#I'M BLOCKING U

[edible-erasers]

DM with your cash app tag or paypal to get spoiled with weekly allowances ❤️🥀

TF is wrong with you?

[bribinart]

this guy am i right

[littlefankingdom]

Bruce Wayne is canonically a very handsome man (he is called a "pretty boy" and he is in his 40s, for fuck's sake), and he is pretty famous as a rich philanthropist who doesn't want to leave his awful cursed crime infested city. So, there must be a ton of people thirsting over him on the internet. Fancams, edits, fanfics and imagines ("kidnapped with Bruce Wayne 😍 by a Gotham rogue"), the whole charade!

And anytime one of the batkids stumbles on a thirst post, they have the most dramatic disgusted reaction, loudly gagging, before sending the link to the batkids chat, because if they must suffer, then they should all suffer. Clicking on a link in this groupchat is like playing russian roulette, and getting rickrolled is a good ending.

[menlove]

someone: are you okay

me: so in 1964 john lennon wrote one of his only love ballads, "if I fell" and called it auto biographical even though it doesn't match w any of his public relationships. the lyrics can easily be flipped to be about him pining for someone already in a relationship with a woman which would most likely be a man (as seen in "across the universe" where they did the song from a woman's pov to a man without changing the lyrics and it still worked). he wrote the full lyrics for the first time on the inside of a valentines day card and in the corner you can see his handwriting that says "to: paul with love" with an arrow pointing inside and some doodled hearts. it was auctioned off in the 2000s, but the description only says it was written on a plane on a card "given to paul" as a spare paper, not acknowledging the little dedication with the hearts. years later he referred to it as a "silly love song," referring back to paul's song that was in turn referring to his mocking comments. and that's why he's a fa-

[gotchibam]

Espeon, Dusk Lycanroc, and Sylveon ko-fi doodle for Kaitlyn!

I'm accepting pokemon ko-fi doodle requests here! ✨

[cozylittleartblog]

y'know i don't draw the light world versions enough

[rebeljyn]

Can't believe ppl are saying Qimir had a point when he said "You're the one who brought her here" to Sol about Jecki??😭 They went to retrieve Kelnacca and intercept MAE and ONLY MAE. They went there with several fully trained Jedi AND Osha, who Mae had shown to have a soft spot for. Jecki was there because she was one of the only ones who actually saw Mae fight before along with Sol and Yord. They hadn't even encountered Mae yet when Qimir attacked them and they had no idea he would be there at all. This was also a mission they were sent on by the Order, if the Jedi thought it was that unsafe for Jecki to go they would've told Sol not to take her with him.

[heartorbit]

we get a little silly

[calmparticles]

?Want a break from the ads? If you tap now to watch a short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! Yes, really! If you tap now you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! So what are you waiting for? I'm still waiting.. Why aren't you tapping? Don't you want 30 minutes of ad free music? If you tap now and watch the short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! It's that easy! If you want to be free from the ads forever considerIf it doesn't work for you, then you're using it wrong. Make sure you're using EVERY single filter. If you are currently, then de-select them and make sure they're updated and re-enable them. IT WILL WORK. There's no "it won't work" when you do this. It's either a 1 or a 0. Either a yes or no. Either a "it will work" or an "I am not using the adblocker correctly".

[tei-to-tei]

December 3 - Morning Cartoons

[reunitedinterlude]

creativity is nothing without friendship (2024 // 2016)

[talesofely]

Happier.

Pairings : Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers

Summary : Your ex-girlfriend, Natasha, seems happier with her new man than she was with you. Or is she? (summaries r my biggest weakness, if it isn't obvious yet)

Warnings : Angst, Fluff (?), a talesofely ending (i'm not sorry 😓), swearing, mentions of romanogers, uses Y/N twice, pls tell me if u see anything else

Word count : 1.1k

Note : not a big fan of romanogers, so this kinda hurts to write 😭

You were walking down a familiar street. You weren't sure if it was the 29th street or the street close to the park. It was a dark and cold night, ones you used to enjoy a lot. You used to love walking around at night, the serenity and calmness it brought was something you cherished a lot. Everything changed due to a certain situation a month ago tho.

