your name. There was another knock. “Y/n? Is that you?” How did they know your name? Where were you? You frantically looked around, then grabbed a towel from a shelf, wrapping it around you before opening up the door. When you did, you came face to face with the hottest man you had ever seen in your entire life.

“Woah,” you couldn’t control the amazement that fell from your mouth. “W-who are you?”

“You okay?” he raised an eyebrow. “You look a little sick.”

“I feel miserable,” you admitted. “And I uh, I don’t really remember that much.”

“Wait…” his voice trailed off. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head. “I don’t know where I am or where my clothes are or how I got here or who you are. All I know is that I feel absolutely miserable.”

“Okay,” he took a deep breath. “Well um, let me go grab you one of my shirts and some shorts. Your underwear too. Just take a seat, I was making breakfast.” He led you towards his living room, setting you down on the couch and handing you a cup of coffee and some painkiller meds. “I’ll explain everything. Hold on.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. He came back with the clothes and you stared at him confused before he explained that you could change in the bathroom, then come back out and he’d give you the run down. You nodded, changing and staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering what kind of crazy mess you had gotten yourself into, before going back outside and sitting on the couch.

“Well, first off, I’m Brendon,” he laughed. “I’m guessing you’re not a big drinker, huh?”

“I don’t drink,” you narrowed your eyes.

“Well apparently you do,” he insisted. “At least, you did last night.”

“No way,” you shook your head. That’s when it dawned on you. You must have. It would explain why you didn’t remember anything, and why you had a miserable headache, which you now identified as a hangover. “Good lord.”

“Believe me. You drank,” he continued. “So um, we met at this bar last night. We had a bunch of drinks, talked for hours, then came back to my place, and yeah.”

“And yeah?” you inquired.

“We had a little fun,” he explained.

“Fun?” you were still confused.

“We fucked,” he stated rather blatantly. Your face turned completely red.

“H-how many drinks did I have?” you stammered.

“I don’t remember,” he shrugged. “A lot. And you seemed already tipsy by the time I found you, so there’s a likely chance I couldn’t even tell you if you wanted to know.”

“This is bad,” you ran a hand through your hair. “Fuck.”

“Hey, look, I didn’t mean any harm by it,” he insisted.

“No, it’s not your fault,” you reassured. “I just uh, I’ve never done this before. The whole bar, one night stand, disappear in the morning thing. I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to,” he protested. “I mean, I don’t want you to, if you don’t want to. You can stay. I made breakfast and stuff.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “Um, okay.”

“Plus you look really sick, I don’t want you going home like that,” he added. “Especially now that you don’t have anyone to take care of you anymore.”

“Anymore?” you raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Your boyfriend,” he recalled. “The one that broke up with you like a month ago or something?”

“He didn’t break up with me,” you stated.

“You said he left you,” he remembered.

“He left for tour,” you clarified. “He never broke up with me.”

“Oh,” Brendon looked shocked. “Well shit.”

“Speaking of,” you took an exasperated breath. “Uh, do you know where my phone is?”

“No idea,” he sighed.

“That’s great,” you closed your eyes tight. “You know, I don’t want to infringe or anything, but I’m probably still in no shape to go home. Mind if I stay here for the day?”

“No, not at all, absolutely,” he answered quickly. “Stay as long as you’d like.”

“I’m sorry, I just feel super shitty,” you groaned.

“Don’t sweat it,” Brendon insisted. “Let’s go get you something to eat and then you can take a nice shower and just rest for the day. Got it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded slowly. “Thanks so much. Honest. You’re really sweet.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he gave a small smile. “I hope I didn’t um, I didn’t freak you out too much this morning. I know sometimes we do stuff we might regret when we get wasted, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or guilty or anything. I’m sorry, I should’ve-”

“Don’t say that,” you laughed nervously. “I just uh, I can’t actually believe that we, uh…”

“We what?” he raised an eyebrow, wondering what the next part was.

“We had sex,” you swallowed uncomfortably.

“Why? Are you a virgin or something?” he inquired.

“No, no,” you shook your head. “I just uh, you’re like really, really, um, super hot.”

“Me?” he chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Nah, I’m just a doofus.”

“You look like a movie star or something. Way out of my league,” you argued. “I normally look like trash, so I can’t even imagine what I looked like drunk, much less now sick.”

“Don’t say that,” Brendon frowned. “You’re beautiful.”

“No I’m not,” you insisted. “I don’t even make it into the same category as you.”

“Whatever,” he just giggled. “You’re fucking gorgeous, babe.”

“Shut up and feed me that breakfast you keep yapping about,” you teased.

“Of course, my lady,” he joked with a smirk, taking your hand and leading you up off the couch towards the kitchen.

