#...whoops my fingers slipped

[whollyjoly]

hot in the day, hot in the night, hot as the coal coming to tread, light on your bed, here we go oh, listen whistle roll (baby the, the sun is getting low)

the bucktommy cowboy au nobody asked for part two (part one) (part three)

(song insp.)

[arkhammaid]

max verstappen.

sonne - rammstein

[markiecake]

warnings/ tags: big dick jisung, size kink !!, dubcon (?), 'too big', ji is so pussy drunk, creampie (as always)

note: this is saur short omg but i just wanted to get something out of my drafts and out for y'all (°ロ°)

jisung not understanding how much bigger he actually is than you and not giving you any time to adjust to the size of his cock when it's your first time with him :((((((

your cries and whines of how it hurts and how he's too big falling flat as he literally cannot hear you with how into it he is D: the feeling of you wrapped around him so tightly making his brain short circuit.

light whimpers of 'ji, ji, ji!' slipping past your lips and your eyes screw shut trying to get past the pain 😵‍💫

you weakly scratch and paw at his chest, leaving red scratch marks all over him, trying to get him out of the trance he's in, but it's no use as he continues to use ur tight cunt until he cums inside of you !!!!

when he finally snaps out of it and looks down at your tear stained face, apologies spew out of his mouth while he strokes your hair and places sweet kisses all over ur cheeks and forehead, trying to make you feel better `(*>﹏<*)′

[into-fiction]

and if i said this was the ending to the 'brave' sequel...what then?

///

The headstone is simple and small, and Glinda had had to go through at least three different people so it wouldn’t be traced back to her. She sets the roses carefully at the base, kneeling in the dirt and laying her forehead gently against the cold stone.

“Hi, Elphie,” Glinda whispers, eyes closing against the tears.

The stone does not answer. She wonders if she’ll ever stop hoping it will.

“I brought you something today,” Glinda continues. Her voice is faded and faint, worn by grief and time. She turns, settling on her bottom and pulling her knees to her. A hand digs into the bag at her side and removes a leather-bound journal. 

“It’s…a memoir of sorts,” she says. “Or perhaps just a really long letter.”

A love letter. All these years later, and Glinda still can’t say the words out loud. The stone is cold against her back, the numbers worn beneath her fingertips as she traces the grooves. The pages stick when she opens the journal, wrinkled by time and tears. 

Glinda clears her throat, swallowing hard. She had made a promise. One that she intended to keep. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t killing her slowly, day by day, week by week. Writing this had been, lately, the only thing keeping her together. 

Hide yourself, Elphaba had said. This was where. 

Glinda takes a breath, inhaling the scent of soft rose and gentle earth. It was autumn, and she was wearing her favorite wool sweater. Her eyes find the first words on the page, looped in dark ink. Slowly, quietly, she starts to read. 

“To the bravest person I ever knew….let me tell you a secret.”

[taiistired]

Draw a moss or watcher ren maybe?

came back wrong?

[sacredthefran]

I know, I know, I’m supposed to be thinking about four nations but I can’t get the thought of sucking Quinn’s cock out of my mind. This gif is not helping.

I can’t stop thinking about it - I can’t stop thinking about Quinn sitting on the sofa ; particularly in the morning when he’s just so tired. His morning voice is just so deep and raspy, it’s enough to make your stomach tighten with excitement and for your pussy to start getting wet - no, for it to start dripping with your arousal.

Quinn giving you every single ounce of his attention, his eyes following every move you make; like a lion stalking its prey. Oh my god, the smirk that he would give you when he sees you lowering to your knees, your fingertips curling into his waistband and giving them a gentle tug. Quinn lifting his hips up to help you pull them down, his cock getting harder by the second when he watches the way your eyes zone in on it, your eyes zoning in on his pretty pink tip.

Quinn looks like the type that would love to feed you his cock. Placing one hand on the back of your head to hold you close, then taking his other hand around the base of his cock before gently slapping it against your lips.

“C’mon pretty girl. Open up your mouth for me…that’s it, open it up bigger. Been dreaming about having your mouth on my cock since last night.”

[isabela-merceds]

i made myself sad

[kogglyuffs]

brainrot so bad i mix two of my fav otps

[danykindaforgotaboutdre]

Francesca had to fall first. Sorry not sorry

This is our only unambiguous Black woman lead, the only one we'll likely ever get. I really do not want her to be the one openly pining at first. It needed to be the other way around and I'm glad it was. And yes, in spite of Fran's lesbian crashout I'm still utterly obsessed with Fran and John and they remain one of my favorite romances on the show. I hope they can capably peel back all of the layers they've given them, I don't entirely trust the writers but I know that in the right hands it can definitely be done. Maybe her relationship with John is asexual but still romantic, or maybe they simply need to work on that aspect of their romance before it really clicks into place. One thing is for sure, they're lovely together and care about each other so much. Francesca probably won't even fully unpack her attraction to Michaela until she becomes available, why would she? Until then, she deserves to be happy and content with her lovely husband. I really hope they can do this right.