Your feet stopped moving when your eyes spotted a newly opened restaurant. It wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal, until you saw a couple walk out. It was Steve Rogers, and Natasha. She was wrapped in Steve's arms as they walked out of the restaurant into the peaceful night road.

You bit your lower lip to calm yourself down. It's only been a month since you two broke up, how could she move on so fast?

You didn't know why you decided to follow them. All you knew was that you were a few feet behind them, watching as Steve said something that made Natasha laugh.

They were headed to a bar. You entered a few minutes after them, immediately spotting them at a small bar table. You subsequently sat on the table on the corner.

It was bittersweet to see them smiling so widely, like they were so inlove. Your eyes subconsciously landed on Natasha. She looks happy. Happier than she was with you.

You smiled sadly. Seeing her like this brought you joy and sadness at the same time. Joy, 'cause seeing her smile always made you happy. Sadness, 'cause you aren't the reason for her smile anymore.

You knew you were also at fault. She hurt you without knowing, and you hurt her for it. Your break up was messy. It was a decision made in the heat of the moment. She dared you to walk away, to leave her alone, and you did.

But you also knew you loved her more than yourself. You treated her like how Carl treated Ellie in the movie Up. Apparently, she doesn't love you as much as you loved her, as she was moving on faster than you could've ever done.

You didn't mind, tho. Especially when you saw how happy she looked with Steve. Who were you to prevent her from having that kind of happiness?

You bit your lower lip and ducked your head, not having the guts to watch the love of your life in another's arms.

You felt a soft tap on your arm after a few minutes. You looked up to see your friends from work, smiling sympathetically at you. They sat at the table you were in, wordlessly buying bottles of alcohol for all of you.

They gave you a bottle of Natasha's favorite beer. Instinctively, you passed it to Natasha that was supposed to be beside you. You froze and sighed deeply when you remembered.

You finished the beer bottle faster than usual. You had high alcohol tolerance, but you didn't drink too much before 'cause you wanted to stay sober for Natasha. You nursed the empty bottle as you stared at your only reason to live being someone else's.

"Stop sulking, Y/N. I know how much you love her, but you shouldn't act like it's the end of your life end just because she left." Scarlett, one of your friends, said with a small smile.

"Yeah, babes, you'll find someone else that'll make you feel the same way—if not more than you did with Natasha." Lizzie gave you a small hug, trying her best to comfort you.

"I appreciate it, guys, really... but I don't think I'll ever find someone who I won't compare to Natasha. She's it for me." You responded with a bittersweet smile, watching as Natasha laughed at another one of Steve's jokes. It made you wonder how funny they really were to make her laugh that much.

"Jeremy, you're friends with Clint, right?" The said man nodded, looking at you in confusion.

"Don't mention my name, but please ask him to tell Natasha, that if he breaks her heart... I'll always be here, waiting patiently for her. No matter what." You sighed deeply seeing the couple stand up, and got ready to leave. You drank the last of your drink before ordering another bottle.

_______________

"Hey, Nat, have you heard?" Clint asked as he entered the kitchen where Natasha was coincidentally in.

"Heard about what?"

"Y/N finally released a single. Tony's going to play it tonight."

Natasha's brows furrowed in confusion, searching her best friend's face for any signs of playfulness but found nothing.

"What's it called?"

"Happier."

Natasha bit her lower lip, as she nodded, trying to act like she didn't care about it. Based on the title, she figured it was about being happier without her.

_______________

The avengers settled down in the common room, all ready to hear your first single.

"Ready?" Tony played the recording despite Sam's small "Wait." as he ran to the kitchen to grab a snack.

When your voice came through the speaker as you sang the first line, Natasha felt her heart clench. Oh how she missed your voice, your lullabies when she nightmares hinder her from sleep, and your soft singing as you danced with her around the kitchen in the refrigerator light at 3am.

As the song continued, Natasha realized the lyrics were about her. About your previous relationship. About... missing her.

Not only that, but the information on the lyrics were almost the same as the night she went out with Steve. 29th and Park, a month, a bar, corner of the room, empty bottle... Shit. You saw her.

Her panicking eyes met Steve's equally surprised ones. She immediately took her phone out, despite the song not even ending yet. She cursed when she was brought straight to voice mail. This doesn't stop her from calling you multiple times again though.

