#insert shrug emoji

[waveoftheocean]

"i can see it in his eyes" 🥰

[alien-slushie]

Kaminari: Do I even weigh anything to you?

Midoriya: No. It's like holding a couple of grapes.

[welcome-home-my-beloved]

Do you think Howdy talks like that 'cause he is from "The Big Apple" (New York City)?

[rjalker]

some day I really need to write an essay about River and Chime and the accidental but still entirely there transphobia in The Books of the Raksura, as well as the complete lack of imagination that went into the genders of all the races in the Three Worlds, not just the Raksura.

Like, the designs for the different species are great. Their different foods and stuff like that is great.

But then Martha Wells got to the part about pronouns and gender and just went "nah they'd all be male or female because that's how this works" without a single other thought about "hey maybe the shapeshifting dragon people who literally have five or six different sexes might have more than two genders"

[golden-redhead]

it's my annual Obsessing Over Teen Titans All Over Again time. how fun!

[full---ofstarlight]

also i caught up w andromeda six and i really dont see why people were bitching about the reveal at the end lmao 

[oh-gh0st]

lazy pinterest redraws featuring my 6 favorite NEETs + others (2nd edition)

[arcadewonder]

[ ♫ ]

[madamemiz]

so y/n huh

ft dca thrift store outfit for ch 4

[lilyrizzy]

For the kink ask: milking (prostate or tits I will accept both gladly) 💜

cw: girl daniel & lactation kink because i am who i am lol

"Daniel," Max says, his voice half a whine already as he shoves open the door to his drivers room. "Daniel, what are you-"

The rest of his words die on his lips. Daniel already knows what he's looking at, and for once it's not how she's sat with both of her hands resting on her bump, the tight pull of one of Max's Red Bull t-shirts-the only thing that fit's these days- around it.

"Hi Maxy."

She can feel the smirk she can't quite hide spread across her face, watching his eyes move from meeting hers, down to the wet patch over her nipples and back again. "How was practice?"

Like she doesn't know, like she didn't watch him set the fastest time sat besides the mechanics, throbbing.

He ignores her words, taking two steps closer before pausing again, looking- Lost. By now, he's usually worming his hands into her jeans, dipping between her legs. Eager for a taste, with hands splayed possessively over her belly, like it's his reward. It makes her giddy, the way that even now when she feels uncomfortably huge, he can't get enough.

"You are leaking," is all he says, voice cracked with something wanting, "Daniel, you-"

He looks at her with raw desperation, and she spreads her legs. It's the only invitation he needs to bridge the gap, to kneel between them and start pawing at her shirt, shoving it upwards and out of the way.

"I know," she says, conversationally as though her head isn't already spinning. "It's a little earlier than with Mil's, but I guess this is the perk of triplets."

Max isn't listening she doesn't think, just whining when he finds that she's wearing a bra, another barrier between him and what he wants. His thumbs pause to trace over the soaked gold satin. An impractical choice for maternity underwear, but something she's wearing for Max, for luck.

He might win the championship tomorrow.

"Sh, baby, it's okay," she promises, reaching behind herself to unclasp it. Looser now, he can pull it away from her aching tits, and he groans. Daniel almost makes a noise too, taking in her dark nipples, budded up and shiny-wet.

There's no more hesistation. Cupping one in the palm of his hand, Max leans in and sucks the other nipple into his mouth, plush lips pursed around it. His eyes have slipped shut, and against her leg, Daniel can feel where he throbs in his pants in time to the first drink he takes from her.

"Thank you Maxy," she murmurs, and he whimpers around her, the vibration making her cunt clench. "You're always so good. Cleaning me up."

[drarrily-we-row-along]

11. Barefoot

Harry'd never seen Draco with a single hair, a single button out of place.

It was fucking hot, if Harry was being honest, which why wouldn't he be? At least in the privacy of his own head.

Draco was always posh, always pristine; tailored robes and tailored suits, shoes always shined, platinum hair in a perfectly coiffed undercut. It drove Harry wild; desperate to muss him up a bit.

And nothing. Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what he was currently seeing.

Draco Malfoy was standing by the pool, a strand of (silky, soft) hair hanging over his eye, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his (ridiculously toned) chest, his linen trousers rolled up to expose his (unfairly delicate) ankles. And he was barefoot.

Godric. Harry didn't have a thing for feet but something about seeing Draco's made him want to fall to the ground at his feet and never move. They were very pretty, honestly; delicate, long, slender, with graceful high arches. And it made him look strangely vulnerable.

Harry ached with it.

"Potter," Draco said, long fingers snapping at him.

