No title available
NASA
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
todays bird
Kiana Khansmith
Product Placement
No title available
$LAYYYTER
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Sade Olutola
occasionally subtle
almost home
No title available
blake kathryn
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
titsay
KIROKAZE
d e v o n
dirt enthusiast
Discoholic 🪩
seen from United States
seen from Czechia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Denmark
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Australia
seen from Germany
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
@judasprieist
⸸ 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒..?
aurora — twenty. history nerd. hungarian. old man lover, specifically hayden christensen, edward norton and christoph waltz. @erosmutt 's angel.
⌖
𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐾𝑆: rules | masterlist | anakin skywalker playlist | sam monroe playlist.
© all works belong to me. please don't copy, translate, or post them anywhere without my knowledge or permission — including character.ai and janitor.ai.
Are the aaron/roy stampler requests still open?
yes of course!! :3
judaspireist comeback HELLO! i promise i see all the requests in my inbox and i WILL get to them, just gonna clear out my drafts first :P love youuuu eeeeee
I need him to play a vampire rn
this is genuinely what it feels like to realise you’re a lesbian.
everything makes sense. i knew i was a lesbian when i was a kid, and then as i grew up the world had me convinced i was wrong, surrounded by homophobia, religious trauma, and shame. i identified as bisexual for as long as i can remember, and spent too long wondering if that was really me, up until last year when i realised. i was so confused and i wasn’t sure in fear of being wrong, but i’ve never felt so right in my life. i have hope for the future. i am no longer opposed to marriage. each day that passes me by i feel even more lesbian than yesterday. i don’t have to pretend anymore. i don’t have to settle for a life that wasn’t made for me.
it’s so freeing.
happy lesbian visibility week to lesbians everywhere<3
(also i want lesbian friends hi)
hey <33 i promise i'm still alive, i'm just having some technical difficulties... #broke. hopefully i can finally start posting this week though!! love you :3
happy birthday haydie hope you're getting your dick sucked nasty style for the special occasion
women being obsessed with Leo DiCaprio’s mustache at the Oscars when my man Hayden was doing it in 2015 😭😭
That dieter hellstrom fic was an actual masterpiece woah😭
Little request because omg are you good- hans landa or dieter hellstrom x wife reader who was actually in the war as a combat medic. I feel like the dynamic would be so angsty but interesting with either character having to watch the direct effect of their compliance on someone close. Ugh maybe i just love angst. Do your magic author, mwah❤️
managed chaos
managed chaos
word count: 1391
warnings: mentions of blood, injuries
a/n: i don't know if the plot is clear or not but basically the third reich would instruct nurses to kill off soldiers who were "lost causes" to maintain supplies and not waste them over soldiers who couldn't fight and the reader is trying to keep them alive instead of obeying
it's kinda tough to establish landa in a lovey-dovey setting and i didn't want him too ooc so i tried to make it realistic for his character
the infirmary is cold- and your thin nurse garments do nothing to help shield you. the sounds never seem to cease- you hear multiple at a time. the sounds of soldiers screaming, cries, the occasional thud of a door slammed shut and sometimes even shatter as fresh-faced nurses accidentally drop glass bottles.
the door doesn't close quietly. it never does.
not when your hands are shaking like this.
they hit the frame harder than you mean them to, the sound echoing through hallways before you can stop it. for a fraction of a moment, you just stand there, your back pressed against the cold feel of the door; breath uneven as if you ran the whole way home.
your sleeves are damp- coated red. you didn't notice till now, but the scene painted on your hands seems to represent bloody murder.
you peel your gloves off slowly, one finger at a time- they stick to where the blood has already dried. it itches at your skin as you rip them off, and you swallow hard, staring at the faint smear left behind that runs along your palm.
its not yours of course- never yours.
you gaze around the darkened room with tired, distant eyes before you start to move near the sink without bothering to turn on the lights. the tap stutters before it comes to life. cold. obviously, they always seem to run cold forever.
but you don't wait. your hands go under the water stream immediately, methodically as you watch as the water hits the blood crust around your hands as it turns pink, then red, and then thinner as it drains down the sink like spirals. you scrub harder than you need to- nails digging into your own skin harsh enough that you see the indents.
your trapped in your own head; your own thoughts, until you hear the sound of the door opening once again. slower. quieter. you don't turn around, you already know who it is.
footsteps, sharp, calculated yet familiar.
and they stop just behind you.
for a moment, nothing happens.
its just the water- the cool water running against the palms of your hands, and the sounds of your own shallow breathing.
then his hand reaches past you, before he turns the tap off.
your hands still move around even when the tap turns off, like you haven't noticed it yet. and it does take you a few more seconds until you realise the tap has already been turned off as your hands hover over the sink- useless.
hans landa doesn't say anything.
he simply takes a towel from the side and reaches for your hands.
your hands stiffen on instinct, yet you don't pull away.
he wraps the soft fabric against your hands, firm: not rough but not really gentle either. but enough pressure to still them. enough for you to stop moving.
your fingers twitch against the fabric of the towel once, before going completely still, as if your surrendering.