Clint looked at Natasha in realization, only then remembering and realizing what Jeremy's cryptic message was about.

So you were the 'she' he was talking about.

The archer approached his best friend, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Nat." He called her attention, only to be answered by a hum and glossy eyes from her.

"Jeremy, one of Y/N's friend, talked to me yesterday. He told me to tell you that, 'She'll always be there, waiting patiently for you. No matter what.'" He said quietly, trying to not attract unwanted attention to the now silently crying spy, knowing how much she hates others seeing her vulnerable side.

If only you picked up her calls, if only you read her texts, if only she knew your address, if only she knew you were there that day... she would've approached you and told you that it wasn't real. It was a mission. A mere undercover mission.

If only you knew that her heart still is, and will always be, yours.

If only you knew that she will only truly be happy with you.

Note : i'm sorry...? part 2 or naaahh? i kinda like this ending:> btw, i used this to cure my writer's block so BAHHAHAHAHA enjoyyy! mwaAaAaAaA:3

[catfern]

she will destroy you.

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

music: crack baby or bag of bones ( or anything from puberty 2 ) - mitski

word count: 3.3k (i'm exhausted)

summary: rumours are swirling, fighting their way through your front door. you hope to keep your work and private life separate, but your proximity with your boss threatens to catch up with you.

warnings: mean!toxic!abby, cheating, porn with a LOT of plot, swearing, tipsy sex, fingering, oral (r!receiving), zero ( i mean ZERO ) aftercare, angst-ish

an: a quick intermission from cowboy!ellie because LORD. i read one page from one book abt a butch teacher yearning for the headmaster's wife and suddenly I NEED AFFAIRS!! I NEED YEARNING!! I NEED SECRECY!! and who better to do that with than a rlly mean ceo!abby who has a PhD in fucking bitches.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Shit.”

A line of scarlet trickles onto the warm printer paper and settles. You drop your paperwork on an unknown desk and suck your finger, hissing through your teeth at the sting. Your phone buzzes impatiently in the back pocket of your work pants, and you fumble with your non-bleeding fingers to pull it out.

we’ll talk abt this when u get home

see u after ur party i guess

A shit fucking day.

You hall back to your desk, defeat slumping heavy on your shoulders. The Office makes an effort not to stare as you walk by, low whispers hot on your feet like coals in a firewalk. You pretend very poorly not to see the half-lidded, secretive looks shared between your old work friends by the water cooler. Water off a duck’s back, your mom used to say in a nonchalant way when you cried to her about mean girls at school. Not that you ever really knew what that meant.

You were never really thankful to be shut off from the rest of the cubicles, until now. A fortress of frosted glass and a heavy door, your desk was the secluded gateway to a place dreaded. Just you and The Boss, which you guess didn’t help the flying tongues of the old, bored fucks in accounting, but it kept people away. Away from you, with their knowing looks and unknowing laughs.

You huff, settling into your uncomfortable desk chair and digging out a small first aid kit your dad bought you when you first started. Pulling the seal off the small tin, you eye its contents. Disinfectant, thermometer, some loose aspirin and bandaids. You whine lightly as you wrap one tightly around your ring finger, feeling it throb and pulse, like a complaint. Get over yourself, you tell your body.

A sharp - ahem - breaks through your mumbling silence. She’s never sick, she never coughs. It’s a bodiless beckoning, a call into the wild, it’s the wordless agreement you have with her. You pick up your notebook, and the nearest working pen, and shuffle quickly through the open door into her office.

The opaque shades are drawn, the natural light greying and dying on the dark, decaying herringbone floor. 

Abby is bathed in the orange light of her desk lamp. With impeccable, almost effortless posture, she’s resting her forearms on her desk, one hand scratching notes into her diary, the other distractedly tapping on the leather top. You follow the shadows that the folds in her dress shirt create, your eyes falling on the contour of her body. 

You know she frequents a few gyms. You’re the one who schedules late night international calls around her evening runs, and her weights sessions, and her triweekly spin class. But now, the results of her efforts are on display, tightly wrapped in expensive cotton, perfectly tailored, down to the very last stitch, to her existence. You swallow an uncomfortable feeling when she deigns to meet your eye.

