#i am not proud of this

[ilviscontedimezzato]

Hi my name is Mordred Dark'ness Saxonian Ghoul Pendragon and I am a temperated and controlled young man (that's why i choose my name) and i have short black ebony hair and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like someone that would rode his rotten world into the sun (AN: if u don't support that get da hell out of here!). I'm not related (PS I AM YAYYY) to Arthur Pendragon but I wish I was because that would mean that I have a father. I'm a ghoul but my teeth are straight and white even if i am used to eat human meat. I have pale white skin. I'm also a saxon, and I am at Camelot in Fort Galfrian where I am in hope to make peace between the camelot and the ghouls (I am the peacemaker). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love the craftsmanship of my tribe and all my all my clothes are made from dyed human skin. For example today I was wearing a black shirt with a black leather jacket and equally black and made from leather trousers and combat boots. I had white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Camelot. It was sunny in the desert and so hot that it seamed that the tube sun would melt the rocks, which I wasn’t very happy about as i grow up in the darkness of the lower levels. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

After this I can die (not in peace).

[tulipsforvin]

May I request a Mycroft Homes x jealous Reader who assumes Mycroft was cheating on them? I don’t mind if it has a sad or happy ending, thank you!

Mycroft Holmes x Jealous GN!Reader

Note: Gender pronouns not assigned.

Format: Headcannons. (I didn't know what you wanted😭)

✧ Mycroft had recently hired a secretary by the name of Briar. The problem? Briar was clumsy and often needed Mycroft's assistance while completing their tasks.

✧ Originally, you'd never been insecure of your position as Mycroft's spouse. He'd always treat you with the utmost care but ever since Briar came into Mycroft's life — everything seemed to be crashing down.

✧ Mycroft was always occupied in some sort of task, anyway. And thus, knowing that he's busy, you'd keep your concerns to yourself.

✧ You'd visit him the next day under the guise of merely 'checking up' on your husband when actually you wanted to know how the two — Mycroft and Briar interacted.

✧ What did you find? That Briar, even in their incompetence, was never, ever given even the tiniest of reprimanding from Mycroft. To top it off, he'd almost seem amused watching Briar and that their conversations seemed almost friendly more than professional.

✧ You found that peculiar since you knew your husband was mostly reserved and drew clear lines between his private and work life.

✧ You'd try to speak saying something along the lines of, “I thought you were the more reserved type when it came to your work, dear.” followed by a nervous laughter tumbling down your lips.

✧ Mycroft would raise an eyebrow, curious, and just as he was about to speak, Briar would butt in saying “Ah - no, no, Mx. (Name), Mycroft is a wonderful man, I assure you. He treats me wonderfully well and I'm very happy to working under him.” to which Mycroft responded by saying, “I find it easy to work with Briar. They're comfortable to be around.”

✧ Your face falls. The two were already familiar enough to call each other by their first names? You clearly your throat, swallowing the lump growing in it.

✧ The next couple of days felt even worse. Mycroft would be spending more and more time outside and when you tried to confront him about it, he'd say things like “I'm busy.” or “I need to host an upcoming event for everyone that works with me which is why I'm not home as often.”

✧ To make up for his time away from you, he'd often send materialistic items and expensive gifts but honestly, you didn't want any of what he kept on gifting you. An absence of a substantial presence can never be filled by any substitutes. You wanted him, not gifts.

✧ What made matters uglier was that whenever he was home, so was Briar. The two would often lock themselves in the study, saying that the things they were discussing was confidential and government related.

✧ Your suspicions rose even further.

✧ It almost felt like Mycroft preferred Briar's company over yours. It felt like he tolerated you more than anything else and you felt your stomach churn.

✧ You could feel it — this uneasy, anxious feeling clawing it's way from the pits of your stomach to by our throat.

✧ One particular night, you're awoken from your slumber by the doorbell. Putting on something warmer to wear and get out of bed, you make your way downstairs to the door. What greets you is a completely intoxicated and half conscious Mycroft with an arm slung around Briar's shoulder, holding onto them for support.

✧ Obviously very shocked by this and seeing your husband this drunk for the very first time, you begin questioning the two what had happened. Mycroft, unable to properly converse his drunkenness, lets Briar do the taking in his stead.

✧ “Everybody from the workplace wanted to take a break from work and decided to head to the pub to loosen up a little.” They say.