he guides you slightly, guiding you away from the sink. landa's hands move automatically, examining your hands with caution: your wrists, palms, pushing the blood stained sleeves, almost as if to throughly inspect you to establish injuries.
you have none. the blood isn't yours, he could have asked, but he opted not to.
his grip pauses for a split second, before releasing.
you sink down in a chair without being told to, utterly exhausted.
the room feels small, quiet- as if almost unholy to utter words. you feel like the room is suffocating you- the walls pushing in inch by inch.
your hands are still resting and wrapped up in that stupid towel, sitting in your lap uselessly. the white towel is now slowly bleeding through and turning red as you realise you missed a spot whilst rinsing.
you stare at it- at how familiar it is- at how fast it seems to spread.
yet, hans moves around the room like nothing is wrong.
coat taken from your shoulders. folded, and set aside. medical hat taken off gently and placed on top of the white coat. gloves that were once resting on the sink counter now discarded.
everything is in it's place- neat and orderly.
like, almost as if hans landa can organise it into something clean. something pure, holy.
and you watch his hands more than his face, always steady, and always precise.
like he isn't part of the same world your living in.
your voice comes out meekly, thin and worn down.
" i couldn't leave him there."
your words hang in the air.
almost as if they were wrong the second they were uttered.
your guessing you just weren't supposed to say anything.
but he doesn't react immediately.
he simply finishes what he's doing, adjusting the sleeve of your coat where they had twisted, smoothing the lines flat like it mattered.
then he looks at you. not sharp nor accusing.
just, looking.
as if taking it in.
your hands tighten inside the towel instinctively, as you look away first.
"i tried." you add, although more quieter now.
"I-" you pause, and the rest of it doesn't pass your lips.
you knew you weren't meant to keep him alive for as long as you did.
because the more you explain, the worse it sounds.
because theres no explanation that fixes it.
hans steps closer. his hands reach for your wrists once more, before unwrapping the towel from your hands.
ah- and theres still blood under your fingernails. you missed it.
of course you did.
this thumb presses lightly against your fingers, turning your hand towards light, examining it as if it were porcelain. something that was fragile.
but the grip he has on your hands? its firmer now.
"you are not careful, mein schatz." he says.
its not loud or harsh, it's certain.
your throat constricts around itself.
"i am.." you try, and yet it feels flat, even to your own ears.
"nein. you are trying to be kind." he murmurs.
the words sit...almost wrong in the room.
like it doesn't belong
and you don't answer, because you know if you do, it becomes something real.
and instead, he pulls away slightly,
he doesn't really let go, no- as for a second theres a resistance, before he does let go.
he releases your wrists gently.
you stand fast with meticulous movement, and the chair scrapes against the cold tiling of the floor.
"i just can't-" you start- once again, but then stop, pressing a cold hand against your face, smearing what little blood was on your fingers around your cheek without noticing.
"i just can't stand there and do nothing."
your voice breaks at the last word, not loud, as he watches you silently, not moving and not interrupting.
and it feels worse.
" i know what happens," you say, lower now, "because i see it. i see it every time."
your hands drop down again, quivering like the flame of a candle.
"and i can't just pretend i don't."
silence drops down on the room like a thick curtain. one made of thick velvet.
"you cannot keep doing this to yourself." hans says, his voice dropping a octave.
and theres something different now, it's controlled, but tighter, held back.
you let out a shaky breath, and before thinking you say
"then stop me."
it comes out sharp, and it stings. the second the words leave your lips- you regret it. you regret it badly.
because now? it's his choice.
now it's real.
hans landa doesn't reach out for you this time, doesn't move.
he just stands there, looking at you like he's weighing something that you cannot see.
the seconds stretch out, and your heart shatters. because you already know. you know he won't stop you- and you know deep inside you cannot stop unless someone else stops you.
instead, he reaches out to the sink again, turning the tap on once more.
the water spurs out again, like nothing happened.
he takes your hands back and pulls them gently under the stream.
you don't speak this time.
you don't resist.
and you don't speak.
you just let him clean whats left.
carefully, thoroughly,
like he always does.
he keeps your hands clean.
and you know- tomorrow, they wont stay that way.
and you also know, he's actively letting you get away with it.
attack of the clones where everything's the same except anakin has frosted tips ala
"journalist!anakin" THAT'S STEPHEN GLASS
THISSS OMFG THAT PMO SO BAD. “dilf!anakin” and it’s just hayden now. LIKE JUST MAKE A FIC ABOUT HAYDEN THEYRE THE SAME SAME PEOPLE.
that or "emo!anakin" and it's sam monroe like ohhh my goddd please let anakin rest </3
Christoph Waltz in Der Alte - Episode 100: Zwei Leben (1986)
Link: x
⠀⠀⠀⠀♰⠀ 𓈒 ⠀thinkin'⠀ ⠀'bout 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒
⊱ ۫ ׅ brat tamer ! edward — no warnings
tip jar. m.list.
When you and Edward first met each other, it was glaringly obvious to him that you were a brat. However, he didn't know just how much of a brat you truly were.
