#LORDDDD

[girlboss003]

LAWWWRRRRDDDD DANTE STAND UP NOW!!! (Don’t) (I fear if I put my brainrot into words the opps are gonna sabotage me)

[angelfoxx]

I just know Keegan looks so god damn hot in his casual clothing, going to bed in loose grey boxers and an old band shirt that rides up his stomach when he lies down, AND GOOD GOD his happy traillll😫I feel like he’s one of those guys with really bushy happy trails, doesn’t even know how sexy you find it. He’s lying in bed, one of his big arms around your shoulders while reading an old book. Raises an eyebrow when your hand starts wandering up his thigh, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his boxers..

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ NEED SOMETHING? ❞

…in which keegan entertains your perversions.

FEATURING: keegan p russ.

WARNINGS: keegan being a sexy motherfucker. also me giving him a tatted sleeve because it’s sexy and who the hell is gonna tell me no. also me drooling over his happy trail bc HAPPY TRAILS HAPPY TRAILS LOOOOOOOORD

NOTE/S: oh my god

It’s not your fault, really. Feeling like this. It’s not your fault.

It’s his.

He’s not ignoring you. His arm, slung up on your shoulders, is just a heavy, toned reminder that he’s with you. His attention is just elsewhere.

You aren’t totally sure what book he’s reading. Probably something of Stephen King’s. Last week, it had been Christine. The week prior, It. You hadn’t bothered checking; if it was a low-stress week, he’d tell you all about it once he finished it, true book-critic style. In any case, he’s got the thing casually in his lap, spread open by a splayed hand. He’s got a simple silver band on his middle finger, gnarled and twisted like barbed wire — every now and then, he taps it, just an occasional beat of sound as if to remind you that he’s right there.

You’re ogling his hand, now. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Your eyes travel upward. He’s got a pretty sleeve of black-and-white tattoos; churning ocean waves, storm-battered whitecaps, tossing ships. He’d explained it the first time you’d seen it; something about how he found peace in the chaos of an ocean storm. Just standing in a place where there was no resistance that he could give. Surrendering to the fury of nature. Something like that. It’s…um, attractive. Yeah. You swallow and resist the sudden urge to squeeze your legs together.

The top of that sleeve — thick, billowing clouds — vanishes under the edge of his tee. Charcoal-gray, emblazoned with the title of an old rock band that you’d never really heard of prior to meeting him. He’s still wearing his dog-tag, hanging on a silver chain around his neck and rising on his chest every time he breathes.

Christ, you should stop staring.

His shirt’s ridden up on his stomach, and god, you really shouldn’t look because then you won’t be able to look away. But you do look, because what are you if not a swooning idiot for the sniper sitting beside you?

Every time he breathes, his stomach sinks in and you can see the outline of his abs. God. Fucking Christ. You can see the outline of his abs but not really the middle, because along the middle he’s proudly sporting a long line of short black curls.

You’re basically salivating.

He’s just got some loose gray boxers on, sitting dangerously low on his hips. He’s left the v-line of his hips exposed; your senses are on high alert, eyes catching on every little mole spotting his waist, every little white scar, the edge of the paw-print tattoos he has just below his stomach (it’s where Riley’s front feet go when the dog stands up on his hind legs, tail wagging and tongue lolling), and it’s such a cute little tattoo but your thoughts are anything but and—

“Don’t forget to blink.”

You flinch like you’ve been shot. Your mind goes blank, and your gaze shoots upward.

Tiny smirk caught in the corner of his mouth, Keegan looks down at you with lidded, quietly humored eyes. They seem brilliantly blue, moreso than usual — though maybe that’s just the lighting in here. His hair’s a mess; short and still damp from his earlier shower, undercut scrubbing against your arm as he turns his head, just a little, one eyebrow raised. There’s a little scar through his left one; the hair splits unevenly there. You’ve told him several times that you find it sexy.

He agrees.

