#and them touching props

[stormofneurosis]

Destiny church

If you're a kiwi, you know, and might be able to do something

There's a petition gathering signatures to remove their tax exempt status

https://petitions.parliament.nz/a22e0d59-7da2-4edd-35f1-08dc74762dc5

For those of you who are kiwi and don't know, they're the church that thinks domestic violence is just "men being men" and that women should put up and shut up.

They think gay people are corrupt souls

Their leader Brian Tamaki encouraged mass gatherings at his church during covid lockdowns, while he hid out at his private estate and lead the prayer remotely (i.e. encouraged his followers to break the lockdowns while staying safe from the repercussions of them but also causing potential super-spreader events).

He is a RICH FUCK who loves to play groups against each other, a small minded bigot who steals money from people to make his own horde bigger.

He does not deserve to have his hate group be tax exempt

[simswoon]

Changed plans…

previous // next // beginning

Lennon: "So…I got in. Distinguished degree at Britechester."

Theo: "Holy shit! That’s amazing, Len!"

Theo (whispering): "I'm so proud of you."

Lennon: "Did you hear back yet?"

Theo: "Uh…I didn’t actually apply."

Lennon: "So what’s the plan? You’ll just…stay here while I go across the country?"

Theo: "I don’t know, Lenny. College isn’t really my thing. You know that."

Theo: "I mean, why does it have to be so complicated? Can’t we just…figure it out as we go?"

Lennon: "That’s not a plan, Theo. That’s just hoping everything works out."

Lennon: "It’s not just about college, Theo. It’s about us, about what we had planned. Do you even care what happens to us?"

Theo: "Of course, I care."

Theo: "We’ll figure this out, Lenny. Long distance isn’t easy, but I’ll call you every day and visit when I can. We'll be okay."

Lennon (quietly): "Yeah…"

[crystalpallette]

oops forgot to post here. finished my mockups for some spacetime detective keychains :) these are the most convoluted id photos ive ever seen

[andi-o-geyser]

something about the show treating percy's use as only being to serve vex's joy kinda fucking hurts. like vex is distraught, she was in the stream and she was here, that's true. but they are framing this as if it's a romantic loss only and it's making me lose my mind. people don't lose their use to others when they enter a relationship. they don't just become somebody's partner. they're still a person. percy was a full person and vox machina is a family and everyone loved him. that was the point of tearing ripley apart in the original glintshore fight, they were nothing but pure rage because they just watched somebody they love die and at the end of the day, past the monsters and world ending threats everything is about their love with each other, as a group; platonic, familial, romantic, but love as a FAMILY. that is critical to understand. they are who they are because they all love each other, they love each other to the ends of the earth. and the show just. doesn't acknowledge that. percy died so vex could feel sad and that's it. truly what even is the point if nobody else cares. the death doesn't matter if nobody else cares. so percy's death doesn't matter.

[sapp0w0]

Drew this cuz a friend said they look similar pfft

[flaskuwu]

I wanted to make a dunmeshi oc…

[avaeavalley]

can i say i do not give two fucks abt the mc

[oddestishottest]

I have an orchid plant that was gifted to me a long time ago, as a Valentine's day gift. It quickly started dying, and I discovered the orchid was basically potted in a death-trap. I did some research, bought a repotting kit, and learned how to care for it. Somehow, it survived from just the two remaining living parts, some roots.

It lives with the rest of my plants as long green leaves, having sprouted a few new leaves over the years. I understood it may stay just leaves, from what I had read/heard ...but after THREE YEARS of loving and tending to it it's starting to produce a flower again. Guys I'm gonna cry

Edit/Update: I was sooo nervous but I just staked it - look at my janky setup lmao

[thekeatoncadet]

Wanted to redo a couple character refs before Art Fight starts! :]

[taraxippos]

There's a photo of me at age 11 tied to a tree with a jumprope and wearing a Green Bay Packers helmet while a white-tailed deer is standing literally within a few feet of me and looking directly into the camera ft. green eyeshine.

The photo only exists on the hard drive of a dead old computer and I want to see it again so badly but it might be irretrievable and it breaks my heart...

[deviousdiesel]

.

[linda-bates]

yknow what.... i forgot that 9-1-1 straight up addressed medical fatphobia at one point

[eraserbread]

pregnancy hormones don't stand a chance around your husband, nanami ✧

→ needy pregnant f!reader, whipped nanami, sexually explicit content

"hope that books not more interesting than me," you whisper, propped against the open bedroom door, dressed in nothing but a lacey babydoll lingerie set. your four-month pregnant belly peeks through the lace delicately, and your features are on fire.

kento gives you a little peek. "was wondering what took you so long." he's replying, flicking his book to the next page. you're standing, pouting in his presence.

"hello? i'm horny."

"and you do look very tantalizing in that outfit."

