#Milestone Generations

[horse-breed-a-day]

i got a B on my crime scene investigation final!!

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

kissing down their body - General Marcus Acacius

900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts

bio : This story is part of the 900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts.

person ordering: @baronessvonglitter

warnings : fluff, loose treatment of religion, marital relationship

[my masterlist]

The moment he stepped through the door to your shared home, he knew what awaited him. The emperor had kept him in the palace longer than Marcus had anticipated, even though he had promised you that you would spend the afternoon together. By now, the sun had long since set, and the crickets were making noise in the garden as he made his way to your chamber.

His boots echoed quietly down the hallway, the door creaked.

"Love, I beg your forgiveness." he began, and in an instant his voice was stuck in his throat.

He noticed you sitting in the candlelight on the bed. The flickering flames danced on your skin. Once again, his eyes filled with your beautiful sight. The delicate fabric that wrapped around your body emphasized your figure.

To Marcus, you were the most beautiful human being in the world, perfect, complete, unearthly. Being with you was like being with someone almost divine, and no, he wasn't exaggerating. The heart of General Marcus Acacius belonged entirely to you.

You looked up at him from the scroll you were reading. "Long day, beloved?"

“Yes, indeed.” He replied, stepping closer to you. He leaned down to brush his lips against yours, but you turned your face away slightly, his warm lips barely brushing your delicate cheek. Marcus picked up on the signal immediately. “Are you angry, my lady?”

"And what do you think, General?" the title falling from your lips should have given him a clear signal of the situation he was in. Yes, Emperor Geta could give him orders, but outside the palace, you were the one in charge.

Marcus smiled. He knew this game very well, he loved playing it with you, the only ruler of his heart.

He took the scroll from your hand and placed it on the table before kneeling in front of you. Warm hands carefully removed your sandals. “You know perfectly well that I didn’t want to be there. However, the emperor expected me to be.”

"What about your wife's expectations? Are they less important?" your voice was resonant, you only pretended to be angry and you both knew it perfectly well.

Marcus lifted your foot and placed a warm kiss above your ankle. "Your skin smells of lavender. You know how much I love it..."

"You're changing the subject, General," you snorted, but a small smile crossed your shapely lips. You could never stay mad at him for long. Marcus was your weakness, your salvation and curse at the same time, the love of your life.

Soft lips left their marks on your calf, on your knee, a few more kisses were placed on your thigh. “A wife’s anger is worse than the anger of the gods,” he whispered as you ran your fingers through his curly hair. He lifted his eyes and looked at you, then turned his head and kissed your wrist. “Neither Jupiter nor Mars… No god dares to stand before my angry wife. Tell me, oh goddess, what should I do to gain your favor?”

"You're doing quite well, General." you replied.

Marcus's mouth began its journey further. Your forearm, the soft skin of your arms, your collarbone, the crook of your neck - each of these places was visited by lips hungry for you. You closed your eyes as he stopped just below your ear, his warm, low voice filling you.

"Let me honor you tonight, my lady. It is the only way to atone for my sins."

A quiet sigh escaped your chest as the straps of your robe slid down. The brown eyes of your beloved husband darkened, but the love and admiration for you did not leave them.

"Tell me, Marcus..." you spoke quietly, taking his face in your tender hands, brushing the unruly locks of hair away from his face. "Tell me about the first time you saw me."

He smiled. It wasn't the first time you had asked him that, and he loved the story that had gone from a casual encounter to a mythical event.

"It was a day blessed by the gods. Perfect from the moment the first rays of the sun fell to the earth..." You kissed his soft lips, sipping the next words from his tongue. Between the next kisses that marked your body, you listened to the story of the birth of your love. Perfect in every form and shape. A feeling that no one could take away from you, neither the Emperor nor the war. A gift from the gods for ordinary mortals.

[nathaniacolver]

amanda overton is the wlw writers' GOAT nobody talk to me

(link for the article)

she said let's give LESBIANS everything the straights have already had time and time again

i knew the romeo & juliet teas were real

she had all the right inspirations. tomb raider, mass effect, tlou. gosh i love her.

THIS IS WHY CHRISTIAN AND ALEX ARE ALSO THE GOATSSSSSSSS wow i need more feminist men in my life bro.

yuri cocaine YURI COCAINEEEEEEEEE

YURI COCAINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

amanda overton, every single oldest sister lesbian in the entire WORLD owes you their very lives.

[spellmage]

my Nevarra headcanon is that they love Memento Mori rings

[musette22]

Aaahhh you guys! 🥹 very rarely check my follower count these days because I don't like keeping track of that stuff anymore (and also this is tumblr, like, come on). But I did just happen to see this (6k! wow) and I feel like it's worth a quick little post, just because I'm so very grateful that after all these years I am still here, yelling and crying about these boys with all of you, and it means so much that we're all in this together!!

