#scaring the people of London

[khepritheshepri]

Some more of khepri at lfm! This time really showing off his fluffy tail!!

[catsxratsxbats]

Ultimate favorite horror trope is when the monster is also the victim

[science-lings]

PLEASE elaborate on the phoenix and franziska shenanigans during the 7yg you have NO idea how much i like them

I am someone who loved the investigative portion of Bridge to the Turnabout where Franziska had to babysit Phoenix when he wasn't allowed to follow Miles and Iris. I think when he's not her rival defense attorney and is looking particularly pathetic, she is actually pretty chill around him. She is not exempt from his aura that gets young women to imprint on him and follow him around.

She is genuinely offended on his behalf when he gets disbarred because he beat Miles and Manfred and even her! why the hell would he cheat in a case against a teenager! She does not think for a second that he forged that diary page because she knows firsthand how he throws himself into things and cannot prepare an entire evil plan for shit. However, she does not know how to convey this to him so she bullies Miles into flying him and Trucy around because Miles is almost too good at being resigned to pine sadly from a distance.

It's also important to know that she sees Phoenix being a caring father to Trucy and as someone who never really had a valid father, decided that maybe (ex) defense attorneys have rights... Even if Miles didn't get his shit together to put a ring on That Man's finger, Franziska would find herself in Phoenix's found family, it's only a matter of time.

For some reason Phoenix doesn't go to court with Edgeworth, maybe he can't stand being there while not being a lawyer, maybe he forgot he wasn't an attorney once and got kicked out for yelling out an objection, it doesn't matter, Trucy gets to be Edgeworths weirdgirl assistant and Phoenix is stuck investigating with Franziska and they are the worst people to keep each other out of trouble. We're talking about 'guy who ran across a burning bridge' and 'woman who got shot in the shoulder and still managed to get to court eventually' they are an unstoppable duo when they find something they can both get behind.

If anyone can slowly get Franziska to loosen up and learn to embrace the childhood that she lost, it would be Phoenix. I mean, this girl passed the bar at like 13 there was no way she had time to binge she-ra and check out books on drawing horses from the library. He would convince her to get a cat who hangs out in a window backpack that she can carry around during her travels because it turns out that her life is kinda lonely and she totally seems like the cat lesbian type. She is also allergic to cats so she has to get a sphinx or a devon rex or just the most gargoyle/ golbin looking creature to walk on this earth. That just seems like her vibe.

[pumpumdemsugah]

When London comes up, people that didn't grow up here suddenly act like it's their duty to pretend they were in peril of being stabbed to death when they visited the British museum

Some of the same types love moaning about identity politics and working class unity will make tacky jokes about knife crime but are very sensitive if someone says something about their town or city, then all of a sudden we must remember class politics, unity and there's just your salt of the earth northerner that for no reasons feels very strongly about someone kissing their teeth or pronouncing " ask " like that

It's funny when people criticise identity politics they never do it to the white working class or how people talk about being working class. It's almost like some of you are a bit racist

[thxmomentiknew]

it’s the second day of a 13 day trip and i just want to go home

[purple--queen]

I thing Marvel missed an opportunity to make Steven grant a millionaire in the mcu.

All the jokes about: you never see Steven Grant & moon knight in the same room.

[khodorkovskaya]

thanks for sharing!

honestly this is so relatable. so for me growing up i was always taught (not explicitly but it was just the general vibe) that religious people are weird and stupid. like no one would ever openly say that, but it was often implied through jokes or like when someone would say that they were religious my family would give the side eye lol. and plus, yeah, its a government backed institution yikes.

and yet! i was baptised, we'd bake cakes for easter, when people would ask me what my religion was growing up id say orthodox, etc. like there was always this weird contradiction.

what you said about after school activities i also have a funny little story to share. so when i was 6-7 yrs old my parents signed me up for this like art club after school. and once this old lady showed up and started an embroidery club in the same classroom. and so when i got bored of drawing, i decided to go over to her and do embroidery. and i really liked it, so instead of sitting with the art club, id go to the emroidery lady.

and she was super religious and would always tell us stories about god. and i found it super annoying and in my head i was like "oof granny is loosing her mind". i specifically remember her telling us about the tower of babel and i sat there like "damn, she is so delusional". but i liked embroidery, so i stayed and didn't say anything.

and turned out, she was there illegally! she was this like orthodox missionary who snuck onto school properties to convert the kids. it was a huge scandal. so yeah, that incident made me even more prejudiced towards religious people. that and also the fact that my favourite book growing up was дорога уходит в даль, which is basically communist propaganda lol.