His eyes snapped up to Draco's face to find the other man smiling at him in that peculiar way he did sometimes. All exasperated fondness, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Mmm?" he managed inelegantly.

"How drunk are you? It's like you were staring through me into all of time and space," he chuckled as he planted himself beside Harry on the edge of the pool and dipped his feet into the water.

(read more below the cut)

"Very," Harry lied because he couldn't very well admit that he'd just been staring longingly at Draco's feet.

Draco tilted his head toward the drink in Harry's hand, "What do you spike sparkling water with?"

Harry blinked over at him, he always forgot how bloody observant the other man was. "Vodka," he lied quickly.

The corner of Draco's mouth curved up and he took a breath but then seemed to think better of it. "Everyone's around the fire pit," he commented.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Except you."

He hummed, not sure what response Draco was looking for from him.

"And me," he added.

Harry turned his head so he could look at him properly.

"Are you actually drunk, Harry?"

He swallowed, wondering what his answer should be, wondering what Draco wanted him to say. "Why?" is what came out of his mouth a few seconds later.

"Because you're even more forthcoming when you're drunk than usual."

It was his turn to smile at the other man, "What are you hoping I'll say?"

Draco stared at him for a long moment before wrapping his lips around the mouth of his beer bottle and finishing it in one long pull.

He couldn't help but watch the way his neck muscles worked as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. The urge to lean in, to lick, to suck, to nibble on the other man's long neck was almost overpowering.

Then, when he'd finished his beer he stood up and Harry shifted back on his hands so he could see what he was doing.

Draco's fingers went to the buttons on his shirt and Harry's mouth went dry, his own fingers tingling with desire. He made quick work of them before pulling his shirt off, and Harry was met with the sight of a lightly muscled chest, and two petal pink nipples. Harry's mouth had dropped open but he didn't really think there was anything he could possibly do to stop it.

When he finally managed to draw his eyes upward, Draco was smirking at him, one eyebrow raised. "I'm going to go for a swim," he said, and his hands moved to his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and pulling them off. He stood there for one moment, in nothing but a pair of very tight boxers that left little to the imagination, before saying, "join me?" and jumping into the pool.

Harry sat there stunned, uncertain if he was hallucinating (it wouldn't be the first time he'd accidentally eaten a hallucinogen at Luna's), and feeling like he must be losing his entire mind.

But what a way to go, he couldn't help but think as Draco resurfaced and finger combed his hair back out of his eyes. He watched as a drop of water rolled down his high cheek bone, then down his neck, sluicing along his clavicle, before dripping into the pool. He tread water and stared at Harry, waiting.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

A look of hurt flashed in his eyes before he covered it, so quickly that if Harry hadn't spent decades of his life watching Draco, he would have missed it.

"I mean," he swallowed, might as well at this point, "you're not just fucking with me?"

"How would this be fucking with you?" Draco asked, spreading his arms wide.

He pulled his shirt off over his head and stood to yank down his shorts before jumping in after Draco. When he popped his head back above the water, Draco was only a few feet away, watching him with a little smile at the corner of his mouth. "You should know," he said conversationally, "that I am not a terribly good swimmer."

Draco was at his side a heartbeat later, hands bracketing Harry's ribs as he buoyed him to the surface a bit, treading and keeping himself afloat with only his legs. "I'm a very good swimmer," he murmured, his voice low and a bit rough.

"Tell me why we're swimming together," he blurted.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, head tilting to the side like he was really trying to understand the puzzle that Harry was.

"Not to me," he replied.

Draco re-angled his body a bit and pushed Harry backward, swimming until Harry's back hit the side of the pool and then pressing their bodies together. "Luna had a drink," he said.

Harry, whose head was very much elsewhere, attempting to catalogue the hard planes of Draco's body pressed against his own, made a vague "Oh?" sound.

He nodded, "Had a bit of felix in it, apparently."

"And-" Harry started, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Draco to continue.

"It led me to you," he murmured. "And honestly?"

He nodded, trying not to let his mind race to improbable conclusions.

"I've fancied you for ages."

"You have?" he blurted, looking between Draco's eyes, trying to discern any semblance of an untruth.

"I have," he murmured, bending forward so that his lips brushed over Harry's jaw. "The only question is whether you feel the same."

"How is that a question?" he asked, tipping his head back to allow Draco's mouth to brush tantalizingly over his skin. "Of course I do."

"Do you?" he asked, voice just a little afraid, "or is it the alcohol?"

"I'm not drunk," he said, cupping Draco's cheek and drawing him back far enough that they could look at each other. "I had one beer, two hours ago."

"So it wouldn't be taking advantage if I kissed you?"

