#im not sorry

[spookysalem13]

Never apologize for things that aren't your fault, for reasons that don't require an apology.

Save your precious energy. You're kings, queens, God's and goddess. Don't weigh yourself down by people pleasing.

I need to take my own advice on this one.

[just-a-lil-otter]

I'm sorry (I'm not)

[arisushanti]

attention all bg3 players who have also played any dragon age game!! (which is probably everyone, let’s be real)

im conducting an experiment, so if everyone could please reblog with their romance choices for both games

regards

[ccerealbowl]

Hey hi hello I drew the guy

[trafficlife]

still cant believe smallidarity kissed in real life

[danthediamondminecart]

Real Life SMP really putting the Big in BigBStatz

[andy-clutterbuck]

Apocalypse Dad Uniform™ Rick Grimes - The Walking Dead | Joel Miller - The Last of Us

[hellfire--cult]

I won't be stopping the memes. I won't.

[rebeltigera]

Ok but God!Mac n V!Wukong....

(Ye , V!Wukong is too fun to play with , lil simp got a god to simp to now)

[pedge-page]

Plushie 1 - Kitty

Joel x f!reader where you give him a squishmallow to help him sleep but he makes you hump it instead.

Plushies Series Masterlist

Can be read as stand-alone.

Warnings: stuffed animal masturbation, humping, squirting, small daddy kink

18+ ONLY

Joel makes fun of you for still sleeping with stuffed animals but you tell him it provides supportive comfort. You eventually convince Joel to use squishmallows since he always complains about back pain when he sleeps. He tries it one night, shoved under his lower back and he slept for 8 hours straight.

Now he keeps one (a kitten plushie, courtesy of you) on his bed. Tommy comes over and laughs his ass off at him.

Which is how you find yourself in this position, the medium sized plush stuffed between your legs as you ground your naked wet pussy against it and the bed.

"Bounce some more for me. Need it to soak right through," Joel ordered, his eyes watching the wet spot slowly spread onto the patterned fabric.

You obliged, face warm with embarrassment. It didn't matter that you weren't a kid anymore: stuffed animals are like your friends: meant to be treated with love, kindness, respect. You'd even face them away from you when Joel came over to fuck you so they would not bare witness to your incedency.

So humping your stuffy like a needy whore made you feel--conflicted.

It felt too good. Soft in all the right places. Made you feel dirty, feeling your stickiness smear across its face. You gripped it with both knuckles to keep it bunched up right in place, angling it to hit your nub with each rock of your hips.

"Dadddyyy," you whined.

"Hump daddy's plush like a little whore. I'm gonna bury my face in it and smell your cum all night, baby."

That made you rock your hips faster. You wanted him to remember you scent on the one innocent thing in his room -- now not so innocent thing.

"Kitty feel good on your little kitty?"

You nod. Leaning back, you pull it from below, instead spreading your legs wide and fisting the misformed plush against your cunt, pressing its face against your swollen clit and rubbing it against you.

Joel stood up, his raging boner from the last hour of watching you slapping his tummy as he approached the bed. He kneeled on the matress, grabbed the plushie and pressed it even harder against your cunt, causing you to whine.

"You like it when I use Kitty's little button nose against your clit? Filthy girl."

It's true; the obscene sounds and feeling of its softness against your most intimate and moist place made you feel dirty. Dirty and sooooooo good.

Joel pressed his hips to you, trapping the poor plushie between both of your naked crotches. He started grinding it against you, causing both of you to moan.

"Fuuucckkk. So soft, baby. Just like you."

He made you squirt on it three times, snatching it front between your legs so he could lick it each time, before slapping your pussy a few times to get you to cum more. Joel sent you and your aching cunt home while he pressed his hooked nose into the now drenched, sex smelling stuffed animal, sleeping better than the nights before.

Next: Puppy

[a-regular-paperclip]

I made a thing

[ifearimaybeanamericanidiot]

@robins-scoop

Kink Discovery- Pt. 2 (Hands)🤩

C.S.

Summary: Chris notices that you seem to be looking at his hands a lot.

TW: smut

"Ma? Hellooooo-? Earth to ma?" Chris nudges me, his hand pushing my shoulder. His long fingers touching me- fuck.

"Yeah? What is it, Chris?" I force myself to focus on his face.