“What?” Your mouth feels like it’s filled with a fat wad of cotton. You feel like your thoughts are visible in your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid.” His response is honey-smooth. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say y…you were.” You swallow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Mm.” Keegan narrows his eyes. “Mhm.”

And then he goes back to that book.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how hard you stare at his hand holding that book open. It’s almost pathetic, actually. You’re sure he’d say the same if he knew exactly what thoughts were running through your head right now. Pinkie finger on one page, index on the other, middle and ring both resting so lightly along the inseam of the spine.

Christ.

Trying to shake yourself out of your own head, you turn yourself inwards. Keegan needs no words; his arm tightens around you, hand sliding down to your hip and tugging it over so that you’re fully facing his side, head resting against his chest and body slung down along his leg. It’s comfortable like this; it goes without saying that he’s built like a motherfucker and so his pec is a comfortable resting-place for your head. He’s warm, too, deliciously so; his body heat seeps up through his tee, prickling against your skin. He’s comfy, so comfy; on other nights, you’d fallen asleep like this, cuddled up to his side with one of his arms wrapped around you. Those nights were sweet; when time started to slow and all of your senses started to bleed together, you always heard him call your name, so quiet you wouldn’t catch it if you were awake. When you didn’t answer, he’d laugh — and then you’d hear the rustle of sheets as he stooped over and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head.

You weren’t totally sure if he knew that you knew he did that.

Tonight, though, you can’t do that. You can’t fathom it, because your hand is just itching to move. It’s just casually resting against his thigh — god, his fucking thighs, hard and thick and oh, you have to stop ogling him. You have to stop thinking about how that muscle feels, flexing so slightly under your hand as it moves up.

Moves up?

Oh.

Oops.

Keegan doesn’t say anything when your hand cups the warm spot between his legs. He lets out a short breath — it almost sounds like a laugh. There’s a curve taking shape on his lips, and his eyes glint with humor as he shifts, purposefully pushing his pelvis so slightly up into your palm.

The weight of his dick pushes between your fingers and your legs instinctively snap together. Above you, Keegan’s breath cracks into a nearly-silent laugh.

He’s onto you.

You bite your lip, risking a glance up at him as you do. He isn’t looking at you; he’s still reading, hawkish blue eyes scanning from left to right, over and over again. The hand on your hip lightly squeezes a handful of your thigh.

His hips roll so slightly up again. He’s daring you to continue.

Cocky sonofabitch. You swallow as you move your hand up, up, over the slight angular swell of his abdomen and up past the elastic of his boxers. For a moment, you rake your fingers up his abs and you shudder in response to the way his stomach flexes and his breathing oh-so-slightly breaks.

No words. Just the sound of him turning the page.

Bitch. You bite your tongue as you shift your head around. You can hear his heart thumping beneath your ear, and — god fucking dammit — it’s not beating quicker at all. It’s like you can’t disturb him. Get under his skin like he gets under yours.

You pick at the elastic of his waistband. On one hand? You’re rubbing your legs together, biting your tongue, and there’s a million and one dirty images in your head. You can practically hear Keegan’s growl in your ear: too needy to sit still, princess?

But on the other hand, he’s being mean. He’s ignoring you and all of your signs. And you kind of want to just roll over and go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping for you to go further.

But you won’t. So he’ll get frustrated, and then it’ll be him slowly reaching his hand under the elastic of your waistband, fingers curving over the shape of your body and feeling for wet warmth. He’ll breathe in your ear with that stupid rasp of his and he’ll ask, voice raw, if you were really planning on hanging me out to dry like that? and you’ll say maybe I was.

Or he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll reach into his own pants. He’ll leave you alone, but you’ll wake up to the quiet sound of his muted groans and his hand stroking back and forth under the thin material of his boxers and then maybe he’ll do that thing where he tips his head back, swallows, and his eyes flutter shut and he cursed, quiet and hoarse.

Or maybe—

“Cold feet?” There he is again, short phrases and little questions. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at his book, tilting his head as he turns the page. He raises an eyebrow to you, tongue clasped between his teeth.

“What?”

