#nefertempitou

[fuck-customers]

i had to explain to a fully grown man who came into the latino restaurant where i worked what a quesadilla is. when i say fully grown i mean this man was at least 40.

[girlbossfranziskavonkarma]

which drawing was it specifically that inspired drake abbachio??? ive been trying to find it so i can explain it to a friend

[podcastwizard]

if you like reading about food in excruciating detail in fantasy novels then i highly recommend the Books of Pellinor by Alison Croggon, i think she's just the absolute best at describing food ever

thank you for the rec!

[bisexualize]

⭐ !!!!

ur kin is ggio from bleach! 

[genmukai]

WAIT OMO WE HAVE THE SAME BIRTHDAY??? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

what, really? o_________________o sixth? either way, happy birthday!!! and thank you!!! 💋

[magesup]

honestly ever since i was drunk and started crying over purring kiri, ive been in love with your art. please dont stress yourself about making new content!! im happy even looking at your old stuff 💜

timetomakenefertempitoucryagain.png

and awwWWWWW A AA A THATS SO SWEET OF YOU THANK YOU

i just want to let you know that your ask remains to be the funniest ask ive ever gotten and it still makes me laugh and smile everytime i look at it

[cashmoneychiyo]

okay but that ending was unexpectedly wholseome

mayu aka the little brother we all deserve(?)

[elderxprice]

✖ for a mafia au, mcpriceley? (i super duper love your writing btw)

au drabble prompts || always accepting

“You’re real bad at this, huh?” Kevin sighs, motioning for Connor to step closer; “Why did we even hire you?”

Connor shrugs, carding a hand through his hair as he stumbles across the room, accidentally knocking into the table that houses Kevin’s drink. It falls to the floor; another gin wasted. “Whoops,” he says, hardly caring at all.

Kevin rolls his eyes, stands and reaches out for Connor’s wrist. “You’ll pay for that,” he murmurs, tugging the other boy close. Their noses touch and Connor laughs. His breath smells like vermouth.

“Not with money, I hope,” he purrs, trailing a finger down Kevin’s chest. “Considering I don’t have any.”

“You would if you were any good,” Kevin points out, allowing Connor to wrap a hand within his tie. “But you’re not.”

“No,” Connor agrees. “I’m not.”

He thinks he wanted to be once, when Kevin found him in a Barnes and Noble café, slinging drinks and looking bored; when Kevin offered him a life of luxury, in exchange for the occasional job. 

Just little things, Kevin had said; dropping off a package here, a little spring cleaning there. You know, stuff like that. 

But it wasn’t stuff like that; it was extortion, and racketeering, and while there was cleaning up, it was not in a spring way - it was in a: we don’t want to get caught, so you better mop up the blood way.

It took all of five minutes for Connor to realize he was in way over his head, but Kevin had a gun and a dazzling smile and really nice hair, so Connor stuck it out as best he could until he got stabbed. Lucky for him, people don’t usually die from a knife to the top of the foot. 

How do you get stabbed in the foot, Kevin had laughed, pulling Connor onto his lap. Idiot.

With any luck, this incompetence will be enough to get him out of their deal, but for now he’s content to stay close to his boss - to Kevin, who wears three-piece suits and thousand-dollar shoes; who snorts pixie sticks, to get his friends off his back; who knows where to touch and kiss and lick, to drive him absolutely mad.

Kevin who was not at all made for this life.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Kevin says, pulling Connor from his reverie. “For getting you mixed up in all this.”

Connor snorts, slipping a hand down between them. Kevin is already hard. “Liar,” he says. “You’re not sorry at all.”

“No, I am.” Kevin grunts, rocking his hips into Connor’s palm. “I just wanted you here, with me, that’s all. There was probably a better way to do that, though, now that I think about it.”

Connor hums, walking Kevin back towards the couch, until the back of Kevin’s knees hit against it and he sits. “Oh yeah?” Connor settles himself in Kevin’s lap, splaying his hands over the other boy’s chest. “How?”

“I could have taken you to dinner,” Kevin says, voice thick. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip as Connor reaches for his belt; “Bought you flowers, treated you real nice. Better than this,” he adds. “Like you deserve.”

Connor doesn’t doubt that. Kevin is nice and kind and empathetic. He prays and cries in secret. He writes in a journal Connor found while snooping around, wishing there was a way out of this life. 

“You still could,” Connor points out. “What’s stopping you?”

“You know what.” Kevin reaches for Connor’s hips; “It’s my –”

“Don’t,” Connor warns. “That is such a turn-off.”

“You asked.” Kevin arches a brow, looking rather smug for someone who was just about to talk about their dad, during sex.

“Rhetorically.” Connor wants to shush Kevin, to cut him off with rough and hungry kisses, because it always hurts to hear this excuse. “You were worth being stabbed in the foot,” he says, instead, sliding off the couch and onto his knees. “Why aren’t I worth the same?”

Kevin swallows thickly, watching as Connor’s hands trail slowly up his thighs; “is that a rhetorical question?” 

“No,” Connor says. “It’s not.”