"You good? You seem really, like, far away."

"Yeah, I'm fine. One hundred percent. I'm good!" I assure him. He squints at me.

"Uh huh...well, do you want to play a couple games with me?" He lets his lip pout slightly.

"I suck ass, but sure. Since you asked so nicely." I tease him slightly. I don't want to get him riled up, but I don't want him to notice my affliction.

He hops up and runs to his room. I take a moment to myself. I need to stop looking at his hands. I need to stop thinking about them wrapped around- Stop. Shit. I get up and force myself to follow the path I know leads to his room.

"What were you wanting to play-?" The last word trails off as I close the door. He's leaning, trying to reach something, but his hand is gripped so tightly around the edge of his desk; I can't help but stare. How could I not?

His head pops back up, and he stands up straight. He smiles all lopsided and it's so soft. He lets go of his desk, flexing his hand out, spreading his fingers and stretching. I want those fingers in- No.

"Hey, you up for a game you'll actually be decent at?"

"Uh, sure?" He pulls up the game. "What is it, exactly?"

"The sims." He grins at me. My chest swells up and I swear I must be dying.

"I love you." I kiss his cheek and he wiggles happily. I sit down and we start playing. Sadly, the sims can only hold my attention for so long. It's about 45 minutes later when my eyes start drifting to his hands.

I can't help it. They're just so pretty. They're perfect, honestly. Perfect to- Nope. Not going there. Come on, just focus on the game. His hands are right there though. Nearly so close I could taste them. God, I wish.

"Ma?" I'm staring. Shit. "Something on my hand-?"

"Nope. No. Nothing. Nothing at all." I quickly respond. I am so smooth, clearly. My cheeks are warm, they must be red. Chris sticks a hand out and touches my scorching face.

"Are you sure?" He moves his hand to my forehead. "You feel warm, babe." He lets his hand slide down the side of my face, coming to cup my jaw. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth. I can't bite back the noise rising from my mouth.

His face contorts, and his eyes gleam with a new understanding. He places his thumb in the center of my bottom lip, slowly moving it downward. "Open."

My mouth is left agape, and he sneaks his thumb in. "Suck." My body is on autopilot, my mouth automatically sucking on the digit. "Good girl." I moan around his thumb.

I reach for his other hand. He gives it willingly and I move it to exactly where I want it. Now, one hand is occupied with my mouth and the other it up my shirt.

He pulls his thumb back. "Chris no-" I whine, trying to follow his hand. He gives me a look that stops me in my tracks. He adjusts himself in his sweats before returning his hand to my face.

This time, he points two fingers into resting on my lip. I open my mouth before he says anything. He begins to lightly thrust the two fingers into my mouth, never going to far back as to avoid my gag reflex overreacting.

"God, I wish this was 'm dick." He groans. I moan around his fingers, letting my hips oscillate. He groans as he watches my movement. I reach one hand out and place it on the same spot he had previously adjusted. "Shit, your hand is warm."

He moves his own hand down until it's at the apex of my body. I suck harder on his fingers, swirling my tongue around them as a means to deal with myself.

"Fuck ma, just like that. Can't wait to have you do that on 'm dick. Fuck. Need your hand under ma." I move my hand under his waist band. My palm is warm, my fingertips slightly cold, and he hisses as they brush across his sensitive head, spreading the wetness there across the whole length.

It's not long of my hand on him that Chris finishes into my palm. As he finishes, he begins moving his own hand faster than it previously was. "Aw fuck." He groans. "Need my fingers in you ma." He pulls my sweats and underwear down.

No time is wasted, his fingers immediately finding the source of my wetness and plunging in deep. He draws out loud and long noises from me. He forces out moans and groans, whines and whimpers, begging and pleading. Finally, I squeeze his fingers so tightly inside of me that I think I must have crushed them.

"Have a nice time with my hands, I presume?" He teases, kissing my head and removing both of his hands.

"I love you." It's all I can manage.

"I love you too, ma."

[cursedzucchini]

You know what? Fuck it

DC x DP prompt #3

I think at least lmao.

Anyway! Jason starts making videos on YouTube for one reason or another (is really stressed, no one listens to his rants Abt books who cares). His content is mostly bad books he read or really really really long rants Abt pride and prejudice. Like 3 hours on one tiny detail he noticed on his 214th read through.