No response this time. Keegan’s eyes shift over to you; he cocks his head in your direction, and under that messy black mop of hair and those thick black lashes that you’ve always been envious of, Keegan silently asks if you’re really going to play this fucking dumb.

You’ve arrived at a stalemate. You don’t move. He doesn’t speak. You two just stare at each other, blinking back-and-forth like a tennis volley until Keegan finally sighs and looks away. His eyes return to the book.

You’re about to snap, ready to rip the godforsaken thing out of his lap, when the hand on your hip shifts. His arm lifts off of your back; it pulls around your shoulders instead, crushing you into his armpit.

His fingers clasp around your wrist, and you catch the undeniable edge of a smirk on his face before he takes your hand and pulls it into his pants.

get fucking cliffhanger’d bitches

[onyaki]

obsessed

portgas d ace

this is going in one of my stories for ace but this is keeping me in a choke hold so im posting it !!

"you must be obsessed with me," you coo. taking a breath, a shakey, well needed one.

he almost stops his kiss with you, smiling, whimpering and whining at your lips for a little more. "I am," his lips quickly back on yours. "I really, really am." he pulls you back to look you in the eyes for just a moment. your hair messy, uniform looking tugged at and messy. his breath shutters and he hitches his breathing again, kissing you like you're gonna melt in his arms. making you needier and needier for his touch and lips.

[delicatepointofview]

"take care 💋✌🏻"

[remersgirl]

this picture came up on my pinterest and i’m going INSANE

matt and trey look so fucking good in this JESUS CHRIST

[thefirstlioveyou]

WILLIAM BYERS OSHSMXUSKEKK

[jeongin-lvr]

saw you’re in a yeonjun mood dee and now i am too

i want to ride him and have my hand around his throat. that’s it 😩 i’m so in love with him jesus christ usually i’m all about him ruining me to the fullest, but ngl sometimes i have moments where i want to see him go reallyyyyy weak under me

hope you’re having a wonderful start of the week *hugs* 🩷

yes yes yes yes yes yes yes !!!!!!! also hey 😗 my weeks been so good I hope yours has been too pls take care of yourself hejejenene

Yeonjun would be so messy about it, in my opinion. Holding your throat in his hands while he groans out demands for you to fulfill. “Just like that… yeah, baby, keep it up. Bounce on it, fuck, just like that.” He’d spit on you, down your body to watch it flow between your puffy folds. Watch as his cock disappeared between your legs as the wet squelches grew louder by the second. His pretty hand squeezing your throat in intervals to hear those desperate whiny gasps; chuckling each time he heard them. He’d pull your hair and lick stripes up your chest and throat, commanding you to keep going when your body grew too tired to continue. Maybe if you begged hard enough he’d help you out a little— go on, just use your big girl voice <3 “you can do it. do it for me, princess, don’t stop. if you stop I won’t let you cum, you don’t want that right?”

[aspecialcase]

Someone take this movie away from me

[mlm-blues]

u ever see a man so handsome you literally blackout for a couple seconds

[lunasglow]

Just saw a post on tumblr.com claiming that the scene where Otto tells Alicent to wear her dead mother’s clothes was “sweet” and “a subtle expression of his love for her.”

I’m not often shocked by asinine takes after years in the asoif/f&b fandom, but what—and I say this with all sincerity—the actual fuck.

[skz-streamer]

HOLD UPPP FELIX DYED HIR HAIR BLONDE AGAIN💀💀💀 OOO I JUST KNOW THAT SHIT CRISPYYY

[overleftdown]

4th and final part to my farleigh analysis. most of this one is just ranting, since all of these scenes are fairly self-explanatory. i am plagued by thoughts and emotions.

