#Nobody asked for this but

[caffichai]

Utage!

[pimmecore]

[tunakitchen]

40K QBAGINA‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥💯💯💥 MINECRAFT YURI 🔛🔝

clip from @pixiecaps

[mimimar]

(open pages for better image quality)

the moment I heard elphaba's delivery of "there's a girl i know..." in i'm not that girl i knew i had to draw this comic, i strongly recommend listening to it while you read for the full experience!

this comic is a companion to this piece (which was inspired by glinda's delivery of the same line in the i'm not that girl reprise).

pages 1-4 are from elphie's pov, pages 5-8 are from glinda's.

prints of individual pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

flower meanings in order of appearance:

[wardensantoineandevka]

is that piece of media actually bad, or is it just not following the blueprint you projected onto it? is that work actually not good, or are you just demanding something from it that is absolutely antithetical to its themes, genre, tone, and narrative goal? is that story actually poorly written, or do you just dislike that it is not the specific things you wanted from it that it never set out to be, never was, and never is going to become? is it actually bad, or is it actually well-executed and you just dislike the story it chose to be because it isn't catering to your specific desires and expectations?

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

From this

[nobodyaskeddo]

Handing out free Dropout subscriptions if you can get in the comments.

Also a message from Ify:

Watch the season finale now on Dropout

[softaestluv]

Simon Riley who’s got you bent in half, fucking you within an inch of your life, plunging his fat cock so deep you can feel it bruise your cervix.

But he’s kissing you so fucking softly and tenderly, whispering sweet words and pretty promises against your swollen lips— s’fuckin’ pretty, gonna make you my pretty little wife. Keep you as mine forever.

The contrast has you so strung out, stretched thin pulled between each tether. It constricts your chest, has your mind gumming, pooling into each curl of his tongue, words coiling a vice grip around your heart.

But you don’t even have time to think about them or respond, not when his thrusts are so cruel, unrelenting, making sure the claim of his cock takes and makes his words true.

[daiwild]

more timkon.. more timkon i beg.. or timberkon... either one.. pls and thank you..

i just can not stand these guys (lying)

[stealingpotatoes]

I love your art! Do you think you will ever do more of the Owen and Anakin as good brothers?

thank you! i absolutely will and here's proof:

(commission info // tip jar!)

[nobodyaskedyou]

Sorry but I'm never going to get over Kevin chewing out the Ravens, revealing that Wymack is his dad, and dropping the "I've never been skiing" bomb on live television in the same interview, and then going "we're all going to die" while hunched over a sink the second he walked off stage. Absolutely hilarious.

[yellenabelova]

ILONA MAHER

Photographed by Ben Watts for Sports Illustrated (Aug 28, 2024)

[l4ndoflove]

landog

oscat

pupaya

[eraserbread]

midnight messes are no match for your husband, nanami ✧

→ afab!reader, period sex, oral f!receiving, nsfw

he wakes you up with a kiss to the shoulder, golden hair strewn about his head and a tired look in his eye. the bedroom is overwhelmingly dark, you're lying on your side, stirred from sleep.

"my dear," he mutters into your naked shoulder, closing his hand around your arm. under the blankets, your legs are tangled together. you smile into the touch.

"mm,"

"i know," he reassures, kissing you once more. "but, we're a bit bloody under here."

your eyes fly open, staring off into dead space at the realization. now that he's mentioning it, your stomach is tighter–back ringing with the most delicate of aches. you rush to sit up, pushing him away as you pull your knees to your loosely covered chest.

"holy shit kento, i'm so sorry.. i don't know what to do." you can't see much in the darkness, but you can feel. it's warm on your thighs–thick, crimson, and sticky. "I'm usually so good about... a-about avoiding this, I'm so sorry."

if you could see him through the darkness, you would see the confused sort of half-dead stare he gives you when he sits up. "it's just blood, baby. you didn't shit the bed."

if you could get any more flustered you would, but you're already burning hot and aching at his side. aching everywhere. sizzling like a vampire when he reaches to flick the bedside lamp on.

then the murder scene is shrouded in light and you're staring at him like a guilty puppy. he thinks it's so damn endearing, you're so pitiful and pretty tangled in your bloody sheets that when he goes in to kiss you, it doesn't stop.

and when he starts to dip his head between your thighs, you don't stop him. not even when he's peeling your soiled panties from your skin, inhaling the pure scent of you when he finally comes face-to-face.

blood is soaked into the mattress, past the sheets and blankets, so kento doesn't care anymore. he'll drag you to the couch after a shower anyway and coddle you to sleep, but right now, this was too tempting a situation to pass up. he licks his lips.

"god, you're such a freak. it's always the quiet ones." you're holding your breath as he situates between your thighs, laying on his stomach, trapping your thighs between his big arms.

kento's in his element, breathing in your essence like a perfume. "are you insulting me?"

"what normal man goes down on his wife during her period? mmf- it's unheard of." you bite your lip, rustling against the soaked sheets as kento's soft lips trail over your leg.

"men who are obsessed with their wives and worship the ground they walk on," he pauses, sinking his teeth into the fleshy, sensitive inside of your thigh. "and everything that comes with being so close to a woman." he's making his way up to your warm, pulsing cunt, nose digging between your slit as his tongue makes its way to your hole.

he breathes you in, then licks you clean in one thick stroke.

and you immediately reach to tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, your breath sucked from your lungs. "m'god, it's so sensitive."

"focus on me, baby." kento breathes, lapping sloppy streaks through your cunt. his face is covered in it, the dull light paints his red-tinged face in holy hues, casting shadows against his most prominent features.

his fingers dig in your thighs like he'd die if you moved, so you don't. you arch your back, moaning his name into the damp midnight air.

kento does a better job at cleaning you up than you ever could in the shower, especially because he just doesn't stop. his eyes drift shut like that, red lips sucking at your sweet cunt, moaning into it when a fresh wave of bloody arousal passes his lips.

[kimeoshi]

Final Victor lightcone but make it SO much worse