✧ “This doesn't look like 'loosening up' a little.” You responded, feeling everything you'd compress deep inside your heart — all those negative emotions and feelings boiling up to the surface.

✧ Briar, a little startled to see you raise your concerns for the very first time since they'd been employed, apologised and returned to their own home.

✧ That night, the two of you got into a heated argument. Things broke, the two of you raised your voices at each other, shouted & cursed.

✧ The next morning, you decided to give your husband the silent treatment. Whenever he'd try to get you to speak, you'd excuse yourself from the conversation, saying you had somewhere else to be.

✧ Misunderstandings began to arise between you two. You wouldn't speak to him because you felt deeply hurt and he, feeling confused and hurt himself turned to Briar and he began to depend more on them for mental support.

✧ There was even a time that you contemplated divorcing Mycroft. Yet, memories of the two of you - how you two first met, how he first began courting you, the laughter you shared and the conversations you had began flashing through your mind.

✧ Things had taken a dreadful toll, the atmosphere in the house was often heavy and it felt almost suffocating to be at home. You shared different bedrooms, ate at different times, avoided each other and when the two of you passed by each other in the hallways, you'd often feel your heart throb in pain.

✧ Sherlock, Mycroft's younger brother often consoled you during these times and you were grateful for that. Although Sherlock often made it seem like he disliked his older brother, he could see how the situation that was currently playing out affected Mycroft and how it distressed him.

✧ The two of you, to stubborn to discuss it out, continued to avoid each other like the plague.

✧ Thinking that you couldn't live like this anymore — in this uncomfortable, stressful environment, you decided to bring up the topic of divorce to Mycroft.

✧ For the first time in your life since you'd met him, you finally saw him break down and cry right infront of you. You could see from his trembling hands and his constant leg bouncing and foot tapping on the ground, along with the tears that he shed, that this was something he was actually very anxious and disturbed about.

✧ He'd beg you to reconsider and after a very, very long discussion — one where the two of you finally conversed with each other like adults. It went on for hours and hoursm

✧ The conversation ended in tears, both from you and him. In the end, the two of you finally reached a conclusion that you and him would not divorce. You and Mycroft apologized to each other and vowed to become more understanding.

✧ And ever since that day, he's become more attentive of you. He keeps his colleagues and subordinates at a fair distance and you make sure to voice your worries anytime everything seems off. Mycroft does the same with you.

✧ You and him go on more dates, spend more time with each other and you occasionally drop by his office for a cup of tea and a few kisses behind the closed doors of his office.

✧ Things at home seem happier now, more relaxed. And although sometimes the two of you feel a little awkward talking to each other after almost parting ways with each other, you two have never felt more at peace.

[honeybuns-bb]

Confession Time

This pisses me off so bad but I unfortunately find Hemlock slightly attractive because he reminds me just enough of Freddy Carter as Kaz Brekker (+ the eyebrow slit) and it annoys me so much

like

fuck all the way off

[thatonepizzaman]

@tea-lol-here made me make this

THIS IS YOUR FAULT

“Look into the lean”

[shcyc]

Heyy how are you? I hope you are good.

I saw your Moriarty the Patriot work and hoped that I can ask you for my request.

I had in mind like reader who is Jack’s granddaughter who visited him to help group for mission. She has crush on Liam since Moriarty brothers steped in her house after fire. When they had dinner William teased her under the table. After dinner William caught her pleasure herself.

Stay safee and I hope you will do my request 💕

HII THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING <3 writing moriarty makes me happy so!!! (also sorry this is so late + turning this into modern au because it's easier + it's not the best because i procrastinated)

cw; teasing, masturbation, overstimulation,

being "childhood friends" with the moriarty brothers was interesting, especially with william because he always kept to himself and that was fascinating on its own

you loved to tease him, picking up a little something here and there from moran as well, but you did it because it was fun and his reactions were very cute! especially when his face flushes slightly and tries to tease you back

you know full well that he has the capability to tease you back, and make you ten times flustered, and yet he doesn't — and as time passed, your teasings came to a minimum, well aware that you are both adults now

"you okay?"

tears well in your eyes as you look up towards albert sitting opposite of you, you did not expect william to put his hand on your thigh and that caught you off guard, making you choke on the wine in your mouth