He's kinda popular, mostly bc his terrible books videos. He talks Abt the ones that made him the most mad, which coincidentally are mostly romance and supernatural. Like he's one of the well known figures in the supernatural romance critique group (whcih is pretty small, but well). (Also he doesn't show his face on camera, bc secret identity and stuff, it's just his voice over a video of something mundane, like the sky or a room in which is a fly or something)

And now this can go two ways, that i can think of (w dead on main in mind at least)

1) one day Jason finds a book which is supernatural romance and is actually good. It has a kidna cliche system for the supernatural stuff, but with a refreshing twist. The characters have depts and flaws, yet are still very likable. The plot is actually interesting and overall the story's theme is death, not belonging anywhere and overall stuff that is very close to Jason's heart. The story doesn't shy away from violence and it is suprisingly accurate.

(I'm.gonna reblog this w pretty long idea of what this book could be Abt, bc i don't wanna annoy ppl lol)

Anyway Jason kinda falls in love w it, and it becomes famous for being the first novel Jason rated positively or something.

Meanwhile Danny, who was told by jazz writing is good way to get his feeling out, and just wanted to make a quick buck, is really fucking confused how tf did his book become so popular and who tf is this nerd who rates books for a living.

(basically big fan Jason and suspicious/awkward Danny lmao)

2) there is a famous series on Jason profile. It's the worst fucking series he ever read and it's just fucking awful. All the characters are fucking terrible, always going on and on about one thing, the romance sucks in a way that isnt even funny. Jason would love to believe some wrote this as a joke, if it wasn't for the absolute cringefest this was, and it wasn't a whole ass series!! Like who writes 12 books for a joke?

Danny ducking Fenton that's who. Dude was so ducking annoyed at his rogues, he threatened them w writing a terrible romance novels abt them. The ghosts, knowing his terrible grade in literature backed off for a moment, before someone crossed the line. And write Danny did. It was the worst thing he had ever written, the love interest was perfect caricature yet still faithfully go the original. And Danny, because fuck them he lost sommuch sleep over that one prank, decided to publish it. (The book was pretty thin so it didn't take that much time writing it). Unfortunately it became immensely popular in the infinite realm. So the ghosts started crossing lines on purpose. Before Danny figured it out, he had already published his fifth book and was writing another three. After some bargaining, getting a book written Abt them as a piece of shit love interest became a reward.

And while yeah, he had to say his writing was terrible and the books sucked, some small part of him was kinda proud y'know? Like a mother of her twelve ugly as fuck toddlers.

So when he saw some nerd on the internet not only shit talk his book, but also get money of it?

Danny decided to haunt him (just like his books did him, now that everyone knew Abt them thanks to this guy)

(enemies (sorta it's not that serious tho) to lovers ala terrible writer Danny who hates his books and kinda famous YouTuber hasn't who also hates Danny's books)

--

Fuck this is way too long wtf. Anyway imma reblog this w 1) book idea. Might add whatever i think the twelve books could be Abt. Pls if u want to add anything to this pls do!!

[nvirskies]

sand - c. la rue

idea taken from one of @star-girl69 's asks about married clarisse and immediately went to think about how the vast majority of greek demigods didn't get to live past their 20's or even teen years... and the survivor's guilt that would come with being one of the few lucky enough to live longer.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, traumatic nightmare flashbacks, descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood + war, spoilers for TLO, set after both reader and clarisse leave CHB about 6-8 years into the future, google translated Greek term of endearment, crying, survivor's guilt, platonic RueGard, ooc Clarisse, she's matured more over time and more articulate with her feelings and words

summary: clarisse wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night, reader comforts her through a breakdown

wife!fem!demigod!reader x wife!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.2k

καρδιά μου (kardiá mou) - my heart

Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου (I kardiá mou eínai i kardiá sou) - my heart is your heart

"but you have more pieces of me than than desert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand" sand, alchemical: vol. 1, dove cameron

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @azrielsdiary @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Greek demigods fell in love hard and fast with an unmatched intensity. They normally didn’t live long enough to even envision themselves in their adult lives, and why would they? Every day was a struggle to stay alive with monsters coming in from all angles and quests most didn’t come back from.

And that was why, as soon as the two of you graduated high school, Clarisse got down on a knee and proposed with the knowledge that you were the one she would want to spend the rest of her life, however long or short, with.