[1:12:45] farleigh: i wouldn't do this! elsbeth: james is very upset. farleigh: you know that i... why would i do this!? elsbeth: i don't know! farleigh: i swear to god, this has to be a- elsbeth: enough! farleigh: there must be some kind of mistake, here.

oliver really did hit farleigh where it hurts, i suppose. farleigh remains committedly in control of himself; he knows when and where to say something, how carefully he needs to act in saltburn. he toes a line, but he somehow manages to stay on the right side of the cattons' affection. this, however, was a breach of that line. oliver attacked the cattons' trust in farleigh, in their confidence of his ability to remain compelling and non-threatening. maybe oliver was expecting this particular offense to be the end of their good graces towards farleigh, although it clearly wasn't.

[1:37:17] felix: i mean, the idiot! he had to have known that dad went to school with the chairman. venetia: i mean, talk about biting the hand. and mum and dad would give him anything he asked for. felix: yeah, well. obviously, he got sick of asking. venetia: that's ridiculous. he's more spoilt than we are. felix: i mean, come on vee, you have to admit. it's a little bit dark, him having to go to mum and dad with a beginning bowl. venetia: oh, boo-fucking-hoo. felix: already yes, fine, it was incredibly fucking stupid.

again, the irony of this situation is that farleigh really would never do this. it's interesting, how nobody questions it.

i also think it's important that venetia assumes the money would be for farleigh himself, and felix neglects to correct her. the conversation he references by specifically saying "begging bowl" had everything to do with farleigh's mother. the lack of familial privilege farleigh has is, also, a supposed racial bias. felix also neglects to mention this. the idea that farleigh could be implicitly discriminated against within saltburn is so deeply uncomfortable, so offensive, that felix can't even mention it as an objective discussion he had with farleigh. that's not surprising, though.

[1:25:30] oliver: have they seen you, yet? farleigh: not yet. oliver: yeah, they'll go ballistic. farleigh: i doubt it. they invited me. oliver: ohhh. farleigh: mmm... mmm. god, the look on your face. oliver: they can't have invited you. farleigh: oh, oliver. you'll never catch on. this place? you know, it's not for you. it is a fucking dream. it's an anecdote you'll bore your fat kids with for christmas. olivers once in a lifetime, handjob on a hay bale, golden big boy summer! and you'll cling onto it, and comb over it, and jerk off to it, and wonder how you could ever... ever, ever, ever get it back. but you don't get it back. because your summer's over. and so you... oh... you catch a train to whatever creepy doll factory they make olivers in. and i come back here. this isn't a dream to me. it's my house. so whatever happens, i always come back. try harder next time, baby.

god, this monologue. so much for me to chat about.

"this place? you know, it's not for you." farleigh has this obsession with the fact that oliver is an outsider. it's intentional, it's instinctive, because farleigh is an outsider all the same. it's strange, though, because this is still farleigh's family. this is his aunt, his uncle, his cousins, and the house he's lived in for at least a couple years. he shouldn't, reasonably, be an outsider. yet, he's treated as one. something kills me about how hard farleigh is fighting for a place to belong. and sure, the money, the lavish lifestyle, it's all great. i don't disagree that farleigh is motivated by the fact that he's never experienced the life of lesser wealth that he fears so much. but there's also so much love for felix and venetia and i'm sure, for elsbeth and james.

this makes the final portion of farleigh's monologue so relevant. this is that kind of foreshadowing where a character implies a happy ending before receiving the opposite of that. farleigh says "this isn't a dream to me. it's my house. so whatever, happens, i always come back." and he... doesn't! he does not come back, at least at the invitation of elsbeth or james. this was a dream for him, too. oliver just had to prove it, how easy it is to destroy everything farleigh has worked for since arriving at saltburn. the pocket in time that farleigh runs to when he doesn't want to go back to america and his mom.

[1:35:58] (they find felix's body, in the maze). farleigh and venetia destroy me, in this scene. the way farleigh reaches for her hand and pulls her into him. at 1:36:56, he pulls her into him again. they cling onto each other. sometimes i think about how much farleigh must have loved them and grieved them alone. how in the world do you cope with that?

[1:37:12] (pre-curtains closing) it's the way farleigh glances to felix's empty chair. it's the way that, even now, it's farleigh sitting next to felix's ghost. and he's trying his hardest, in this moment, to be very english about his emotions. great effort.

