the saturday-sunday night diabolical "life is falling apart"- to do list followed by a mad scramble

I love Raph and haven’t said that enough so to be more specific I love that Raph is a soft boy who loves bear plushies, a gross boy who eats an assortment of things that are definitely better left alone, a smart boy who is more than capable of taking down villains through planning and fortitude alike, a strong boy who is dedicated to training his muscles and fighting prowess, a teenage boy who loves his brothers but is more than happy to tease and roughhouse with them, an angry boy who sometimes lets his anger take a hold of him to cover the fear, a gentle boy who is generous with hugs and affirmations to those he loves, a capable boy who takes on more than should ever be expected of a teenager, a good boy who just wants to be a hero and slowly comes to realize the cost of that duty, a good boy who has no reservations about putting himself in the way of harm coming to his family, a good boy who’s a great brother and son and person and deserves only the best the world has to offer.

Expect clip posting to slow down due to irl nonsense.

Also from the 11th to the 18th I won’t have any computer access and very little internet access but I’ll schedule a couple clips beforehand for that week 🫡

new wip wednesday

i wanted to get the first chapter of this done as an early bday present to me because ive been talking about this fic for foreverrrrr but its not gonna happen because im bad at measuring time and effort 😮‍💨 but look! hunger games au fic!

Anakin pushes his face into his neck, letting his lips press against his pulse for a moment. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, recognition and warning rolled into one tone. 

But Anakin wouldn’t be who he is if he allowed the man in his arms to so easily twist away. He wouldn’t even be here now, pressed up against him with the scent of saltwater and lilacs and leather filling his nose, if he let one warning word distract him from his goal.

So instead he pushes further, wraps his hands around Obi-Wan’s hips and takes the skin beneath his lips between his teeth. The soft fabric of their pants brush together, so loud in the stillness of the kitchen that it’s deafening—that it’s almost loud enough to drown out the catch in Obi-Wan’s breathing.

But Anakin has trained himself over the past five years to listen for all the small ways that Obi-Wan Kenobi capitulates, so he hears his sigh, feels the slump of his shoulders against his own as his head sways forward and then back.

Anakin takes his time worrying a bitemark into his neck, just at the edge of his beard. On the holos that will film Obi-Wan’s face today, it’ll look like a shadow. 

But Anakin will know. Obi-Wan will know. 

“Anakin,” his lover murmurs, and Anakin’s hand moves from his waist up to stroke down his arm, corded with tense muscle. Fisherman’s muscle. Victor’s muscle too.

Not today, he means. It’s obvious in every line of his body. It’s obvious in the fact that he left the bed so early in the morning when neither of them must work. It’s obvious in the distance in his eyes, the frown across his lips.

Today is not a day where Obi-Wan will accept pleasure from anyone’s lips or hands, undeserving as he feels to be on the receiving end of such a kindness.

Anakin’s left hand falls to cover Obi-Wan’s, tangling their fingers together. His are rougher than Obi-Wan’s, working man’s hands now that he is twenty-one and a man of the sea like most are on Stewjon. The rough drag of his calluses over the hairy knuckles of Obi-Wan’s hand makes Anakin swallow a smile. Victors of the Hunger Games are forbidden from working laborious jobs. They’re meant to languish away in their Coruscanti-funded manors, with idle minds and idle hands, picking at paints or design stencils or any number of different government approved hobbies

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not made to be idle. He has no patience for painting or sewing, for cooking or jewelry design. Luckily for him, Stewjon is the fourth planet from Coruscant, on the edge of the inner rim, and it’s rather small, rather ordinary. In the colder months, during the few months of the star year where the galaxy is not forced to care about the Hunger Games and its Victors, he can slip away to the ocean. Fish and sail like he was born to do, Stewjoni through and through.

But Anakin is out on those choppy seas year-round now that he’s four years finished with his compulsory education. His hands are rougher than Obi-Wan’s and they always will be.

Anakin likes it. Likes the way Obi-Wan’s softness contrasts against his own rougher places. Likes that he can sneak away from Obi-Wan’s manor in the blue of the pre-dawn light, first to the sea and then to the market, and Obi-Wan will be there when he gets back. Likes that when he leaves, his lover is curled up asleep in their bed. And when he returns with the fattest fish from his haul, Anakin can cook it for him too. 

He likes that he is the only thing Obi-Wan needs. He provides. He cooks for him. He feeds him. He touches him with his rough hands, to dirty him and then to clean him up. Everything that Obi-Wan needs, Anakin is the person to give it to him.

He supposes he has Coruscant to thank for that.