When you two had graduated college, the next thing in the books was to make it official in the courthouse, and that was what you had done. No extravagant party or ceremony, just a quiet day in the courthouse and a night in to celebrate.

But no matter how far the two of you ran from Camp Half-Blood, the nightmares never went away, never got better. As the years passed, more of the people you had considered friends died. One after the other, falling like cursed dominos, helplessly standing by as they all tumbled down.

Soon, the nightmares became more about the people that were lost than the monsters themselves. Nightly plagues of searingly painful memories from watching the life drain from so many demigods’ eyes burned themselves in both of your psyches.

All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.

And tonight certainly hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary with the two of you and your limbs interlaced in a protective embrace while sleep claimed your minds, as if the both of you could protect each other from the monsters both in and outside.

Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.

You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.

Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse’s face contorted into one of distress. Her arms pulled you in closer subconsciously as the all too familiar face of Morpheus greeted her with a sly smirk on his face in her dreams.

In moments, she was transported back to the Battle of Manhattan.

She was seventeen again.

Blood was everywhere. Abandoned weapons lay on the floor, the hands that once gripped them tightly, now loose and limp. Shrill screams echoed throughout the air, all cut short by gut-wrenching sounds of fatal injury. Metal cut through flesh. Acid burnt through metal. Flames licked and greedily consumed anything and everything as fuel.

Her feet felt heavy, her hands numb. She could do nothing but stand and watch it all unfold before her own eyes, forced to relive the carnage and devastation that had ripped through Manhattan on that fateful day.

Morpheus’ voice whispered in her right ear, the sound of it sending an uneasy chill down her spine. “Daughter of Ares. A fitting dream, no? Your father must have been proud of you for the way you fought after… well, I’ll let you relive that, too.” Before she could blink, she was transported to the moment right after Silena had been sprayed by the Lydian Drakon.

Clarisse was too late. She had always been too late.

She was back on her knees, choking and weeping bitterly as Silena lay in her arms, watching as life slowly left her once-lively eyes.

What kind of a warrior even was she? So weak that she couldn’t even protect her friend? Too weak to protect the girl who had adorned her armor and led her siblings into battle?

Just as Clarisse reached out to touch Silena’s face to wipe away the one mark of smudged eyeliner that the Aphrodite girl normally would never have even allowed to happen in the past, she was jerked back to consciousness, eyes flying open and arms almost crushing your sleeping form momentarily as she came to.

No longer was she in Manhattan, instead sheltered in the familiarly adorned walls of your shared bedroom. Upon the walls hung framed pictures of joyous times past and her sword collection, among other things.

Familiar faces stared back at her, some faces that would never age again. Immortalized memories of times that would never happen again. Everyone was dead or scattered across the globe.

A particular picture caught Clarisse’s eye. It was a portrait of Silena that she had commissioned one of the Apollo kids to draw for the daughter of Aphrodite’s seventeenth birthday.

She never lived to see that day.

Her eyes locked with Silena’s in the drawing for a moment, and that moment was one too much as hot tears began to prick in the corners of her eyes.

She had inadvertently woken you up with the way her arms tightened around your waist in a near vice grip, slowly coming to your senses. No longer were her breaths slow and rhythmic, their steadfast pattern replaced by one that was erratic and shallow. The once-steady thumping cadence of her heart as it beat in her chest was now quickened, all of which you could hear with your head having been nestled into her chest.

Craning your head to look up at her, you were greeted with the sight of Clarisse desperately trying to silently blink back tears and control her own breathing.

Hurriedly, you pushed yourself up off her chest and tugged the blankets off the two of you before sitting down on her lap. You took note of the way her hands had never left your waist, holding onto you as if she were drowning and you were the last life ring thrown out.

It wasn’t anything you and Clarisse hadn’t dealt with before. The nightmares had been a part of your lives as far back as you could remember, it just came with the territory of being a demigod. But they never got any easier as time went on.

She watched silently with eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleading wordlessly with you to do something, anything to make it all go away.

“Let’s switch, yeah? You can lay on me and completely cover me if you want, love,” you offered up, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded and you slipped off her lap, laying back where she had just been moments ago.