Harry didn't think, didn't say another word, he just wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and pulled him in closer so their lips could touch.

The other man's body surged against his, kissing him deep and slow in a way that made Harry feel like he was floating through the universe, the only thing tethering him was the hard wall of the pool against his back.

Merlin only knew how long they might have gone on kissing if it weren't for the sound of merrymakers coming up from the fire pit. But as it was, Draco pulled back and said, "I really don't particularly want to see anyone else."

"Me either," he replied, glancing over his shoulder.

"Come back to mine?" he offered. "We don't have to-"

He leaned in and kissed him again, giddy with the possibility of more time together, of more kisses. "Yes," he murmured against Draco's lips. "Let's just figure out the rest once we get there."

"You're sure?"

Harry laughed, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life.

And it wasn't until the sun was peaking through the blinds in Draco's living room the next morning that either of them remembered they'd left their clothes lying on the deck by the pool.

---------------------------

Read more of my gentle July ficlets

[somaticmilk]

You’re 100% gay

No.

[vidalinav]

On the stormiest night of the year, when winds and rain pound across the windows, the house shaking as lightning rattles the red rock, Nesta clutches at her swollen stomach gasping in pain. 

Cassian quickly moves to his mate. Concern is painted on his face, but none of the others seem to take in the seriousness of the situation. Feyre only sets her hands on her hips. 

“You’re pregnant?” Feyre gasps. 

“And you didn’t tell us!” Mor rages. 

"Why are you all here?” Azriel questions, carrying a basket of what Cassian knows is full of warm towels. He’s been here from the start and Cassian would be lying if he said, his brother’s presence didn’t calm him slightly. 

Perhaps it’s because Nesta seems relieved to see him too. She grasps his hands as he holds one out to her and Cassian once more tries to urge Nesta to go lie down where the House has already turned down the sheets.  

“What were you going to do? Show up with a baby in your arms and tell us you picked it up in the forest?” 

Cassian rolls his eyes at the dramatic tone of Rhys’s voice and one quick look at Nesta confirms she’s glaring at him too. But Nesta doesn’t chastise or complain, instead she straightens, her face blooming red as if it pains her to stand. 

Cassian rubs at her back, ready to scoop her up and have her rest until he can find the priestess who’s been most helpful with the pregnancy. Cauldron forbid one of them call Madja. 

“Should we call for Madja?” Elain questions, her eyes blinking widely. 

“Absolutely no one call Madja,” Cassian says, rubbing sweetly down Nesta’s back in what he hopes feels appeasing. “Madja doesn’t step foot here.” 

The others nod at his threatening tone. 

“And why are you here? It’s pouring outside... and where’s Nyx?” 

“Amren’s watching him,” Feyre says as if it’s obvious and pointedly looks to Nesta, “we were worried when you wouldn’t answer us.”

“I hate when you talk in my head,” Nesta answers through gritted teeth. 

“And lo and behold... you’re fucking pregnant!” 

“You’re having a baby,” Mor says, motioning to Nesta’s stomach. 

“Babies,” Nesta huffs out. “We’re having three.” 

“Three!” They shout all at once.  

[arcanewonder]

evermore.

[sharlmbracta]

i'm gonna fuckign die this year lmao

[elvensorceress]

wip Wednesday 

tagged by the incomparable duo @dickley-buddie 💕 @eddiediazisascorpio and the loveliest @spotsandsocks @bekkachaos @lostinabuddiehaze and @monsterrae1 💕

tagging @rogerzsteven @loveyourownsmiilee @ashavahishta @the-likesofus @ajunerose @gaydisasterdiaz @elfbuckleys @swiftiebuckleys @swiftiediaz @octobertulip @messyhairdiaz 💕

Here’s a little snippet of the Christmas fic I’m working on for the Hallmark holiday movie, 911 fest woo! ❄️ (It’s AU so Buck and Maddie are working at a hotel and he’s just met Eddie, who immediately insisted on helping Buck put up Christmas lights so Buck isn’t doing it alone.)

Buck pulls on the lines that move the window washing rig and the man easily attaches lights to the molding on the ledge of the building. He’s quick and efficient, and probably has gloves that don’t let his hands freeze. It is definitely faster, and better, working with someone. 

“You can tell me anything,” the man says without looking at him. “If you want. If you need someone to talk to.”

Buck stares at him and isn’t sure he understands. Why would he offer that? How could anyone be okay listening to him ramble? Why would they want to listen? Could Buck really tell him anything? He probably could. They’re strangers. They’ll never see each other again. It won’t matter a few hours from now. 