so yeah, it's strange. because whenever id go inside an orthodox church everything would feel so familiar and yet so foreign. i never felt like i belonged there and plus, as you said, no one ever explains to you like what to do or welcomes you in any way. like i don't want to sound entitled and im not saying that im owed anything, and maybe, hey, it's my own prejudice. but the only thing people tell you there is "we won't let you in dressed like that". and growing up it made me even more hostile. like i remember we went to visit a monastry in montenegro once and it was like 35 degrees outside and i was 12 and i was wearing shorts obviously. and like 3 people came up to me to tell me that im not allowed in. and i never got an explanation as to why. i mean yeah, modesty, whatever. but instead of being so judgemental towards a child, an explanation would be nice..? idk, that really put me off religion.

but then, here's the thing. when i was 14 i was being neurodivergent as usual and i got hyperfixated on religion. idk where that came from. but i told myself that i would research a new religion every week. so id borrow a bunch of books at the library evry week and i kept a journal detailing all my findings. i went to the lutheran church, i even found a hindu centre here and scheduled an appointment and borrowed one of their scriptures. like idk what was going on in my 14 year old brain but i was fearless and i would like show up to all these religious centres with my little notebook. and id even interview people... likeee.

anyway, one week i was researching orthodoxy. so again, i showed up to the orthodox church here, absolutely fearless, no headscarf, wearing my desigual jeans. and i went straight to the choir and asked if i could sing with them. i have no classical training in music btw, i know how to sing but like as a hobby, i know little to no theory. and, again, i don't know where this audacity came from, but i went straight up to the choir director and was like "im singing with y'all bitches". so i started going every sunday to sing, but id never stay until the end bc id get bored. and then i stopped all together after like maybe a year.

and again, i have no logical explanation as to why. i was just hyperfixated and decided that the church choir was my new thing. and i didn't make any friends there bc i was still prejudiced against religious people. i wouldn't pray, i didn't respect the dresscode. id just show up, not say hello to anyone, sing for like 30 minutes and leave. 💀💀 at that age i constantly felt like i was in some sort of bubble, like id always be half dissociating, id do things not understanding how or why, things would just happen, it was weird.

fast forward to this year, i went to church for easter with one of my friends just like to hang out. and i heard the choir for the first time in almost 10 years and fell in love again. i couldn't remember any of the hymns (probably because when i was 14 i was just so dissociated). but i was like i have to join again!

except now im more aware of my own surroundings and im more normal. so i didn't really know how to approach things. but i was like you know what, if 14 year old me could just show up and not explain anything to anyone, so can 24 year old me.

so the week after easter i came up to the choir director and asked if i could sing and she asked me if i was classically trained and i was like "oops no, but i sang with you guys 10 years ago". and then she asked me why i had stopped and i was a bit at a loss for words bc like idk why i stopped. and then i asked her what brought her here and she gestured at the ceiling. and that was our conversation.

and the thing is, now that im more aware and awake, singing there is even more fun. because i haven't read sheet music in 10 years. i didn't know i was capable of reading music. but i am! and it's this weird almost like spiritual feeling. because i look at the notes and even if ive never seen that particular hymn before, i know exactly what to sing. and my hand moves up and down and i nod to the rhythm. i don't know how, i don't know why i know all of these things, but i do. and it amazes me every time. like i look at something ive never seen before, but i can read it. idk how to explain this feeling. like imagine all of a sudden being able to read a foreign alphabet and you don't even know how you read it, you just do. it feels magical.

but yeah, i totally get what you say about churchgoers being mean. i always feel like an outsider or imposter in literally any social setting, so feeling like an alien at church isn't something that scares me. and i haven't talked to anyone there or made any friends. but just from the looks of it and the way people push and shove each other there like i can tell that i probably won't get along with any of them unfortunately. and there's always people shoving when queuing up for eucharist and there's always passive aggressiveness and everyone is always on edge. even in the choir like i rarely get the music sheets handed to me for some reason. like when they're distributed they often skip me and i don't understand why. it makes me feel like more of an impostor but tbh nowadays im so chill when it comes to self esteem i literally do not care. it's just annoying bc unless i literally grab the sheet out of the person's hand, i always have to look at someone else's. but yeah, little things like that give me the impression that the majority of people who go there are kind of mean.

and what you said about people all knowing each other is very true too. because literally everyone is always in their little groups. and if you're not childhood friends with someone, you can't make friends. again im neurodivergent so i just like struggle with making friends in general. but making friends at our church seems impossible. people are always huddling together and whispering and i just know i won't fit in. because at some point in their little conversations they always point at the ceiling and i just don't know enough about god or the church to be able to fit in with these sort of conversations, you know?