Needless to say, you and Brendon got along as if you had been friends your entire life. He had witty comebacks and silly remarks, flirtatious pickup lines and the funniest jokes, as well as sweet compliments and genuine concerns. You had to keep yourself from staring at him sometimes. You would find yourself glancing at those hands, the tattoo ink engraved in his arm, the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, how his lips curled into a smirk, moments when his forehead wrinkled when he thought hard about something, or how he ran his fingers through his hair. After you had both downed a cup of coffee, some eggs, bacon, toast, and a doughnut, he showed you to the shower. “How do you work it?” you wondered, setting the clothes he had picked out for you on a stool and walking over to him.

“Well uh…” he slid the shower door open and stared for a moment. “I don’t want to get my shirt soaked, hold on.” He quickly slipped the fabric from off his body and then tossed the shirt to the side, leaning into the shower and turning on the faucet. You couldn’t help but stare this time. His chest was gorgeous, his stomach just as amazing, and you felt yourself start to blush just at the thought of it. “How about you give it a feel and tell me if it’s warm enough for you or not?”

“What?” you instantly snapped back into reality, realizing you hadn’t been listening to a word he had been saying.

“The water,” he explained. “I can adjust the temperature if you need it.”

“Oh,” you still couldn’t manage to pry your eyes away from his body. “Uh, yeah sure.”

“Here,” Brendon stepped aside, letting you lean into the shower and reach a hand out to touch the water. “How’s the water?”

“Hmm?” you glanced at him, biting on your lower lip as you watched him run a hand through his hair.

“Too hot?” he asked.

“I don’t know about the water,” you gave a soft laugh. “But you on the other hand…”

“What?” he smirked. “See something you like?”

“Maybe,” you admitted shyly, turning around. You took your shirt off, reaching for your bra strap and beginning to undress yourself, ready to get in the shower when you head Brendon clear his throat rather loudly behind you.

“Ahem?” he announced his presence.

“You’re still here,” you raised your eyebrows, turning around to face him.

“You never answered my question,” he reminded, eyes flickering down to your breasts before pressing his lips together, returning eye contact with you. “How’s the water?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, dipping a finger into the waistband of your pants, inching it down just below the waist. “Maybe you can help me find out if it’s good enough.”

“What do you mean?” he dared to ask.

“I think you know,” you whispered, taking one step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him closer. “It’s definitely going to be too hot for me.”

“Yeah?” he raised an eyebrow, sly smile on his lips, gripping your ass tight and making you gasp. “You think you need a little help in the shower, baby?”

“I think I do,” you hummed, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second before opening them back up, staring at Brendon. “I think you know how to make me feel just right.”

“Do I now?” he chuckled, pressing your body closer to him and making it obvious that he had a hard on. “You want me to fuck you in the shower, sweetheart? Make you scream my name? Try to help you remember all the things you forgot last night?”

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding slightly. “I want you to show me.”

That’s all it took before his lips were on yours and you were kissing each other, your hands trailing down his chest, his hands on your back pressing your closer to him, your tongue slipping in his mouth and his fingers toying with the clasp of your bra. You fumbled with the zipper of his jeans and before you knew it, both of you were naked, his mouth on your neck and your fingernails digging into his back, moaning out his name, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you into the shower. The warm water cascaded down both of your bodies, and he lined his cock up with your entrance, thrusting into you several times, making you moan out his name. You were so close when he pulled out, forcing you to your knees, instructing you to suck him off. “Goddammit that feels so fucking good, y/n,” he gasped, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and rocking his hips up to your face, the water spraying on his back steadying himself against the wall as your hands gripped his hips, your tongue swirling around his length. “I’m going to cum, and you’re going to be a good girl and swallow it all, understand?”

You bobbed your head up and down, staring at him as he bit down on his lower lip, starting to shake. You slowly began to pull away, sliding your lips all the way to the head, sucking softly before taking him all into your mouth quickly again, hollowing your cheeks, just enough to make him orgasm. He was moaning out your name along with a handful of curses, tugging on your hair, the warm liquid sliding down your throat as he pumped in and out of your mouth. You began swallowing it all, listening to his whispers and mumbles of praises, his fingers tangled in your hair, fucking your face until he was exhausted. When he was done he pulled you up to your feet, then kissed you on the mouth. “You like that?” you murmured. “You like how you taste on my tongue?”

“Mmm but I’d sure love to get a taste of you,” he suggested. He trailed a hands down your chest, giving both of your tits a squeeze before sliding down your stomach, then towards your thighs, meeting in the middle and using one hand to grip your waist, the other to brush past your folds. “So fucking wet for me, babygirl.”