Fandom is such an important, wonderful part of my life, and I love it so much, but it wouldn't be a fraction as amazing without the sense of community we've created together. So thank you to everyone who's in this with me, whether you're new here or you've been here for a while, whether we've interacted in some way or not, and thank you for loving these boys too ❤️

[alyssa-ai]

💞 2000 💞

Oh my gosh! there are 2,000 of you following me. 😘

Thank you all, thank you a thousand times for your presence, your support, your little comments, your likes, your reblogs, in short, for all the exchanges 🤗 And I won't forget a shout-out to my friends, whom I consider close friends here 🥰

I would never have imagined this a year ago when I started my blog.

2,000 may not seem like a lot to some, but it means a lot to me, knowing you're all here. 😊

Thank you all 💞

[pretzlforpresident]

I redrew my first ever drawings of Shadow the Hedgehog after a year of being a Sonic fan! Also, thank you all so much for 800 followers :>

[sonicboomrevisited]

SCOURGE AAAAAAHHHH

Scourge the hedgehog dropping at 8PM EST with some added lore ;)

[taistelutaide]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 25000 likes!

Dreamland

Anton's rival Tuomas sent him to straight dreamland in brutal fashion, but all Anton is dreaming of is... massive, cocky, Alpha man Tuomas.

"You liked that didn't you?" He grunts. "There's more where that came from. Probably more than you can handle." He smirks.

Anton can't take his eyes off the man, making a tent of his trunks as he tries to make sense of the irresistible urge to rip them off and show Tuomas just how much he liked it. 25 000 likes? No. More. Way more.

More than I can handle, he blissfully recollects as the blow by blow of their fight surges through his mind, the rippling of Tuomas's muscles, the power of his fists, Anton shivers, submitting to the waves of sheer ecstasy that wash over him, through him, Ohhh fuuuuuu... He thinks, recalling the blinding flash as the knockout punch connects, and Tuomas's stunning, cocksure face the last thing he sees... his lips so close he could almost taste them... Anton succumbs... cums... cums...

"...Cleanup on aisle three... oh man that's a lot of... you might want to bring a bucket..."

Anton hears the amused and impressed voices of the paramedics echoing, as if far away... he's still too blissed-out to notice or care.

He drifts off, returning to land of dreams... the most intense dreams he's ever had... all of Tuomas... until the morning sun wakes him up, aching all over though still in one piece... but disappointingly alone.

[anderii]

1000 followers

Among my lovely presents yesterday was the notification that I had reached 1000 followers. Thank you all so much for making me a part of your life.

Anderii 🩷

[generatedblacklove]

Thank you all for the support, love & thank you for 10000 likes!✨Much appreciated💕🙏.

[squidsinashirt]

Concerning, really.

[holyfreaks]

I personally think if you're doing a fandom-wide event but exclude certain ships/tropes bcuz you PERSONALLY don't like them is. weird. like. at best you're being exclusionary and at worst you're being an asshole.

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! Huge congratulations on your 2k milestone - it is so well deserved!!

Could I possibly get "Let's Hear it for the Boy" with our beloved ginger general?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!

Drunk / In Love

Track 3: Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams - Give me a character and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would want you to show them that you love them. 

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry it took me so long!

The idiots from these two stories are back again. Sorry I'm obsessed with them (I'm not sorry at all). Warnings for some minor sexual content and weird consent issues!

Phasma said you were drunk.

What she failed to mention was how—how drunk you were, or how you ended up that way. It was only supposed to be a friendly dinner when Hux first suggested it (and didn't stop suggesting it until Phasma finally gave in).

He thought if you made connections here—even just one—that it might make you more comfortable being with him on this ship, and so far from anything familiar.

Although this might be too familiar.

He reaches the door to Phasma's quarters and they glide open automatically, programmed to recognize his approach. He sees Phasma seated at the table, out of uniform, a smirk playing on her wine-stained mouth.

Armitage is not prepared for the dark flash in his peripherals, or the arms around his neck.

Your embrace frightens him, and that alone is enough to leave him feeling hot, stomach swimming, even when he recognizes your touch on instinct. It has him weak at the knees, just this, has his heart in his throat as all the alarm and panic well up inside him, threatening to spill out.

Then your lips meet his. 

There's been a handful of almost-affectionate moments shared between you. The brush of your hand as you wished him goodbye one morning. A kiss on the cheek that missed its target, landing at the edge of his lips.

But nothing like this.

Hux can feel your mouth shift against his, lips turning up at the corners, and the little laugh that passes through them—maybe at the way his hands hang limply at his sides, or the crop of perspiration blooming at his collar from the warmth of your skin, the smell of you. He can't make himself kiss you back, although he wants to.