but anyway, as i said, i love going to church nevertheless. singing there makes me euphoric. i love the aesthetics, i love the drama. i love the over-the-top-ness of like people falling to their knees and crying and the priest talking about the devil. it's so cinematic, im obsessed. and if i don't "belong" there or if i don't have the right relationship with the church, so be it. i think it's better to look forward to church every week and to truly enjoy it, than to be mean and go there to ask for forgiveness 👀

@atomicanechka

[k0kichiimagines]

my dad has threatened to kick me out so many times it equally means nothing and worries me constantly at the same time LMAO

[queer-crusader]

I think the realisation of my trip next week is hitting and I'm trying not to spiral but the anxiety is catching up to me so fast, I've not felt like this in a good while

[slugtits]

some one i stopped being friends with like two and a half years ago because she was like ‘covid is no biggie i can just go to parties with covid’ just sent me the longest message asking why i had unfollowed her TWO YEARS AGO because she feels ‘iced out’

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

.

[leviathanspain]

not without him

anthony bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you knew birth would be no easy feat, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it without him

you clutched onto the white bedsheets, they were drenched with blood, and you were writhing on the bed as the doctor shouted orders at the nurses.

one had a cloth to your forehead, dabbing away your sweat and your tears. you couldn’t stop crying, it was an unbearable pain, that only got worse as the night went on.

violet had tried to prepare you, coming to her for advice on how to birth a bridgerton child. she had her most difficult birth with hyacinth, and just hearing her story sent chills down your spine.

anthony had been away in london when you went into labor. you knew he shouldn’t have left aubrey hall so close to the end of your pregnancy, but being the viscount meant there were things that required him present. you had hoped that your child would have some decency and arrive after the father, but the urge to push only became greater.

you feared that anthony wouldn’t make it, he was supposed to be here an hour ago, having rushed from london upon hearing the news.

the nurse looked down at you, “you have to push, my lady.” her voice quivered, as if she could feel your emotion. you teared up more, “no please- we have to wait for the viscount.” you felt weak, and you faintly heard the doctor shout that you were losing blood.

the nurse looked down again, and seemed firm, “you have to push, there is no time to spare if we wait for the viscount.” she dabbed your forehead again, “you and this baby will die if you don’t push now.”

you cried harder, “i need him here. i can’t do it without him.” you were scared, frightened by all these unfamiliar people. yes they were there to help you give birth to your first child, but you didn’t care, it wasn’t your husband dabbing your forehead or encouraging you.

your vision went fuzzy around the edges and your head fell back into the mounds of pillows that held you up. you could still hear the door push open, shouts being echoed into the room and finally, “let me through-“ his voice.

you heard a clatter of gear hit the wooden floor and you felt relief as he rushed to your side. anthony, still cold with the winter air, brushed the hair from your face, kissing your cheek. he saw how weak you looked, and could see the doctor’s expression.

“you can do it.” he whispered sweetly, “i’m here, you can do it.” he grabbed your hand, clutching it tightly and with his encouragement, you did the one thing you had been putting off.

the nurse over you seemed overjoyed that you were finally listening, there was fear among the doctor and staff that you would bleed out before anthony got there.

you grunted, weak from the blood loss. “push, my lady, push!” the nurse above you shouted, and you grunted loudly, doing as she said.

there was a brief moment of pause, relief that washed over you as you heard a newborn’s cry. you blinked away the sweat, feeling the damp cloth across your skin as you looked over at anthony, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. he was smiling brightly, but tears brimmed in his eyes, “you did it.” he whispered, “my lady….” he brushed the side of your face with a hand, and you closed your eyes, exhaustion washing over you.

you could see the light creeping through the curtains. it had been kept dark for you, candles burning just as you liked, even wearing your favorite nightgown. you could feel the pain, that ache that reminded you of what had happened.

you called out to your handmaid, watching as the door opened and instead, in stepped anthony holding the baby in his arms. your eyes softened, and you cooed, “my love.” you beckoned him to the bed, and anthony sat down carefully, the newborn in his arms was peacefully sleeping.