"so come take it off."

he gives you another look, this time lowering the leather-bound book enough to see his face. you pose, crossing your knees and jutting out your hip. you can feel those dark hazels fall over your jutting breasts, then to your widening hips, and finally to your swollen, pregnant belly. his little girl's home.

so, he sits up straight, shoving his book to the side table and ushering you over. "come on, love."

"needy girl..." kento is whispering against the back of your shoulder, pressing kisses there and letting them linger. you're hovering over his lap in reverse cowgirl, tongue pushed from your lips as you focus on staying steady.

"let me have it." you slur, cunt milking obsecnely over his bare lap. he's got a thick fist tight around his erection, making sure you're stable and comfortable before he lets you take him.

"i want you to, but i don't want you to hurt yourself... how about I be on top?"

"—no." you insist, shaking your head violently. he won't let the grip he has on your thighs loose, so all you can taste is the bulbous tip of his familiar, blushing cock.

"why do you insist on being so bratty?"

"I don't want to bottom, baby slides up and into my ribcage and ugh.." you're shivering, and if it wasn't for the abnormal influx of hormones, you'd be turned off just thinking about the pain.

the baby kento pressed into you all those months ago, was an active little girl. she kicked the hell out of you whenever you slept on your back, leading to long nights with little sleep. kento knows this, so why he's telling you to just lie there and take it, is lost on you.

though he's stubborn at times, kento is largely well-trained by you, so he lets you take him like this. his grip starts to loosen, and you can finally feel the stagnancy of his cock start to peek through your sticky folds and into you.

filled to the brim with need, you shiver instantaneously. "oh, please, pleaseplease. all the way—mmgh!!"

he's chuckling behind you—actually breathing a stupid laugh from his nose at your blatancy. "you're shaking already?"

to answer him —you're cumming, and it's a release you've never felt before. his fingers are pressing into your belly, keeping you strong and at his mercy as you cream helplessly all over him. your thighs are shaking, eyes rolling back into your skull as you cry and whine.

it feels like every single one of your nerve endings is being fanned and flamed, driving you absolutely apeshit like you've never been touched a day in your life.

"oh, baby... love."

"sh-shut up."

"that feel good?"

"keep—just keep going." you're begging, drool dripping from your lips as his cock massages that sticky, spongy bunch of nerves at an angle only his cock could hit. he's circling his hips under you, tongue tracing licks across your neck.

your pretty lace panties are ripped and disregarded as the night goes on, and your teddy is busting at the seams, sticking to sweat and dipping off your shoulders. kento's big hand reaches to cradle your swollen breasts, growling in your ear as he fucks you just right... so perfectly and deep that you can feel the slick cervix kisses every time he bottoms out.

you're crazy, and fucked off of five orgasms that night.

thank god for pregnancy hormones—thank god for your husband and all his raw talent. sure, he'll bicker softly just to ignite your needy fires, then he'd give you what you want, exactly how you want, until you're sick with it.

what a thoughtful husband.

[kaitoru]

୨୧ kento trying to be gentle with his horny pregnant wife.

body worship. gentle sex. praise kink. reassurance.

you’re six months pregnant, glowing but aching, your body screaming for him, his touch, his closeness, him.

but kento’s been so careful lately, too careful, always pulling back when things get heated, his fear of hurting you or the baby written all over his face.

you’re frustrated, needy, and a little insecure, and it all comes spilling out in a moment that changes everything.

“kento,” you murmur, voice soft edged with a pout, shifting to prop yourself on your elbows, your loose sundress riding up to expose more of your belly.

his hand freezes eyes snapping to yours, and you feel the heat creeping up your neck, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

“do you not wanna fuck me anymore because i look like this?” his jaw tightens, a flicker of something, guilt, desire, love, crossing his face, and he’s on you in an instant, moving so fast it steals your breath.

“don’t,” he says, voice low, as he leans over you, caging you with his broad frame, his lips hovering over yours. “don’t ever think that, you’re perfect.” his hands are gentle but firm, sliding your dress up and off, leaving you bare except for your panties, your belly round and beautiful between you.

“i want you so much it hurts,” he admits voice rough, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your lips, soft but hungry.

“i’m just—trying not to hurt you, love.”

“then don’t,” you whisper voice trembling with need, your hands tugging at his shirt, fumbling with buttons until his chest is bare, warm under your fingers.

“i need you, kento. i’m fine—we’re fine. please.” your plea breaks him, his restraint crumbling, and he kisses you deeper, tongue brushing yours, a soft groan escaping him as he shifts to settle between your legs, careful not to press on your belly.

“okay, love,” he murmurs voice softening, his hands sliding your panties down, tossing them aside.

“but we’re doing this my way—slow, gentle.” his fingers find your pussy, already slick, and he groans, low and reverent, circling your clit with a tenderness that makes you shiver.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice hushed, like it’s a secret just for you. “so perfect, always so perfect.”