[living-mites]

im getting that itch again..

run away and become a naval aviator..

ignoreitignoreitignoreitignoreitignoreitignoreitigoreit. it'sjustpropaganda

[emmedoesntdomath]

wylan, biting into an apple: oh, and make sure you don’t take any bread. ducks can’t digest it. 

jesper, freezing with an entire loaf of bread in his hand, mouth dropping open in horror: what???

wylan, utterly oblivious: yeah, it’s harmful to them

jesper, eyes welling up in tears because he has been feeding these ducks SO MUCH BREAD: have I been k i l l i n g baby duckies

[ink-and-dagger]

Things I wanted to do this weekend: Write

Things I did this weekend: Astarion

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

I have a proposition

You join art fight and I can draw Maho and Cass and Cass and MAHOOOOO and your fyw au blorbos without it being random and out of pocket teehee

How’s that for a proposition? >:]

oh oh oh OHHHHH yeahhhhh mhm mhm I’m listening I’m hearing you I see you I see you

Had to look this up first but it seems rlly fun so 100% I AM IN BABYYYYY

[scriberated]

The Wolf's Mantle Chapter 11

art by @imalsonotsure

Chapter 11 || Ao3

Chapter Summary/Preview:

He tsked. “Your impatience does you little credit. This is a slow process made slower by your squirming — and the extreme depletion of your mana. Are you uncomfortable?”

“Can’t you hurry it up?” she snapped, ignoring his question. Uncomfortable was one word to describe how she was feeling, but there were others, too. Ones that she didn’t want to admit to aloud: arousal, for one thing, and hunger — an insatiable, dark hunger that could only have originated from the blood curse, and was growing discontent with the slow, steady drip of magic Solas was feeding into it. She tried to focus on her breathing.

One breath in, another out. One breath in, another out.

His hands skimmed the tops of her breasts where the eyes of the vallaslin lay, and she shuddered and shifted away from him as the low burning in her belly ignited into something more intense and difficult to ignore.

 “This is a delicate process—” he began to explain, to chastise her once more for her impatience and her restlessness, when Elowyn’s tenuous grip on the curse broke. It surged through their connection and sunk its teeth into Solas’ mana, drinking greedily, and drinking deep. 

Solas grunted, his teeth gnashing together as he wrestled with the curse, his magic rising to take control of it once more and subdue it. 

Elowyn could do nothing to help him. Or herself. 

Work Summary: Rook is captured by Elgar'nan. For the crime of taking on the Dread Wolf’s mantle, now she must wear it for all to see. Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings.  Ships: Solas/Rook, Rook & Lucanis Dellamorte, Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook (one-sided) Tags: Act 1 spoilers, Aftermath of Torture, Mind Control, Branding, Forced Bonding, Vallaslin (Dragon Age), Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Comfort, Eventual Smut, Attempted Murder, Vaginal Fingering, Dom/Sub Undertones, Subspace, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

[redo-rewind-if]

Soooo can we have Amara and V reaction to finding MC dead in an alleyway?

Okay, so, I was actually going to give a proper answer to this. Write you some short angsty snippets with V and Amara but, uh... things got away from me a bit so... Yeah...

This isn't quite what you asked for but hopefully you'll enjoy it regardless. Gonna put it below the cut since it got a little long. Whoops.

It’s a wonder you’re still alive.

Bleeding and broken as you are, body limp on the pavement, blood loss leaving you cold. You can hardly think, hardly see, vision hazy and spotted. The world awash in red—red light, red blood, red coat—until there’s nothing left.

Your killer laughs as he speaks to the woman who held you in place, held you as he shot you. Laughs as they walk away, leaving you slumped amongst the trash.

Is this how it ends? You think, delirious, eyelids growing heavier by the second. You fight against the inevitable, but to what end?

You’re dead.

The footsteps you hear behind you must be the cleanup crew. Whoever was called to dispose of your body. Of you.

You’d laugh if you had the breath for it.

The steps grow closer, heavier. Faster. “No.” You hear a familiar voice say. You know them, don’t you? And yet, try as you might the thought slips from your grasp like water.

“This is—please no. This can’t be… I didn’t think… If I had any idea…” Knees hit the pavement. A hand, gently pressed against your pulse point. “You—you’re alive?” A gasp, a sob, or both. You can’t tell anymore.

“Just, hold on. I’m going to call for help. Please hold on.”

The words don’t fully register, as if spoken underwater. But are you the one drowning or them?

What does it matter?

Let go. You need to let go. Close your eyes and let sleep take you.

“Please. Just a little longer.” A siren sounds in the distant.

Their hand, so warm as it clings to yours, almost unbearable in its heat, tempts you. And yet—

You close your eyes. A raindrop hits your face, then another, falling in a steady rhythm. Soft and gentle and loving in a way you don’t quite understand but feel nonetheless.

You don’t think you’ll open them again.