He really, really wants to.

There's no malice in your eyes when you pull away—Armitage doesn't think you're capable of malice. You smile at him sweetly, taking his hands in both of yours.

"I missed you," you tell him, each word bleeding into the next, eyes half-lidded and hazy from whatever you'd been drinking, "did you miss me?"

"I- uh, yes," he answers—unavoidably honest—his eyes flitting towards Phasma, who's so pleased with herself it practically drips from her, hanging heavier on her shoulders than the armour she usually wears.

A hot anger floods through his stomach, spiked with acrid shame. He doesn’t need any witnesses to his inept attempts at marriage.

Your smile widens, every facet of you bursting with delight knowing that he’s missed you in the hours since you last spoke his name, and then he’s back in your embrace, the sound of sweet laughter in his ear. 

He reaches out for something to brace himself on, and finds nothing. It takes everything in him to keep standing. 

Armitage peels your arms from around his neck, putting a desperate inch of distance between himself and the press of your body. 

"Why don't we let the captain get some rest?" he asks.

Your enthusiasm at the suggestion turns his stomach into knots.

He's able to usher you through the empty halls at a speed just short of a jog, one hand at your waist to keep you from stumbling, and the other wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop any further attempts at touching him.

And, though he can’t puzzle it out just yet—with the warmth of you still against him—he knows something is wrong with you. Something that wine alone could not bring on.

Armitage knows you don’t want him. Not like this. 

Yet you practically drag him through the doors of your quarters, mouth planted against his before the mechanical lock whirs into place. 

All the desire in him makes him sick—feverish and weak. His body shudders against yours, nerves trying to break through skin at the gentleness of your touch.

“Armitage,” you whine, pouty in a way he’s never heard before—always so polite and obliging when you’re sober, “kiss me back.”

He couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to, even though he knows it would be better for both of you—knows the way this memory will torture him endlessly, until the moment he dies. Maybe long after that. 

But still, he cups your face in shaking hands, and presses his uncertain lips to yours.

And it’s nothing like all the times he’s thought about this—about taking you, feeling the warmth of your breath mingling with his own, pulling you tight against him with his arm at your waist and kissing, kissing, kissing you, until he tires of the feeling, until he rids himself of all his hideous need to be loved and to be wanted. 

It’s nothing like he imagined because he’s terrified. Because he can’t manage to move the ways he wants to, tripping over his feet when you stumble deeper into his chambers. Because his stomach roils at the feel of your tongue against his stubbornly closed mouth, and his arms shake with the need to move, but his hands stay where he placed them, holding hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer with enough force that part of him wonders if he’s hurting you. 

And still, your mouth on his, your wandering, eager hands. 

The room spins; Armitage’s reason leaves him when his feet lift from the floor, your body underneath him, and below that the cushion of his bed molding you together.

Still kissing. Still you. Your hand, guiding his down the thrumming pulse of your neck, lower. Lower.

Armitage is on the other side of the bed before the thought of how wrong what he has done truly registers, his feet planted and one hand pushing back the fallen strands of his hair.

 “Armitage?”

He curses the day you learned his name, curses the ill, vile part of him that wants to go back. 

He clears his throat and finds it doesn’t steady him at all. 

“You- you should get some rest, I think.”

Your movements are clumsy as you crawl to him on your knees, fighting against the thick bedspread and the fabric of your skirt. There’s a little huff on your lips when you reach him, eyes big and wide and brimming with glistening tears. 

“Why don’t you want me?” you whisper, and tears well up to their breaking point, slipping down your cheeks.

Fuck. He wants to touch you, and knows it’s a terrible idea, palms aching beneath the leather he wears and hates—now more than ever when it keeps him from you. His hand reaches out against his will, hovering just out of reach of your skin and the tears he can’t manage to wipe away because, once again, he is the cause of all your suffering. 

 “You’re- you’re drunk, darling. You’ll feel better if you just-”

“No,” you tell him, pushing his hand away with your own, “why don’t you want me ever?”

Oh, gods. Armitage recoils like you’ve slapped him, the sting of those words and what they mean destroying everything—every moment he’s agonized over since he first saw you and knew you had to be his. 

“You . . . you can’t possibly believe that.” 

You nod your head, fists curled at your sides petulantly, and your stubbornness would make him laugh, if it weren’t so sad.

“I do,” he whispers, then swallows, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. It gives him something to look at, watching your elegant fingers intertwine with his. “I do, but I—”

How much of this will you remember? Even now, the idea of revealing this soft, vulnerable part of him strikes fear into his very core, has him wishing he could run, wishing he could escape the way your eyes flay him wide open.