“kento—ngh—please,” you gasp hips twitching up, desperate for more, and he nods, easing a finger inside you, then two, stretching you with a care that’s almost maddening.

his other hand rests on your belly, protective, adoring, and he leans down, kissing the curve of it, his lips soft against your skin.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion, his fingers curling inside you, slow but deep, making you moan.

“carrying our baby, so strong, so gorgeous.” you’re trembling, his words sinking into you, soothing the insecurity, and you tug at his belt, fumbling until he helps, shucking his pants and boxers, his cock hard and thick, leaking as he positions himself.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he says, voice firm but gentle, guiding himself to your entrance, pushing in slowly, so slowly, the stretch delicious and overwhelming.

“ngh—fuck, you feel so good,” he groans voice breaking, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you spread, careful not to jostle your belly.

“it’s—mmph—perfect,” you moan voice shaky, hands clutching his shoulders, feeling the muscle flex under your nails.

he thrusts gently, each movement slow, deep but soft, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting that spot that makes you whimper.

“kento—fuck—more, please,” you beg, and he shakes his head, a small, strained smile on his lips, his forehead pressed to yours.

“easy, love,” he murmurs voice a soothing balm, kissing your neck, your jaw. “you’re doing so well—fuck, you’re so beautiful, taking me like this.” his thrusts stay steady, gentle, but the praise, the way he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world—pushes you closer, your pussy fluttering around him, slick and needy.

“my perfect wife,” he whispers voice thick, his hand stroking your belly again, grounding you both.

“kento—oh god—” you gasp, voice breaking as the pleasure builds, his words wrapping around you, his cock filling you just right, and you’re close, so close.

“i’m—fuck—i’m gonna—” you moan, and he nods, kissing you deep, his thrusts picking up just a fraction, still careful but enough to tip you over.

“come for me, love,” he whispers voice soft, and then a shuddering, blissful orgasm has you crying out, pussy clamping around his cock, thighs trembling as you grip him tight.

he groans, low and fervent, following you, spilling deep inside with a broken, “fuck—my love—” his thrusts slowing, gentle, riding out the aftershocks.

you’re both panting, sweat slick and spent, and he stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath, his hands soft as he strokes your belly, your face, kissing you slow and tender.

“you’re incredible,” he murmurs voice all warmth, pulling out carefully, grabbing a warm cloth to clean you up, his touch gentle, reverent.

“i didn’t hurt you, did i?” he asks eyes searching yours, and you shake your head, smiling, pulling him down for another kiss.

“you’re too careful.” you tease, voice hoarse, and he chuckles, low and fond, wrapping you in his arms, his hand resting on your belly, protective as always.

“i love you,” he says, simple and true, and you melt into him, knowing he’d never stop wanting you.

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[symbiomancy]

mirror —ghost

—summary: The summer heat has you slipping between sleep and reality. Something not-so corporeal helps you cool off.

—warnings: ghost x human, monsterfucking, piv sex, mirror sex (technically), creampie, dubcon/somnophilia.

—word count: 1,3k

—a/n: no thoughts just horny. also on AO3

The best thing about living alone, you’ve come to realize, is the privacy. You’re free to do whatever: take your time in the bathroom in the morning or whenever you want, spend an eternity soaking in the claw-footed tub this house came with, walk around your home in the skimpiest clothing imaginable (not only does it help to beat the summer heat, it also (technically) leaves you less laundry to do), splay out on your king-sized bed in a starfish position, limbs akimbo, drag the full-length mirror in your bedroom in front of your bed and stare at the way any dildos you own get swallowed up by your greedy cunt.

No point in wondering why the last owner was in such a rush to get rid of it; so much so that he accepted well below market price for a freshly renovated, fully-furnished house with a moderate backyard in a relatively safe neighborhood.

The longer this heatwave lasts, the skimpier your clothes get. There’s barely any fabric to cling to your constantly sweat-slick skin by this point, just a tiny skirt hiked so far up your bare skin touches the wooden chairs when you sit and a shirt that’s more spaghetti straps than torso. The huge, double-door fridge is a reprieve, cool air billowing out and caressing your heated skin. It almost feels like a genuine caress, like someone’s cool hands sliding down your body.

Seriously, you need to get out of the house and meet people instead of fantasizing about the cool touch of your fridge. But the outside is infinitely hotter than the inside.

You kick the bedsheet away from your body, grumbling at the lingering day heat. You’d stripped the sheet from the duvet the moment spring chill had plunged into summer heat and stuffed the latter into the closet until fall. Even then, you tend to wake up without the sheet in the morning, finding it crumbled on the floor. Yesterday was another sweltering day. It has left the air stuffy and the fans only push the warm, stale heat around without providing any relief. You unplug them in a fit of frustration and cringe at the feeling of moisture when you lay against your pillow again.