She looks you over in the way she always does, an uncaring, but judgemental once-over, like an army sergeant inspecting a uniform. she hones in on the bandaid,

“Workplace injury?”

Her voice has the warmth of a dying cigarette, rolling like well-spoken honey off her lips. You almost feel ashamed, your finger so offensive to her you could chop it off. You almost feel like you wouldn’t even mind. You start picking at the ends of the bandaid with your thumb.

“Paper cut.” Your voice is always so out of place here. An echo of something that does not belong. She nods her head, ever so slightly, as if she understood.

“Don’t think you can go claiming compensation for that.” It’s a joke you’re not allowed to laugh at. You smile lightly instead. It’s short-lived, “I need you to correct some seating arrangements for tonight.”

Yes, of course. No problem. In wordless agreement, Abby starts listing off adjustments, complaints and warnings from guests about not being seated next to their five ex-husbands, or their whining step-children, or ex-business partners fallen from grace. your pen fingers begin to ache as the whole process draws out.

“And I’m going to need you seated at my table, to keep track of my evening itinerary.”

Uncertainty quickly sows its seeds in your stomach. The unopened messages from your girlfriend burn their way through pocket, searing at your legs like a brand on cattle. Everyone knows, everyone will know. Every detail of your life will be laid bare, and you’ll be tried publicly and without mercy. Your bandaid begins to unravel as you rub anxiously at the glue underneath.

You need to do something, something to get things back under control.

“Actually,” You start, unsure. Abby meets your eye quickly, without hesitation, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s quick, and condescending. Undercutting any sudden courage you may have had, she meets your eye and stares you down, pinning you under ice, almost imploring you to feel terrified. And then she looks away, busy packing away the seating chart, and you wonder if she even looked at you at all.

She stands, and you try to meet her, your hands clutching your notebook.

“Your attendance tonight is mandatory.” She says it slowly, harshly, like it’s hard for you to understand. Her eyes chase quickly over your outfit, “It’s a black tie event.”

You’re left alone in a dark office, hyperventilating.

The apartment is empty and cold when you arrive home. 7 unanswered texts to your girlfriend tell you she doesn’t want you near her, but she isn’t packed. You expect her to come home, hopefully in the hour you have before you have to go again, and you contemplate just blowing the gala off to wait.

Abby’s voice is sharp in your head, a familiar dedication wringing your body. You can’t leave her. She needs you there.

You put off the conversation with your girlfriend into the furthest parts of your mind, allowing yourself to be swallowed in the minor decisions of clothes and hair and accessories. It’s not until you’re throwing your shoes on, and three times you think you hear her keys in the door, that you give up.

The phone rings 5 times before going to voicemail.

Hey. Listen. I know we said we weren’t going to talk until we were face to face but..

Whatever Maria told you wasn’t true, okay? I promise-I fucking promise you, nothings happened. Baby, okay? People are fucking bored, and I love you, so so much. I’ve gotta go to this one thing tonight - i tried to get out of it i swear -, and i’ll come home and we can talk, and we can fix this. Okay? Jus-Just, gimme some time to explain. Okay. I love you. Bye.

Echoes of quiet chatter uncomfortably ebb and flow off the walls of the ballroom. Too many people. Shoes scuff the cheap marble as the rich make their rounds, with light touches and reused laughter. They all hate each other.

Abby is a familiar sight. Wearing the same thing she has all day, she looks staggering. Hands just breaching her suit pockets, comfortably falling at her side, her hair in a calculated braid, designed to make her look approachable. 

 The air here agrees with her, her smile wide and effortless. You know she’s come straight from a meeting, and you suppose that adds to her charm. The Working Woman, a success story. Her rich friends, who spend their inheritances on shares and indoor tennis courts, lap it up. She’s a foreign object, something unfamiliar and wild.

You don’t interrupt, skimming the sidelines to get to your table. You can feel her glance, without substance, before returning to her conversation. Your event planner ( a shitty flip notebook that fits in every small clutch you own ) sits on the tablecloth at your seat, and you wait. Eyeing the glasses at the placemats next you, you can tell a few drinks has been shared, raking your eyes over Abby’s looser disposition.