[1:39:28] farleigh: oh, my god. may i be excused, please? james: no. we haven't finished lunch. farleigh: the lunch is cold! what, you want me to just eat it like nothing's happening? elsbeth: what else is there to do, darling? farleigh: anything! anything! james: farleigh! will you be quiet!? sit down and eat the bloody pie! just eat it! eat it and shut up! eat the bloody pie! you're not the only person here with feelings. none of us wants your bloody american feelings.

i don't know if there's any singificance to this, but the same moment that farleigh cracks is the same moment that the footman behind him cracks.

of course, english repression vs american... normal...ness. "none of us wants your bloody american feelings" is, again, such a strong indication of how differrent farleigh is. he's family, yes. but he's different for a multitude of reasons. i also find it heartbreaking, how elsbeth speaks to him in this scene. she is visibly trying so hard to keep herself together and maintain a calmness while speaking to him. i really do wonder how close they were.

[1:40:10] farleigh: what the fuck are you still doing here? what, does no one else find it weird? no one else finds that weird? oliver: i wouldn't throw stones if i were you, farleigh. farleigh: excuse me? venetia: please, stop. james: what is he saying? farleigh: i, i have no idea. oliver: what i'm saying is, i would feel guilty, too. farleigh: guilty? oliver: if i was the one racking up lines on the night that someone died. farleigh: fuck you. oliver: that's not a denial. james: is that true? search farleigh's room. farleigh: no- james: get out. farleigh: no, wait- elsbeth: what's happening? farleigh: aunt elsbeth? elsbeth? james: don't you dare look at her. get out. i won't mention to this to the police, but that's all you'll get. nothing more, ever again.

and here is all it took to ruin farleigh. archie's acting in this scene is so potent it's kind of vomit inducing. the way he fidgets with his sleeves, the way he flinches and his lip quivers. farleigh is buried in a sweater. now, more than anywhere else, he looks so young.

for the first time in this movie, farleigh refers to elsbeth as his aunt. gah. not that elsbeth seems any more motherly than what i imagine farleigh's own mother to be, but goodness, he's begging for affection. i realize there's not much else to say about this scene other than how heartbreaking it is. i'm basically writing this post for my own self benefit; i gotta rant somehow! i wonder if farleigh did feel guilty for his actions that night. if he regrets sticking to his own agenda, avoiding felix and the rest of his family like the plague. if he regrets the competitive nature of it all; how quickly his need to be accepted took precedent over the genuine connection he had with felix. there's something so hopeless about learning how to lie.

i think, out of all the cattons, farleigh understood how much it all mattered. the money, the ease of summer, the companionship during school. just like oliver, he knew how to work, in his own way. farleigh knew what it felt like to be loved and ignored by the cattons, and by his own family in america. rararararararara.

[hooksredrum]

oh.

[sttoru]

oh sorry about that true form sukuna ask erm i was horny af ☺️ but true form sukuna who has to lean down so the reader can kiss his cheeks because he's so big !!

LMSOSOA DW ANGEL youre gooood i was giggling behind the screen but i mentally wrote that down to include in my possible true form sukuna smut fics 🤞🏽🤞🏽

AND YESHGAGAHS im literallllllly a sucker for size differences if yall didnt notice but uhh LAMAOS especially when its a supernatural being x human trope GODDDD . ok imagine this ; sukuna looking down at you with his usual stoic expression, red eyes silently staring at you for two whole seconds after you ask if he could bend down for a moment. well, you’re his favourite human so he eventually complies without a word, leaning his head down to be at level with yours & then you kiss his cheeks. SOBBB he’d brush it off, sigh and stay stuff like ‘i’ll never understand you (dumb) humans.’ BUTT you can see the slight twitch of the corner of his lips — an amused faint smile visible for just a SPLIT second

i am so weak . SOSOSOS WEAK i wanna write that tonight 😓

[tinogiehd]

[nataliesdog]

RAUQUSKSHSKDHWKHDKEWGDSHSGS