Sleep doesn’t completely evade you but you’re not fully asleep, either. You think so, at least. There are moments of brief blackouts, where you open your eyes and turn to look at the time only to find not even an hour has passed. Your eyelids feel heavy.

Then, there are the hands on your body. Caressing, petting, groping. They’ve been there for some time now, just touching, feeling. They’re not cold, just cool enough to feel pleasant against your heated skin and inject some relief into your sluggish thoughts of sun and heat. A sigh escapes your lips at the sensation. Fingertips trance the expanse of your skin, draw constellations between your moles and freckles. The other hand moves to rest on your breast. It kneads the soft flesh, gently pinches your nipple between its fingers, runs a thumb over it.

You inhale sharply, heart thrumming in your chest, pressing your thighs together. It does little to quell the desire for friction, or touch. The hand tracing its fingertips down your body reaches your hip, then skirts across your flesh to rest on the inside of your thigh. You blink languidly; the heat is stifling, your head feels thick.

Cool fingers dip between your legs, press against your clit like — like they’re what? Testing the waters. You stifle the half-baked moan in the back of your throat.

The hands leave you all at once and you croak out a sound that doesn’t even sound like you, desperate and needy. They’re back not even a moment later, though, heavy on your hips as if they’re trying to guide you. You reach for a pillow and prop it under yourself. It’s a nice dream, you don’t need it to end because it forces you into an uncomfortable position that drives home the realization that it’s a dream. Because then you’ll wake up, alone again.

Something thick and heavy rests on your pelvis. Maybe this makes you a bad sex partner in this brief dream but you don’t want to reach out and touch it, guide it. If it’s your dream, your partner should know the where and how. The cool hands planted firmly on your hips pull you forward just slightly and the weight from your pelvis disappears. It rests against your entrance, but doesn’t push forward just yet. One hand leaves you and the tip of its cock drags through your slick folds, bumps against your clit.

“Please,” you croak, staring at the ceiling. Your throat is dry.

The stranger’s cock angles itself against your entrance and pushes in carefully. You take a slow, deep breath in, try to relax around the pleasant intrusion. The hands — under your knees now, guiding your legs apart. A body presses against your thighs. Whoever it is, stops, pauses for a moment. You clench around the cock buried in your cunt. A cold, shuddering breath hits you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. The hands push your knees further apart until there’s an ache in your muscles, and then they depart, one finding a spot on your waist, the other your breast.

It moves, then. The cock nestled deep within you sharply pulls back and thrusts in again. You scramble for anchor, to grab onto something but all you come up with is sheet that tugs loose. Their pace is dizzying, thighs slapping against yours, cock plunging into your wet cunt. The sound is so wet and lewd and goddamned loud in the still silence of your home. You go to stifle the half-moan half-groan in your throat but— wait, it’s your house, your dream, who gives a fuck about the neighbors? The cock in your cunt pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts in again and hits that spot, so good, dragging against your slick walls and you swear you feel every groove and dip, every goddamn vein. Your moan slips out involuntarily, and whoever it is here with you, seems invigorated.

The hand on your breast leaves, a forearm rests around your thigh, pulling it up and — fuck, their cock drives in so incredibly deep you nearly choke on your own spit. You scramble upwards, resting your weight on your elbows to look at your partner —

There’s no one there. Your bedroom is empty. But there’s a hand on your torso, cool fingers digging into your flesh and a forearm supporting your thigh and the shape of someone’s shoulder against your Achilles’ tendon. There’s a cock plunging into your cunt and you hear someone’s labored breathing.

The full-length mirror skids across the laminated floor and stops in front of your bed. Something invisible is thrusting into your pussy, gaping back at you in the reflection. Your face burns — your whole body burns. You can’t look away from the debauchery staring back at you. Whoever — whatever — it is, thrusts harshly, cold hands pulling you against their body. Your thighs are wet and sticky, slamming against theirs, your hole gaping back at you, being abused by something you can’t see. It sends you hurtling over the edge.

You come around the phantom cock with something reminiscent of a shriek and a moan and terror and pleasure all combined. Your cunt clenches around the thing your muscles sore and sweat beading on your skin. The cock plunges into you again and again and again and you blink back the tears and the fear and the overwhelming pleasure. The fingers on your body dig into your flesh and the cock nestled in you buries deep, thighs pressing against your own, and spills. It’s so warm, so pleasant. The mirror skids closer, right until it touches the edge of the bed.

Your cunt is forced wide open. Stuffed. The pearlescent cum coats your walls, oozes out from inside you, dribbles onto your bedsheets. The cock in you stays there but the body moves.

A small fogged patch, like warm breath, appears on the mirror, and then, letters.

Hi :)

Oh. So that's why this place was so cheap.

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