She’s happy, and charming. She’s been drinking bourbon. Mint, with ice and syrup, the way you serve it to her in her office, when the occasion calls for celebration. 

Her conversation finishes, her soft hands bidding gentle, kind goodbyes to the couple as they move on. She’s a friend to the people that matter.

“I expected you here before me.”

She doesn’t bother to look at you as she sits, instead fixing her napkin to her lap. You watch as the veins in her neck rise and fall as she talks, “Doesn’t matter now. Run me through everything.”

Right, fuck. You open your notebook and run your fingers over the scratchy writing. Your days leading up to this were spent copying details from obscure emails, tidbits you thought Abby needed to remember. Late nights at the office, life abandoned, deciphering biographies and 2 hour youtube deep dives. You can watch yourself fall asleep from the future, your handwriting slipping, long and longer strokes, spelling dissolving, long words abandoned. your pen fell to the floor, and you slept at your desk. Twenty missed calls. You argued when you came home in the morning.

“The Ambassador is arriving around 8:00pm with his new wife, also named Rebecca. Oh, Old Rebecca emailed asking why she didn’t receive an invitation.”

She’s slowly sipping at another whiskey, a different cocktail she ordered just as you’d arrived. The orange peel brushes her nose as she tilts the glass, her jaw tightens as she swallows, “Tell her the venue was at capacity. Send some flowers.”

It continues like this for a bit. Quiet and attentive, she listens to what you have to say, as her eyes follow the crowd. You too, spy people that you know, a few slimy execs that share a whisper and a boisterous laugh as they look your way. You order gin.

Soon enough, Abby checks her watch. An inexpensive, vintage piece of leather and quartz. She excuses herself with a measure of politeness. It’s time for an hour of speeches that don’t matter, before you’re finally allowed to eat. You sigh.

A quiet buzz rips through the growing silence. You open your clutch and hide your phone under the silk tablecloth, away from the disapproving elderly eyes.

i told u to leave me alone

jesus christ

A pit in your stomach. Dark, pressing, ever present. Your saliva is heavy in your mouth, and you feel like shrinking away. Luckily, the waiter isn’t far. Drinks are discounted for the company staff.

Finally, speeches finish. Abby looked nice on the stage, effervescent under the lights. Her hair catches warm light nicely in the strands.

The food comes, but people disregard it for shallow conversations. Plates are taken away full, apart from slim, polite pickings. Your table orders more drinks, and syrupy laughter echoes as anecdotes about private schools and hedge funds are shared. You don’t belong here. Your body becomes unsteady, restless. Your legs shaking, a hand finds you thigh in the veiled secrecy of the table cloth.

Abby’s not looking at you, too engaged in tipsy conversation to draw attention. A nice gesture, but it’s not. It’s wordless agreement. Her thumb traces the outside of your thigh mindlessly, her jaw clenching as she feels your gaze.

You hesitate.

What else did you have to do? Apart from go home and wait for an argument.

You let her touch you a little longer, soft, ghostly. It’s kind, unmistakably. You let yourself revel in it, in her uncommon affection, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Abby follows not long after. She’s confident, her position charismatic, not unlike the other times she finds a drink, and then goes to find you. She doesn’t stop, so sure that you’ll follow her trail as you’ve done so often before. But you hesitate, again.

She turns back to you, a look on her face that’s hard to decipher. You stumble in your reasoning.

“It’s just-, my girlfrien-“

“Are you coming? Or not?”

Your palms itch, you swallow.

What kind of sick sacrifice. Unfair to have both, some would say, but some don’t know you. How wicked it is to taste both fruit and have to choose the sweeter. Fuck. The drinks settle in your stomach.

Your girlfriend wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, not really.

She’s leading you up the stairs, hands flush to her body. You grip the cold handrail to hold you steady. She’s already steps ahead, the appropriate distance. 

A quiet corner doesn’t need to be found. She’s been here before. You’ve been here before. The holy emptiness of the second floor is an accustomed comfort.

She’s quick and calculated, despite the mix of drinks on her breath. One hand pushing you to the wall, the other finding the zipper for your dress. It falls off you like it never belonged to you, kicked away and piled into a corner, forgotten.