“Please,” you begged. He inserted a finger and you began to moan, grabbing handfuls of his hair as he started to pump it in and out of you, then adding another, sliding them in and out, causing you to gasp. The shower was filled with steam at this point, Brendon’s lips hot on your shoulder, most likely leaving hickeys by the intensity he was using as he sucked on your skin, and when his thumb found your clit, you moaned out his name loudly, cumming around his fingers.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hummed, curling his fingers as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the water rush down your hair, his hand slowly withdrawn from your center, catching your breath, watching in a daze as he licked your juices off his fingers, savoring the taste.

“You feel so good,” you mumbled, kissing him again.

“Productive shower,” he joked, and you narrowed your eyes at him playfully, both of you chuckling. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me get you all nice and clean.”

The following moments were filled with Brendon whispering sweet nothings into your ear, or other dirty things about how beautiful you sounded when you moaned his name or how lovely you looked with his cock in your mouth, massaging your body with soap and lathering shampoo and conditioner in your hair, leaving kisses down your back and stomach. It felt like hours, him talking to you, you both kissing, the water flowing down both of your bodies, until finally he suggested maybe you should get out, take a couple more meds, and then rest. You agreed, and he helped guide you out of the shower, snatching a towel and drying you off, then wrapping one around his waist, taking you hand in hand to his bedroom. He flung open the blankets, then curled up beside you, wrapping you in his arms and telling you to get some sleep, fuck the clothes and the meds, covering you both with the warm blanket, reassuring that you’d figure it all out tomorrow.

anonymous asked:

Can i request what the wolf pack thinks during sex? Just a quote or two from each is fine. And if that's too many people, you can pick and choose which one's to do. I love your writing and I hope I can continue to read it

A/N: Sure thing, sweetie! Thanks for your preference request and please enjoy what I’ve come up with! :) Sorry if these are super shitty, this is my first time actually writing something like this.

What The Twilight Wolf Pack Thinks During Sex:

Sam Uley: “Yes, just like that, (Y/N)’s so tight and wet.

Paul Lahote: “I love the way (Y/N)’s face contorts like that when they come. Only I can be the only one to that to them.

Jared Cameron: “I love that face they make when I pound into them and they beg me for more.

Jacob Black: “Everything about (Y/N) is perfect when their pretty little face is flushed and I’m fucking them so hard.

Embry Call: “If I keep going at this pace, I won’t be able to control myself.

Quil Ateara: “(Y/N) definitely loves this.

Seth Clearwater: “I love that expression the most; the one where (Y/N)’s just a fingertip away from her release.

Leah Clearwater: “They taste so sweet on my tongue, the way they moan and beg for more just get’s me going.

Please keep requesting imagines! If you like it, please follow more.

jezebel-rising  asked:

In the Aka!Kiba 'verse, would Kiba's clan have thrown him out? (like I don't see Tsume doing it, and she pretty much Rules All, buuuut..) And if they DID, for whatever reason, would Kiba then be promptly adopted by Genma, since he's *already* taught Kiba Clan secrets so that makes Kiba HIS, HAHA NO TAKE BACKS wheee! (sorry, it's been a super shitty day and thinking about this fic has kept me from not breaking down sobbing whilst in traffic)

You can apparently read minds, because this is very close to what I’m planning. :D

anonymous asked:

What exactly is the point of a sheepdog having such a long coat, wouldn't it just get mated when their working?

Can’t speak for all breeds, but the point was pretty much to keep them safe from rough weather conditions and to protect them.

In Tibetan terriers, a multi purpose breed that also herd, they definitely aren’t brushed in Tibet. Yes it gets matted, extremely so, but they are often sheared once a year like a sheep basically during the summer, but it’ll be long again in the winter to protect them.

When a dog is a pet, the coat won’t wear down as much as it would if the dog was a working dog. A lot of show people in some breeds really avoid all breakage by bathing very often, banding, etc so the coat does grow longer than it would if the dog was working all the time.
In some breeds it has certainly by exaggerated somewhat over the years because the dogs aren’t expected to work all the time (there’s not enough demand in some breeds anymore either). But in TTs for example, the native TTs from Tibet will still grow full coats when the coat is taken care of.

Sorry if this was super shitty it’s 5am and I’m on mobile whoops

anonymous asked:

guess who's back, back again. the very same anon whose ask you just answered. yo I didn't mean to make u feel like u shouldn't share ur feelings on here. by all means do. don't ever delete anything bc of someone else. it's ur blog, u should feel free to say whatever u want on here, I understand that. I just recognized that ur digging urself down a hole rn bc I've done it myself so many times before and I guess I just got frustrated on ur behalf. I don't want u to go down that downward spiral x

i’m sorry i just genuinely feel super shitty about this whole pinof thing and when i feel bad about something i post about it but this time i can’t bc every time i do people start sending me shit and idk i’ve never in my life been genuinely bothered by anons before (annoyed maybe but that’s it) but today i’m just a fucking Mess

ik u didn’t mean anything by it it’s fine