"yes, it's nothing!"

your head snaps towards the left where william is at, questioning him with your eyes, he doesn't look at you but you can see the smile on his face, the smile of victory — he's been waiting for years to do this, to see you flustered because he's the one teasing you

and he knows, he knows why you've stopped once you turned into an adult, how could he not? you practically eyefuck him respectfully every chance you have, not that he hasn't done the same

this isn't the first time he's done something like this under the table during dinner, and it certainly won't be the last — your grip on the fork tightens as he inches his fingers up, grazing your thighs gently over your slitted dress, leaving the places he touched burning with desire

your mind blanks as you stare at the food in front of you, trying not to let out any sounds of pleasure to the brothers sitting with you

william leans towards your ear as his fingers drag up your dress slightly, just enough for his fingers to touch your already stained panties, "looks like you're enjoying yourself."

"fuck." you curse under your breath, loud enough for only him to hear

he smiles as you push his fingers away, you squeeze your thighs together before you excused yourself from the table, desperately needing to release yourself because he sure isn't going to help

you're gasping and sighing from needing more the moment you get on your bed, falling into the abyss of pleasure, back arching off the soft cushions as your fingers press onto your hardened and sensitive clit, juices coating them immediately

as much as you didn't want to say it, his name comes into your head and they roll off your tongue so easily, hoping that he'd be the one to touch you finally just give you what you needed

your heads are in the clouds, too immersed in your own pleasure of chasing your high to even notice the said man standing at your door frame, watching everything you are doing to yourself

william watches as you ride your fingers while your orgasm dies down, panting heavily from the feeling, but as soon as it's over, you're groaning at the lack of it — your fingers, they're not enough

"you know, if you wanted my help, you could've just asked."

you turn to look at william as he walks towards your bed, mattress dipping at his weight while he gets between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs once again, except this time, you get to see how dangerous he looks with his hooded, lust-filled red eyes

his fingers sink into your warm ring of muscle smoothly with the help of your recent orgasm, curling and stretching at the right spots

he thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, especially when you're under him, begging and whining his name for more, and he thinks he should've done this a lot sooner

"gonna make you cum on my fingers, okay pretty girl?"

[batsyvie]

I love fanfiction authors so much. They must put embed crack into their writing, and I snort every ounce of it up. Do you know how many Good Omens fics I have read this month. TWO MILLION WORDS WORTH. I haven't read this much in years. Probably ever. My family thinks I have become a recluse. Fanfiction authors hold so much power over me. I love them.

[leetriesart]

Throwback to when I didn’t realize that the lighter wasn’t a zippo in the magnus archives and imagined this for an entire listening and a half …

[lighbo]

if you don't have a neck does that mean i can detach your head from your body and use it as a basketball/bowling ball

[I do have a neck but-]

[hgduo]

q!luzubur: do you think a spaniard and a british man could fall in love?

War is over...

[arkos404]

thinking about a tweet saying that they turned dimple and reigen into a tumblr girl and hipster and couldnt stop thinking about it

[d1zzypaw]

i have just discovered that i cannot transfer a mew from pokemon go to pokemon let's go, the game it was made as a direct companion to.

this means that the only way to legitimately get a Mew into those games was to buy the go+ ball thing (if they even sell it anymore?) which was yknow. an Additional Expense. that is soooo fucking rude

also i was really hoping to transfer my Go event shiny mew into Let's Go but I guess I can't despite the effort (+MONEY) it took to get the darn thing

[ifonlyicouldrun]

My toxic trait is going on ST Reddit, writing "Byler endgame" , closing the tabs and never coming back

[ariadnew]

CTJL 2021, ROUND 7: PARIS

Archie had lived in Paris once, when he was eighteen. He and three of his closest mates, newly graduated, living out of a predictably small, predictably bohemian apartment in Montmartre while they spent the summer making pocket money teaching English to French kids and exploring their newfound adult freedom to the fullest extent they dared. 

All of this is, naturally, entirely new information to Dot.