Although, now that he’s been given free rein to talk about anything, he isn’t sure what to say. It’s easy to talk when it’s about nothing. When it seems personal but really isn’t. He kind of wants to admit something personal. Just so he can say he did it. Just to know what it feels like to actually be open and honest, and free with his heart. 

He used to be that way. Hopeful. He used to be like that. 

He hands the man another roll of lights and lets him finagle the clips and the bulbs into place while he leans against one side of the rig and takes weight off his bad leg. “You’re sure?” 

“I am. Go for it.”

Buck eyes him up and down. He’s such a weird rich person. Or maybe he’s just weird in general. No one wants to listen to Buck. Which, he always thought, was fair because wow can he ramble on about nothing when no one stops him. “Are you a shrink?”

The man makes a scrunched face like the very idea of such a thing smells worse than some of the rooms Maddie’s had to clean. “No. But I know what it’s like to keep everything bottled up until you want to scream. Or throw yourself off a building. As you seemed to have no problem doing. I figured it might help if you had someone who would listen.” 

Fair enough. Fuck, though. He’s not just hot, but he’s kind. And stubborn sure, but he seems so genuine. Buck’s met plenty of people who fake being attentive and interested, plenty of people who act honest and sympathetic but don’t really care and only want to use you. Plenty of them. Including his most recent ex. Thank fuck that’s over. 

This man doesn’t seem anything like that. He seems… too perfect to be real if Buck’s being honest. “Are you sure you’re not some kind of therapist?”

The man gives him a look and it has amusement in it even if he doesn’t actually smile. “I’m a veteran.” 

“Ohhh,” Buck gives him a grin to make up for it. “So you’ve seen some shit is what you’re telling me. I get it.” He moves their cart a little further and unwraps tangled wires from the barrel holding the Christmas lights so his helper can place them. 

“Something like that.” He hooks another light onto the ledge but it slips off. He frowns at it and it’s too ridiculously cute that Buck has to look away. 

“Okay, then. Since we’re here and we’ll never see each other again and you asked…” What can he say? What does he want to say? He didn’t actually think anything through and he never tells anyone about anything real or important. Maybe Maddie sometimes, but not often. She has enough of her own trauma to deal with. He watches the man clip on another hook and place another bulb and glance at Buck expectantly. And maybe there is something he can talk about. 

“Most people think I hate Christmas.” It’s small but it’s something. And it’s definitely not something he could tell Maddie. Christmas is her favorite. “A lot of things about the whole holiday season annoy me. There’s all the pressure around events and buying gifts and making everything perfect and spending time with family, and it’s only ever been another day to me. Even in my twenties, people liked to call me Scrooge and Grinch because I just. I don’t know. I was never raised with any religion or traditions or anything. My sister loves Christmas but we never… I only met her ten years ago. So I never really cared one way or the other about it for most of my life. All of my life.” 

The man stops hanging lights for a moment and looks over at him. Maybe he won’t think that sort of secret means anything. Maybe that’s part of why Buck chose it. But it’s more of his heart than he thinks he’s given anyone. 

Although… the way the man looks at him. It seems like he knows this or might understand it. Gently, he looks and gently, he says, “You never had a family. Or friends? Or people you love to spend it with?”

“I didn’t,” Buck shrugs. “But the thing is? I think the idea of it is nice. The sentiment of giving and kindness and peace and being with the people you love… I mean all of that is… It’s good. I like that part. When Maddie talks about why she loves Christmas, it makes me wish I could’ve had something like that. She had good Christmases with presents and fun decorating and making ornaments and cookies and watching cheesy movies and doing what she says are all the typical things. So, sometimes, when I hear about what it was like, I wish I hadn’t missed out. I wish I knew what it was like to enjoy Christmas.”

The man’s eyes are so deep and soft, Buck could swim and float and maybe never hurt again. He’d be weightless and protected. If all the warmth and gentleness in this man is true. But the man’s gaze goes somewhere and his face turns into a hard mask. “I had good Christmases. I had a lot of really good ones growing up. And I wish I could give that to my son. His mother also loved Christmas, and so he loves Christmas and I know he wants nothing more than to do all those fun Christmas activities and make those fun memories. And I wish I could give him that.”

Buck tips his head and wonders what changed, how it changed. “But you hate Christmas and everyone calls you Grinch, too, and now Santa will never visit your house and bring your son presents?”

The hint of something like a smile makes the corner of his lips curl ever so slightly. And wow, Buck did that. It feels unusual and unlikely and it’s infinitesimal, but it’s definitely there. “Something like that,” he says again in answer, then turns back to the ledge and their strings of lights.