Your hand against his chest, he can feel his own heartbeat meet the shapes of your fingertips, molding to you. Armitage meets your gaze, and as frightening as it is, there’s no part of him that could deny how deeply he craves it.

“Please forgive me,” he stutters, and there aren't words for him to explain everything he needs to, just the truth. “I am—oh, gods—I am a ruinous man.” 

He watches you, the muscles working in your jaw, the way your brows pull together, examining him, weighing the assessment of himself that he’s offered to you. 

“No,” you tell him, “no you’re not.”

He thinks you might kiss him again, as close as you are. Close enough for him to count each of your lashes, map the constellations you’ve hidden in your eyes. 

You drop to the mattress instead, and the look you give him has him holding back a laugh, the mix of stubbornness and grudging deference that has Armitage wondering how hard it’s been for you to play at obedience in your union.

“You should change,” he tells you, just resting on the edge of the bed, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

It’s easier to talk to you when you’re like this. It has Armitage feeling like he’s the one intoxicated, and he is, in a way. Because what if this is your most honest self? 

He didn’t think you could make him love you any deeper, but you’ve managed. 

“Don’t care,” you mumble into the pillows, trying to brush him away with a waving hand. He takes it in his own.

“You’ll ruin your dress.” 

There’s a look of intense focus on your face, and he wonders if you’ll refuse again. Maybe you don’t care about the dress either, although Armitage would be disappointed. It’s one of his favorites from your incredibly extensive wardrobe—a beautiful black and cream confection that always catches his eye.

But you shift instead, turning to look up at him. “Kiss me.”

Stars, not again. Not now, when the weakest parts of him are so palpable. “I- I don’t-”

You flop into a sitting position, hold a single finger up between your faces.

“One kiss,” you concede, “okay?”

He nods, despite himself. You wait patiently for his approach, still and hardly breathing through your parted lips as he slides closer. Armitage keeps his eyes open, and so do you, heavy as they are, watching the distance between your faces fade into nothing.

It’s not like the other times he’s kissed you, although all but one had happened only a few moments ago. You let him set the pace, his lips just barely brushing your own, a sigh bubbling up from deep inside his lungs. He can only offer a little more pressure before he’s lightheaded again, little bursts of light dancing across his vision.

He pulls back from what could hardly be called a kiss, and waits for your disappointment, for your insistence that he try again, that there must be something more, or better, that he’s kept from you. 

Armitage doesn’t want you to know that there’s nothing else to hope for. 

You don’t say a word about it though. Just flop your arms out in front of you, waiting, satisfied in your demands.

“Help me.”

And it passes like that, with more bribes in the form of barely-there presses of his lips to yours—a kiss for you to raise your arms as he slips something soft and oversized over your head, a kiss for you to clumsily remove the dress from underneath. A kiss to get you to leave him for a moment while he changed into his own night clothes after you’d begged and begged for him to spend the night beside you, and a kiss upon his return.

It feels like a lifetime of kisses to Armitage. He doesn’t know what that number would be for anyone else, but you’ve certainly exceeded it for him. He could die in his sleep tonight and have more than he ever deserved. 

And now you’re curled up beside him a hand at his waist, your head on his chest. Armitage breathes, but only barely, hoping he won’t wake you. 

The tension drains from him, his body the closest it’s been to relaxed in ages. He wonders if he should ask Phasma to invite you to dinner again.

He hopes the next time he kisses you, you'll be sober enough to remember it.

[alyssa-ai]

Et voilà!

A year ago, I created my blog on Tumblr, encouraged and helped by my beloved sister Chacha (@chacha-love) 😘 My goal was simply to create a visual diary, using AI to recreate these moments, a way to record time in a different way. What I discovered was much more than that: I met people, made friends, and gained the support of many of my followers (almost 2,000 soon 😯).

Here, it's like a small island, detached from the real world, and the kindness is still there. 🤗🥰

One year is also an opportunity to thank you all for who you are: the followers, the friends from the very beginning, those with whom we participate in small challenges, always fun, the private discussions always enriching, and above all, never any meanness. On Tumblr, I feel good here. A special thank you to @dryndelicate who has been here since I started, lot of kisses to Satin-chic, Danni, Fluffy, Anderii, Prettiesforyou, and all the others (the list would be too long). And also big hugs to my Sarah and my Gigi. 😘💋🤗 (@sarahwellshunter. @gigiprinceton2 )

On May 13, 2024, I created my account. On the 14th, I published my first post (522 posts today 😯), a photoshoot image reproduced by AI. My Lora facial wasn't quite perfect yet. and I was discovering this tool with wonder, and at the same time, noting its complexity.

For this one-year anniversary, I wanted to recreate this image, symbolizing my first post on Tumblr, like a milestone.

Original article from May 14, 2024:

Thank you all for being there, for being who you are ❤️

[fitzpeace]