He’s not stupid enough to say that—ever, but especially today. Especially on the day of the Reaping. 

musicians should make it a point to have daylight shows instead of only nighttime concerts, send tweet

wip wednesday 🫧

hi <3 i was tagged by @giddyupbuck, @fortheloveofbuddie, @wikiangela, and @daffi-990 mwah thank you all so much!

i've been working on the heart attack fic, so have a little something sweet before it all goes sour

Eventually, Eddie and Albert return from their search. Albert sidles up next to Buck and grabs hold of the hose, offering support, while Eddie jerks hard on Buck’s turnout to spin him around. Buck notices he’s not wearing his oxygen mask or air tank and immediately starts fussing.  Eddie accepts Buck’s fretting with a dirty, crooked smile. “Gave my tank to one of the victims,” he says. “I’m going to triage for some oxygen.”  Buck’s chest tightens and he squeezes Eddie’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asks, a half yell. Their radios aren’t needed; they’re close enough to read one another’s lips.   “Yeah,” Eddie answers, frowning. Buck can see his tight lips and pinched forehead, a crinkle in the middle of his brow, and it’s equal parts endearing and worrisome. “Just—can’t take a deep breath. Air’s hot.”  “Are you—” “Just out of air,” Eddie interrupts, smiling softly. He tugs on Buck’s turnout again, something he must’ve picked up from Chris, and Buck steps impossibly closer, knees knocking into Eddie’s. “I’m okay.”  Buck nods, as placated as he’s going to be. “Be careful.” He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder once again before dropping his hand. “Follow the hose.”  “I will.” Eddie’s smile grows, crooked and bright. He fists Buck’s turnout and pulls him close, butting his forehead against the visor of Buck’s mask like an affectionate dog. “See you out there, cowboy.”  Dazed, a little mesmerized and a lot in love, Buck watches Eddie follow the hose carefully, quickly, until his figure’s concealed by smoke and he alerts over the radio he’s made it outside. He shakes his head, clears the warm fuzzy feeling Eddie always seems to cultivate when he’s sweet, and gets back to work.  Albert nudges his shoulder. “What was that about?”  Buck grins, cheeks hot. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he replies, chuckling at Albert and Hen’s twin bark of laughter.

no pressure tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz, @eddiediaztho, @callmenewbie, @wildlife4life, @watchyourbuck, @disasterbuckdiaz, @rogerzsteven, @thewolvesof1998, @folk-fae, @hippolotamus, @loserdiaz, @honestlydarkprincess, @made-ofmemories, and @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, and anybody else!!

Rooney Shepard (They/Them)/Yorinobu Arasaka Screenshots (8/X)

BONUS AFTERWARDS:

MOD LIST

Taglist (Like this post to opt in/out for edits): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @sergeiravenov, @voidika,

@strangefable, @confidentandgood, @direwombat, @imogenkol, @carlosoliveiraa,

@socially-awkward-skeleton, @cloudofbutterflies92, @captastra, @katsigian, @hookhearted,

@cassietrn, @inafieldofdaisies, @onehornedbeast, @thedeadthree, @clicheantagonist,

@theelderhazelnut,

loving and moving my body this week (06.11.-12.11.)*

Monday. 20 MIN EVENING PILATES TO RELAX AND FEEL CALM - EASY AT HOME WORKOUT

Tuesday. Beginners Belly Dance Tutorial | Beautiful Hips & Arms!

Wednesday. Everyday Pilates Mobility and Stretch | Posture, Hips and Hamstrings

Thursday. Victoria's Secret Train Like An Angel Live: Martha Hunt + Ballet Beautiful

Friday. 20 MIN FULL BODY PILATES WORKOUT FOR BEGINNERS - AT HOME PILATES or Waistline Shimmy | Belly Dance Workout

Saturday. 30 MIN FULL BODY PILATES WORKOUT FOR EVERYBODY - AT HOME PILATES

Sunday. "Chocoholics" Valentine's Day Waist Winding Workout

__

* the idea here was to find fun little ways to stay active according to my schedule this week. This is completely 'no suffering, joy only'. :)

In case the suggestion doesn't feel right for that day, here are some alternatives (12 minutes or less, can also be used as add-ons). No shame in taking it slow! Let's move according to our needs! :) nightime flexibility stretches // bedtime yoga stretch to release stress & tension // 8 min beginner's ballet flexibility. // 10 min | Beginner Belly Dance Workout | Slow & Smooth Tutorial // 15 min Gentle Pilates Workout For Beginners

one of my fave things about teaching is that I’m NOT a counselor and I don’t have to get into the weeds with a student but also I’m part of their life every day and i see when they’re struggling and I can ask how them how they’re doing and make sure that they know I see them on a steady, daily basis and it will be healing for both of us

OTP: Lite Sneeze // Vinnie Gallo & Macha Richter

I wanted to draw them as young adults since I plan to do the same with Zak.

Whenever that happens

"hit his weak spot (the whimper button)" heavy respect for how little you give a shit when it comes to saying absurd tags. whack a mole? whack the whimper button. you get his shreds after you win

Yeah,,

I. Uh . Um

basically this image

sorry. .

the boys are on the prowl

I’m ruined,

Older brothers am I right