Gripping you like you’d run away, she palms your tits and presses crescent moons into your hips. She holds her head away from you, watching you down her nose as you squirm. Abby has always remained detached, carefully groomed a distance between you that now feels too sacred to break. You long to feel her kiss you, to feel her intimately, to run your hands along her arms and feel every curve, every outline. You’ve needed to touch her since the moment you met her. Craved it.

Abby is disrespectful, impatient. She cups your pussy, still hidden in slick panties, letting the rough ball of her palm grind against your clit. It sets you on fire, and she chases it with a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Get rid of them.”

You strip fast, in a very unflattering way, you’re certain, and throw your underwear close to the ghost of your dress. She moves against you again, her hand softer as it wraps around your lips and cheeks. You look at her, hoping to see that softness echoed on her face, but her eyes are elsewhere, too focused on the movement your tits make as she holds you against the wall. 

Painstakingly, her fingers slide inside you, her hand pressing down on your mouth as you moan around the feeling of her, the intoxication. Your hands lock and unlock, your nails digging at scratching at the wood boards on the wall as you try to balance yourself.

Merciless. She rocks into you, letting you fall into step with her, find her pace, a relentless one. You feel her melting into your core, her fingers curling and stretching your walls as she pounds into you, again, again, again. You sound pathetic, behind the mask of her hand, whining as she leaves, and nearly screaming when she returns.

Abby watches as your face contorts around her fingers, feels you wrap around her. If she feels even a fraction of what she gives you, you wouldn't know. Her eyes remain unkind, left at a distance, but her breathing is staggered. short, laboured. she looks over you, you feel it, feel as her eyelashes rise as she rakes over your body.

You need it to be desire in her eyes. You need her to starve. To crave, like you do. Desperation.

Her hand moves from your mouth, your whimpering breath filling the room fast, the quiet broken. Her pace slows, and you almost rest on her fingers, left to wonder what she’s playing at. Instead, it comes down on your shoulder, still warm and wet with your breath, and she pushes you down onto her fingers, deep, deep. you feel her at the very centre of yourself, your eyes wide as the pressure builds inside you, her fingernails leaving a trail, evidence of her in your walls. She lets your ragged moans echo, hurt and pleasure. It’s an unkind end to things.

You don’t want to let it to end. You can’t.

The distance is broken. You reach out and grasp flesh, firm under your nails. You’re still riding the ecstasy pulse, the heat in your pussy, and Abby lets you stay, holding onto her as if you would fade otherwise. Your cheeks are almost touching, her breath hot on your ear, you hear her for the first time, raspy groans as you squeeze around her. She’s been holding back.

Damn it all.

“Everybody knows. Please. Please, fuck me like you know you should.”

You meet her gaze. Everything is foreign now. Her skin feels different to how you had imagined it. Softer. Her eyes are more uncertain, more than you’d ever seen before. Hesitance.

“Fuck it.”

Whiskey, and a sip of your gin, and tobacco. You didn’t even know she smoked, but you taste it on her like its the only thing she ever did. The smell of pine came in a wave as she moved, hooking her hands under your legs and hoisting you up. For months, you’ve yearned for her to kiss you, begged for it even. And now, her lips are rough, and bloody, and everywhere. Ghosts tracing your neck, unkind, stinging, exhilarating. 

She moves you to the floor without fuss, holding herself over you, your legs spread around her. She’s smiling, and you become so sure that there’s something not quite right with this side of Abby. You’re quickly aware that you’ve landed in hostile territory, vulnerable, needy.

She usually didn’t like it when you begged.

Her tongue is like the rapture on your clit, spitting fire through your veins, in your nerves. You feel it creep up in your body, twisting and tightening through you like something invasive, moans and prayers dripping from your lips that only push her. her name a curse, fallen on your body. You feel her laugh against your slick walls and it jolts you.

Abby, suddenly so aware of you, so kind, so attentive, shifts her posture, “Oh, you’re so needy.” A hand grabs your face, pulling it up from the floor in a dead lull. Her name rolls off your pretty lips once more, “What? You beg for me, and now you can’t take me?” Her tone is mocking, “Which is it? Hm?”