Much to her delight, he continues on the Metro. One of his best friends, he tells her, got a job peeling vegetables and washing dishes at a restaurant governed by an Escoffier-trained chef, just to line his pockets. He fell wickedly and firmly in love with the world of the kitchen that summer. They barely saw him. He’s a sous-chef at one of London’s swankiest hotels now. And they still barely see him. Another spent those months honing his already prodigious talent for the social. Their apartment, he relates with a smile that is half-nostalgic, half-bashful, was frequently stuffed to the brim with strangers and friends alike; people found in clubs, markets, parks, cafes, galleries, streets; artists, actors, dancers, dreamers, and anything in between. On particularly notable occasions, their guests included a thalassophobic carcinologist, a Viennese piano technician, a professor of film studies, a diplomat’s (alleged) former mistress, and a fascinatingly cheerful mortician. Mostly, however, he recalls women. Lyndsay had a new girl on his arm every time they saw him, it seemed. Sometimes two. Sometimes two on each arm. Two on each arm, and a few in tow for his single friends. He was- by his own testimony- “unerringly generous” in that regard.

– But those, Archie says, as abrupt as the gentle appearance of colour in his cheeks, are stories for another time. His tone and his haste to depart the Metro tell her that another time is likely code for never. 

* It is to Montmartre he is taking them that morning, to a small cafe tucked between a fromagerie and a shop crammed as ambitiously as it precariously with ceramics. It’s a street of vibrancy, filled with colour and quirkiness and life. Awnings flutter bright against the grey Parisian sky; the numbing autumn air is tinted with the warm, wheaten smell of a busy bakery. They pass a record store painted red and a glacier in shades of orange and ice; beneath signs announcing costumières in flamboyant strokes and bric-à-brac with scraps of rusted metal. Tables and chairs are arranged dutifully outside eateries and are occupied by equally dutiful locals taking their morning coffee and smoking in the drizzle. The gutter underfoot trickles and glistens with overnight rain, crumpled with sodden copper leaves and cigarette butts. A middle-aged man looks away in a display of feigned ignorance while the Bull Terrier at the end of his lead hunches over the pavement. A woman in a long skirt flies by on a bicycle hurling words Dot doesn’t understand but cannot possibly be complimentary. A leaf flutters to the pavement; a distant horn blares. Weak morning light gleams in the wet of the cobbled road.

Agatha has agreed to join them for breakfast, though it is not because she has any real desire for their company.

She has taken the seat to Dot’s right, where she currently sits tall and aloof and dabbing a stray rain drop from her cheek with her sleeve, eyeing the eclectic decor and commenting on the oddly tart-sweet smell of baked, borderline-burned apricots. Clad in stiletto boots and an elegant designer coat that’d cover Dot’s rent for the next five months, she does not look like a woman who frequented colourful cafes squashed within a city’s most offbeat streets and ate crooked, bleeding pastries for breakfast. She looks like a woman who’d be more at home dining in the Four Seasons’ breakfast room, or at one of those famed Belle Epoque brasseries Dot read about in a tourist guide, one of green glasswork and gold and all things art nouveau, with prices as impossible as its waiting list. She imagines her briefly, the heroine of some Jazz Age novel, svelte and sparkling in an evening gown and elbow-length gloves with a cigarette holder perched in a languid, elegant hand; smoking Turkish cigarettes and listening to jazz while men in sharp suits and dapper haircuts line up to bring her expensive champagne and beget her elusive attention. It is not an altogether difficult image to conjure. But Agatha is not at the Four Seasons, nor at one of the most coveted tables among the city’s brasseries (nor, indeed, in another time period). Agatha is here, looking as out of place as a Vermeer hanging in a kindergarten classroom—

And she is here, it turns out, because this is not her first time in Paris. 

Parisians, she has found, are frequently afflicted with sudden and violent bouts of amnesia where the English language is concerned. Manners, too. Thus, a companion fluent in the language whilst in the capital is an incomparable advantage. How convenient it is, then, that Archie– as he has frequently reminded them over the course of their stay– is able to speak the language fluently! It also happens that he is in possession of an unnatural amount of patience, and- even more convenient!- is already on her payroll. Why wouldn’t she take advantage of that? Agatha isn’t in the mood to handle Parisian attitude. True, she isn’t really in the mood to handle English attitude, either, but the devil you know and all that. He might as well work for his wage. Make himself useful. Be worth the trouble. For once. 

It is for this reason alone she has deigned to keep Archie around, even if the cost is having to endure a morning of him flaunting his irritatingly good French, being irritatingly nonchalant about how irritatingly good it is, and being around Archie in general.

