#LED conversion

[sadambomb]

Demon eyes on the trokita

[chazchaschad]

asdfdata

[pianokantzart]

Ravenous about the fact that Super Paper Mario actually ties off the loose ends of Mario and Luigi's character dynamic in Paper Mario 64. Mario goes from leaving his brother behind out of worry to leaving his brother behind... reluctant every step of the way... because he trusts him and cares enough about Luigi to show that he trusts him. It's like poetry, it rhymes, listen-

[msmimundo]

Day 29: Water~~

Ofc I had to draw the boy. And also Doofapus who I haven't draw in a hot minute (I draw him more than my own ocs) Here Perry is teaching him how platypuses swim :) Had like 3 sketches before I settled on this one lol

@howtonerdoutovereverything

[hazy-egg]

is this anything?

[dailyhogz]

thanks to a discussion I had with my best friend earlier: shadow drinking heated up Dr pepper in a mug?

193. i feel like this is a very late night sleep deprived shadow drink

[zylphiacrowley]

Archery practice ➸♥

[radracer]

1980 Ford Fairmont Ute Conversion 5.0

@dustinchapman

[anistarrose]

today I randomly decided to drop everything and make a custom emote, the result of which I'm kinda more obsessed with than everything else I've ever made combined, so. I present to you. free to use. Him

[Image description: an emote of Red Robe Barry from The Adventure Zone, based off the pleading face emoji. He's a shadowy disembodied head with big watery eyes, no mouth, and a red hood. End description.]

[vicciouxs]

my favorite.

[thecodeisveronicaa]

[wrenaspun]

Capri prompt: write us some porn. (Spanking, perhaps?)

A simple request, one would think! And yet, uh, this is not very porny and only alludes to spanking. Sorry anon... their hopeless vanilla nature came through too strongly. I AM going to try and get another fill out with more porn than this for you -

Laurent was very relaxed and his defences, his usual iron self-restraint, were reliably nonexistent after Damen had wrung a single orgasm from him, let alone three. He blamed this comfortable atmosphere for the fact that he asked, “How do you discipline slaves?” and then, seeing the familiar obstructive look on Damen’s face, amended the question: “How did you discipline slaves, when you had them?”

Damen calmed and considered this. Laurent stroked his fingers through dark curls, marvelling at their loveliness. “I didn’t really… I suppose I would tell them they had done poorly, if I thought so.”

Laurent looked at him incredulously. Damen offered, “I might speak to the trainer?”

Laurent said, “Damen.”

Damen was laughing at him. “Laurent. It would hardly be their own fault! That was the whole — that’s why we’re abolishing — why are you even asking this?”

Laurent, who had not even considered that the conversation might take this turn, found himself blank of any answer. “I,” he said, then shut his mouth.

Damen, who knew him far too well, was grinning up at him impudently. “Did you want me to be your unruly, impossible slave? I’m not opposed.”

“Of course you’re not,” Laurent muttered, feeling the flush creeping over his face, “you never are.”

“You could speak very sternly to someone about my behaviour while I weep piteously in the corner,” said Damen. He was battling valiantly with a smile which wanted to emerge at the corner of his mouth. As Laurent watched, the smile won. The room brightened.

“You couldn’t weep piteously if your life depended on it,” he managed.

“Well,” said Damen. “I could try.” And then: “Perhaps if you gave me five minutes alone beforehand, with an onion —”

Laurent pushed Damen off his lap and marched from the bed, pouring himself an unnecessary glass of water to the sound of Damen’s protests.

“But really, tell me,” said Damen, having rolled onto his stomach, now watching Laurent’s progress through the room with warm eyes. “What were you thinking about to ask that?” His brown eyes were so gorgeous in the candlelight, warm and wide. Laurent’s skin felt shivery and bright, ecstatic to be looked at. He couldn’t talk. Damen took mercy on him and asked, “How do Veretians punish their pets?”

“Many ways,” said Laurent. “It depends on the employer. I — spanking. Caning.” He did not say whipping. “Chastity. Humiliation. It’s not all — I mean, some pets act out deliberately to provoke it. For fun. The only real punishment is to terminate the contract. Theoretically.” While the monetary incentive was there, plenty of pets would put up with activity they didn’t enjoy and didn’t want. It was a problem they were still trying to find a solution for.

Damen was watching him carefully. Laurent regretted getting out of bed: everything was easier to talk about when he had Damen by his side, within touching distance, but it felt somehow strange to go to him now, the timing awkward.

“Did you want,” Damen said; his tone said much more, “to try any of that?”

Laurent bit his lip. It was his own fault, he acknowledged, for starting this conversation with an imprecision to his language which left his ultimate meaning ambiguous. He’d thought Damen would appreciate that; Akielons were so fond of leaving every part of their bedplay to allusion. He had seen Makedon call for the recitation of a poem the other day about flowers that had had every grown man in the hall blushing.

“I was thinking,” pushing the words out, “you might want it the other way around,” he said. “To do to me.”

“Well, not while you look like that talking about it,” said Damen. “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”

Laurent did, too relieved even to feel self-conscious. Damen made a small noise as he tucked their bodies together again, and Laurent realised that the evening air was cool, that his body had grown chilled while they spoke.

“It’s not like that,” he said to the sheets. “Whatever I — looked like — it wasn’t because —”

Damen hummed easily when the words fell away, his body a lovely warm reassurance beside Laurent’s. It was impossible to be truly nervous in bed together, with the blankets drawn snugly over them, sharing body heat. “Why wouldn’t you want to do that to me?”

Laurent looked up at him disbelievingly. And then, when this did not seem to yield understanding, said, “I think I’ve done enough to you for one lifetime.”

Damen blinked down at him and rubbed one hand along Laurent’s tight spine. “I thought this was meant to be for fun.”

“Even in fun,” said Laurent. And then, “Don’t talk. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Damen promised obligingly. And then he kissed Laurent so sweetly that it was impossible not to arch up into it, to press their bodies together as close as they would go, and then even closer, leaving words behind them.

[leonardcohenofficial]

learned from multiple students today that apparently jungle juice is no longer a staple of college partying and has been mostly replaced by BORGs (black out rage gallons; i first heard this term in grad school from undergrads but did not realize that this was a widespread trend) the times really are a-changin'

[latriviata]

So spouse and I have discussed the Vatican team who have the job of monitoring social media a few times in the past month (and previous years), but it only recently occurred to us that that means they probably know about the conclave fic.

which progressed to me wondering if they have ao3 accounts or are just reading as guests

which progressed to checking if anyone had already registered the username Pontifex - unfortunately they have, because using that account to leave kudos on all the horniest and most yearning-heavy Conclave fic would be the most incredible bit.

edited to add that spouse also just thought it would be extra funny to use this to try and stoke fandom drama by pointedly only kudosing one ship

[sad-trekkie-life]

Highly intellectual conversation.

Kirk: It’s a weird mirror.

Spock: It is probably not a mirror.

Kirk: What mirror?

Spock: Well, this weird mirror.

Kirk: It is probably not a mirror.

[mystical-one]

And is the bob dylan biopic post-credits scene in the room with us now? Well,