A cacophony. You, you, you. Your head foggy, unsure of what she wants to hear, you beg for again, telling her you can it take it. I can, please, abby.

Her laugh is cruel, mocking as her mouth finds you again, sending cold vibrations up your legs. Slut echoes against your clit.

Inside of you, she feels like a god. Her fingers stretching your walls, pressing deep against your centre at an excruciating pace, and her tongue lazily laps up all that you give her. 

“Fuck! Fu-uck, fuck!”

It’s clear to Abby that the caution she so carefully designed was useless now. People knew, and fuck it if they knew. Fuck it if they heard you dripping on her fingers, calling out her name. Fuck it if they stop the music, and turn to listen - fucking perverts - because it’s her. And you’re the one begging for her.

Stars creep in through the haze in your vision, and Abby’s trying to ask you something harsh, but you don’t hear it. You’re tethered to the feeling of her fingers, your whole body knotting around her like a planet in orbit of the sun. 

You’d burn if she wanted you to, happily.

You’re so fucking tight around her fingers, your legs shaking and a vicious call ripping through your body. Her Name.

The warmth from your body is too much, and the cool of the floor is lulling, soothing, as you collapse. Abby’s fingers leave you empty, incomplete. You whine as she leaves you, your walls tightening around the absence of her. She wipes your cotton slick on your leg.

She stands, and rolls her shoulders. Fixes the few hairs that fall out of place. Guiltless.

“Get dressed, before someone sees you.”

[strawberrycamel]

Hey, You There. Yes, you.

Friends and followers of the Danny Phantom and non-Danny Phantom communities:

I'm giving a little heads up that I'm gonna be Extremely fucking annoying tomorrow (April 3rd) reblogging (and possibly making) edits using variations of the above image for the anniversary of the Danny Phantom premiere.

If you DON'T want to get spammed with those edits, then please block the tag #dannypocalypse

This is a warning.

And a promise. <3

[svtskneecaps]

i'm still stuck on the purgatories so here's a list of purgatory 2 moments simply off the top of my head that deserve to be remembered:

aimsey ducking all of axolotl team alone in a cave with literally half a heart

goose gang fucking descending on the raccoon base and absolutely wrecking shop

ethan crankgameplays clutching up for team panda during the capture the flag game by being the only one hanging out in the center and periodically checking the chests, earning them a shitton of flags and clutching multiple rounds

crow team's egg taking 0 damage

pac doxxing goose gang's egg in the last second

shelby shubble as the last member of her team online writing a letter to aimsey and sharing the world's most devastating ten minutes before her team was eliminated with one of the eye creatures (coco? i forgot lol)

badboyhalo absolutely fucking DEMOLISHING the battleship event on like 2 hours of sleep and a dream

wuant(?) stealing a tv from the battleship event and then playing portuguese ice age on it for the crows lmfao

tubbo djing for his team while waiting for the time for a goose gambit

theguill CRASHING THROUGH THE FUCKING CEILING of the raccoon team's hidey hole like the fucking kool aid man in a last effort to save his team and 4v1 or 5v1 ing team raccoon; he lost but that was such an epic fucking moment

theguill and etoiles pvping and each hyping the other's skills the entire time

seapeekay escaping cellbit and baghera and then stealing their boats and rocketing past to tease them about it; that shit was iconic

kenny going mad with power collecting sand on literally day 1

the english speaking squirrels taking actual physical notes on portuguese phrases (i think)

lgbtiba

i may add more this is an off the top of my head list but like got DAMN i like these events :D i like them a lot

[timetravellingkitty]

revisiting the second wave of covid 19 in india reminded me how much I hate the usa those bitches were hoarding vaccines and patenting them while in india we had bodies floating down rivers, lack of oxygen tanks, not enough hospital beds. our government only didn't care because why would modi of all people give a fuck but I love how the united shithole of america manages to make everything worse. I don't think I'll ever be able to convey the totality of the death toll. so many of us were dying left right and centre. my own grandfather almost died in a crowded hospital, which was one of many that were running short of oxygen tanks yankees had enough vaccines to give to their citizens twice over but we're the sensitive ones girl fuck you and your america