Gently patting your chest, you motioned for her to rest her head on it, knowing that the rest of her body would soon follow, completely engulfing your form with hers. After she had positioned herself, her arms snaked around your waist again as she simply held you for a few moments, her face pressed into your chest as tears slowly soaked into your shirt.

One hand reached out to gently run along the length of her back, the motion meant to soothe. A few beats passed in silence before you spoke in a hushed whisper, the bedroom devoid of sound beyond the two of you breathing in tandem with each other.

“You hear that, love? That’s my heart,” you murmured softly, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “It’s beating, beating for you. Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου.”

She didn’t respond beyond releasing another shaky sob into your chest and tightening her grip around your body, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t need her to talk just yet.

“You’re also η καρδιά μου, you know that, right? My heart, my wife, my love, my everything. And I’m yours. Entirely yours, and I”m not going anywhere.” You craned your neck again to press another kiss against the crown of her head, hand never stopping its path of running gently along the length of her back.

“I would go down to the depths of Tartarus for you. I would challenge Hades himself to a fight if it meant I had even a glimmer of a chance in getting you back.”

Never once did you try to rush her into talking or shushing her tears. You knew her better than you knew yourself, and giving her time to let everything out was the best thing you could do for her at the moment.

You were her safe space, the one woman that she could let her walls down around. She wasn’t Ares’ star daughter in your arms, she was just Clarisse. No expectations dangling over her head, just open arms and understanding.

After another few quiet moments, she finally spoke up in between half-choked sobs, whispering so quietly that her voice was nearly inaudible, “Silena… Manhattan… should have been able to save her,” before letting her face fall back down onto your chest, releasing another pained cry.

“She’s gone- a-and everyone else too- why me?”

Her question left you speechless, mouth partly opened in an attempt to come up with a reassuring response, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. It was rare for this to happen, as you normally had just the right words at the top of your tongue, weaving them as Arachne once wove tapestries on her loom.

“They’re all gone and- and- ”

“Shh, love…” you cut her off, gently pulling her head up to look her in the eyes, your other hand leaving her back to wipe the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks with the pad of your thumb. “Please, don’t go back into that self-sacrificial spiral. Talk to me, tell me what the dream was about?”

She only shook her head in response, unwilling to divulge details of the memory that had shattered your night of otherwise perfect proportions.

Deflating back on top of you, she whispered, “They’re all gone, and we’re one of the only ones remaining. It was like every time another one of them died, that small part of myself that I gave to them died as well.”

Her arms that were wrapped around your waist tightened for a moment before going limp along with the rest of her body as she lay atop you, her head pressed against your chest.

“Love…” you began softly as one of your hands found its way to her head and carded gently through her curls. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. None of it was your fault. We didn’t ask to be born, to be thrown into this mess of a world and tossed around like pawns in the gods’ game of chess with our lives.”

“We didn’t ask for this life, and we were so young at the time. For fuck’s sake, we were only seventeen- we hadn’t even made out yet. We hadn’t graduated high school yet, there were so many things we couldn’t control.

“None of it was your fault, I promise you. You were so brave, and you did everything you could.” She stayed silent as you spoke, the only sounds coming from her were the soft, shaky breaths as she sniffled and burrowed her face further into your shirt.

“I can’t explain to you why so many things had to happen, that’s up to the Fates. I can’t give you the pieces of yourself back that you lost when we kept losing everyone,” you murmured whilst your hands kept on with their idle motions.

It shattered your heart to give her such an incomplete answer when you knew it was tearing her apart inside to live with it all, but there was nothing you could do beyond offer solace and comfort. “And for that, I am so, so sorry. But the one thing I can do is keep the piece you’ve granted me to keep, safe and sound.”

She only nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak in fear of her own vulnerability. Her tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that was important was that Clarisse was here, in your arms, and slowly calming down.

Clarisse knew just as well as you did that everyone had done the best they could with the circumstances given, and that the loss affected you just as deeply. But she didn’t dig into that, it would be a can of worms to open for another time, another sleepless night where your own troubles caught up with you after running from them for so long.

And so, the rest of the night stretched on into early morning, the two of you half-awake, seeking silent solace in each other until sunlight crept into the bedroom through the cracks of the curtains the next day.

The two of you might have been running from your trauma like runners to a marathon, but at least you were running hand-in-hand with matching strides.

[morgee]

[futuremikyswifeu]

I'll just leave this here