It's a regular occurrence that you pout and whine and huff and puff and turn away whenever something doesn't go your way, but it's infinitely worse whenever it involves him. Edward has always been one for discipline — he can't imagine not having a life without his meticulous routines and schedules. So, when you both integrated your lives, your life unstructured and askew, he knew he had to do something about it.
Today, you two are supposed to go out. Nothing extravagant, just the mall. He wanted to be there early, you didn't want to be up early. So after a compromise, you decided on 11 o'clock. Not too early, not too late.
Edward lets himself into your apartment with his key. "Sweetheart?" He calls, tossing the keys into the bowl by the door. He makes his way to your bedroom and sighs. You're still in bed, bundled up in the blankets, your phone peeking out from underneath, the light illuminating your face.
"Sweetheart," he sits down, gently shaking you, the patience in his voice slowly but surely running out. "You were supposed to be up an hour ago. What's going on?" He asks softly, using the tone he usually reserves for his son on days when he isn't feeling well.
You peek from underneath the heap of blankets, pouting. "Go 'way."
Standing there for a moment, he sort of just stares at you, taken aback by your audacity. Then, he gathers the hem of the blankets in his hand and snatches them down to your hips, not letting you pull them back up. "No. You've had more than enough time to get up. We agreed on going out at eleven, and it's noon. You should have been up and ready hours ago. Now, if you don't want to go out, you don't have to, but you do have to get up out of bed today." He explains firmly.
You simply stay there for a moment, curled on your side, before slowly stretching your limbs out and pushing yourself up, sitting on the side of the bed.
Edward slides off the bed and kneels down in front of you, his hands coming to rest on your knees. "I'm not mad at you. You just have to understand that you have to be responsible. You have to be a big girl." He leans down and presses a kiss to your knee before offering you his hands. You want to stay upset and pouty. You really, really do. He just makes it so hard to stay mad. So you take his hands, letting him pull you up off the bed as he stands up.
"There you go," he says, letting you go. As you wander off to the bathroom, he goes to your drawers, laying out an outfit for you. You finish up, coming back to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, and observe the outfit for a moment. "I don't wanna wear that."
He looks at you, raising an eyebrow. "Why not? What's wrong with it?" He asks. You sit on the bed. "It's too plain." You pout. "Well we're just going to the mall, you don't have to dress up." He informs you, offering you a different pair of jeans. "There, is this better? What are you going for? Skirt? Pants? We're just going there and back."
"Other people are gonna be dressed up in their cute outfits, and then when they see me, they'll think I look gross and plain! Just let me find something. Go 'way. Shoo." You gently usher him to the side, moving past him and going to the closet. He stares at you, blinking in disbelief. "Sweetheart, it's the mall. People don't care." "Well I care! Leave me alone!"
The tone of your voice immediately pisses him off. He steps up to you and grabs your shoulder, making you look back at him. As you try to tug away, he tightens his grip. Not hard, just enough to let you know that you aren't allowed to look away right now.
"Listen to me," he begins, his blue eyes searching yours, making sure you're at least halfway paying attention. "Are you listening?" You nod, your lips fixed into an offended pout. "I do not care what people outside of us think. What I do care about is you raising your voice at me. So you're going to tell me what you did wrong, and apologize. Do you understand me?" He asks.
You stare up at him with wide eyes, your cheeks warming in embarrassment. "Um... I raised my voice at you. I'm sorry." Your fingers mess with the hem of your towel, your posture shortening. "Good girl. Now, pick out what you want to wear." He says, leaning down and pressing a gentle, rewarding kiss to your forehead.
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ written by erosmutt march 12th. 2026 please do not plagiarize, copy, or translate to other websites. if inspired please credit @erosmutt in your post. ♱ @addictedtohobi ⋆ @judasprieist ⋆ @schizo-toddhoward ⋆ @ilovekmchenzie ⋆ @soleil825 ⋆ @splattsmatt ⋆ @rottengrove
christoph waltz as regus patoff in the consultant, 2023.
i saw ur reblog about how people can tell when you use ai or chatgpt for your fics. i was genuinely wondering how can you tell? sorry if it sounds dumb😀
it doesn't sound dumb at all!! i don't know much about chatgpt but for me personally, it's very obvious when a person is writing something based off of a character ai/janitor ai roleplay, or is at least heavily inspired by it. which irks me not just because it's extremely generic and boring after a while, but i believe it also won't improve your writing OR will cause you to regress.
there are certain sentences and expressions that are overused by ai bots, and if you use them or are familiar with the way they roleplay, it's very easy to pick up on them in fanfiction. of course there are times when i'm only slightly suspicious but with some fics, it might as well be a copy paste of an ai roleplay.
fanfic isn't an act of activism by the way. it's a fun hobby. writers write whatever they want for themselves as their silly little getaway/self-care. if you want "more representation" of something in fanfics, then you write fanfics about that thing you want. nobody is stopping you. but saying other fanfic writers as a whole are "the problem" or are "to blame" for "not including xyz" or "not writing about xyz" just isn't how fanfics and hobbies work.
we all can tell when you use AI/chatgpt to write your fanfics btw. and i’m sick and tired of it