Dot knows this, because Agatha has just finished telling her. 

Archie must also know this, because she has not waited for him to leave after handing him a fistful of euros and telling him to order for her. Now. Please. (It makes him go away faster, she’d explained) (again, right in front of him)

Archie looks at Dot, the picture of sangfroid, and holds up Agatha’s euros.

‘Care to join me, Dottie?’ His tone is cool and smooth as the inside of a luxury car; his eyes spark with hidden humour. ‘Order what you like; Agatha’s just offered us our breakfast today. Awfully generous of her.’ ‘I put up w-’ ‘Awfully generous indeed.’ Agatha lowers her phone and looks Dot square in the eye. Having been in her employ longer and more closely than most, one would think she’d have grown accustomed to the unnerving, burning darkness of her mistress’ eyes.

She has not. (... If anything, it’d only gotten scarier)

‘Go with him, Dot.’ Agatha turns her eyes back to her phone, her voice low and bored. ‘And make sure you take your time.’

If Archie is similarly unnerved, he doesn’t show it. He meets Dot’s eye, flashes her a smile, and gestures with a sweep of his arm toward the register, as unconcerned and cheerful as ever.

* Part II of angry breakfast tomorrow. 👉 😎 👉

[kick-out-at-one]

Standing in the center of the wrestling ring with a glittering gold belt slung over his shoulder the world champion cuts the promo of his life. Suddenly, the number one contender’s music interrupts him and out comes the Challenger to an ovation of boos. He basks in the hate and vitriol for a moment until his music fades out. “At the next pay per view,” The challenger says into his own microphone, “I will take that belt!”

“You want my belt?” Champion says incredulously, sliding the championship from his shoulder he holds the prestigious prize above his head for all to see.

“Yeah I want your belt.” Challenger stalks down the ramp toward the ring.

“Why do you want my pants to fall down?” Champion askes.

Challenger scoffs, “What? No, not that belt. What are you, stupid?”

“You want my pants to fall down?” Champion repeats, “Because you want me undressed?”

Challenger stairs at him confused, “No that’s not-”

“Why do you want to suck my dick so bad?”

“I do not!”

The champion looks a little hurt at this, “Well why not?”

“I- I- No! No stop.” The challenger no longer seems amused as he climbs the ring apron and through the ropes, “At the payperview I’m coming for your title!”

“You’re going to come?!” The champion retorts.

“Stop playing games!!” He screams into the mic, “You know what I mean! At the pay per view I will…” For a moment the challenger’s confidence seems to falter, “I will…beat… no… I will… win?”

“Yeah?” The champion asks with an incline of his head, “And how will you win?”

“With my signature submission hold I'm famous for.” Challenger says cautiously, realizing his mistake a moment too late.

The champion smirks, turning toward the hard cam with a raise of an eyebrow, “Yeah I know you'll try that,” he says as the crowd begins to sense where this is going, “You dirty dirty boy! You want me to submit to you. Yeah? You like that?” The champion steps closer to the flustered number one contender, “But the thing is, Challenger, at the pay-per-view you will be the one pinned under me…” The champion licks his lips slowly, “One.” he whispers into the mic, “Two.” he inches closer to his future opponent, “Three.” 

Standing so close their foreheads touch, the crowd cheers their approval. Not wanting to look weak, the challenger does not break eye contact. When he speaks the in ring camera mic picks it up for the views at home, “Dude.” he says, “Why do you have to make this so sexual?”

The champion smiles and steps back with a confident swagger, “Because this is professional wrestling!” he says proudly, slinging the belt back over his shoulder, “And it ain’t wrestling if it ain’t overtly homoerotic!” Dropping the mic to bounce off the canvas, the champion’s music plays triumphantly. He steps through the ring ropes and raises his belt again to a thunderous applause, standing ovation, and signs with his name on them dotting the arena. He leaves the changer standing center ring wide-eyed and strangely aroused.

“Things are really heating up,” says the commentator, “At the pay per view there won't be a dry seat in the house. Coming up in our main event tonight, in tag team action: The Sexual Tention Express takes on Leather-Daddy-Mullet and Bisexual Beefcake. We’ll be right back!”

[ouroborosorder]

i would rather you just call me a slur

[peribytes]

i don’t even like pieces of media i just pluck out a character and give them a little place to live in my head