“good morning.” he kissed your forehead, “you have no idea how much i love you. i-“ he faltered, looking down at the baby to compose himself before he continued, “i almost lost you. please,” he looked at you, “please don’t ever scare me like that again. i beg you.” he whispered. he was happy at the birth of your son, but he wouldn’t have been if you had lost your life.

you looked at him, nodding. you didn’t want to say anything, instead looking down at the baby and resting your head on anthony’s shoulder, “have you thought of a name?” you noticed the baby’s fell head of hair and smirked, “looks like he got my hair.” you looked at the baby’s nose, “and your nose.” you laughed slightly, and anthony shrugged, “everyone says he looks like you more.”

his siblings must’ve arrived in from london. you smiled, but anthony knew what that smile was, “you must rest. the doctor said you lost a lot of blood, that you shouldn’t even think to lift a finger today.”

you sighed, “i won’t protest, i am feeling exhausted..” you didn’t know how to feel, your heart had never felt so much love all at once, “my boys.” you cooed, touching the baby’s hair as anthony kissed your forehead again.

[moonstruckme]

rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you. 

“Hey!” 

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window. 

“Want a lift?” 

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?” 

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. 

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?” 

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.” 

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear. 

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there. 

“How was work?” he asks you. 

“It was fine. How were your matches?” 

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded. 

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately. 

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.” 

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense. 

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though. 

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?” 

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.” 

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.” 

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.” 

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.” 

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.” 

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.” 

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.” 

[jamminvroomvroom]

I absolutely adore your writing,

For the celebration, could you please do virgin reader first time with Oscar?

sunshine.

op x fem!reader - 4k celebration

in which oscar arrives home to an unexpected guest…

hi hi hi! thank you so much anon, i hope this is what you wanted!! trying to get through requests, loving hearing from you guys! this one is so cute i think, let me know ur thoughts 😚😚

songs to set the mood: fall in love with you by montell fish, fade into you by mazzy star, like real people do by hozier

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!!! smut, fluff, friends to lovers, sleepy baby oscar, teeny tiny bit of angst, mutual pining, r’s first time, swearing

2.9k words

oscar’s exhausted, shoulders sagging beneath the thick material of his mclaren hoodie. he’s glad he left it in his carry on, the miserable london weather not even remotely living up to the warm glow of the middle eastern sun.

he craves his bed, dreamless sleep, entering the code to get into his building and slumping against the cool mirrored wall of the elevator. his eyes droop as the lift travels up, and the ding that sounds when he reaches his floor breathes life back into him.

the double header that kickstarted the season has knackered him, and he longs for alone time and silence to recuperate before he has to deal with the noise of going home and racing in front of a familiar crowd.

his key slides into the lock and he pushes the door open, throwing his bags by the door - he’ll deal with them later. the hoodie is shrugged off and dropped haphazardly on the floor next to the shoes he kicks off. his bed is calling. dazed, he trudges down the hallway, but he’s spooked by a faint sound coming from his bedroom.

as he primes himself to investigate, he hears footsteps, light and quiet against the floorboards. he goes to open his bedroom door, breathing heavy, but he just about jumps out of his skin when it swings open before he gets there. he yelps, and so do you, leaping into the air.

“you scared the shit out of me.” you shout, hand over your thumping heart.

“i scared you? what are you doing here?” oscar bites back, running his hand through his brown locks.

“sorry, sorry, i didn’t mean to be here without your permission but… it’s a long story. i didn’t think you’d be home yet.” you smile apologetically.

“sofa.” oscar mumbles, stalking past his bedroom and towards the living room. “what’s goi- are you wearing my shirt?” he splutters, finally looking at you properly.

your face heats up, and you cross your arms awkwardly.

“um, yeah? god, this is all so embarrassing.” you cover your face, falling onto the sofa. he plonks down beside you.

“tell me what happened.” oscar sighs.

“he dumped me.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“why?” oscar asks softly. “ugh, i knew i hated him for a reason.” he wrinkles his nose.

“i don’t know how to explain this without wading into major tmi territory.” your voice is small, quivering slightly.

“you can tell me, love.” he encourages gently.

“he found it weird that i’m, uh, a virgin?” you squeak, your voice raising into a question. oscar goes as red as you are.

“oh. oh.”

“oh god, you’re freaked out too. is there something wrong with me? like, why has this not happened? i thought i was ready with him, but then when it came down to it…” you ramble, trailing off.

“there’s nothing wrong with you.” oscar states, firm and serious. “him, on the other hand.” he shakes his head, disgusted. “he wasn’t good enough for you.” he spits.

“do you mind if i stay here?” you whisper, leaning into his side. “or, keep staying here?” you laugh softly. oscar joins in.

“you know you can always stay here.” he smiles sleepily. you’re just about the only person in the world he can stand right now, and always, actually. “but i need a nap, you coming?”

you nod and follow him to his room. the tv is still on, the one with monica and chandlers wedding playing quietly. oscar smiles. he knows it’s your favourite.

he flops onto his side of the bed, dropping off almost instantly. you watch over him, enamoured and sympathetic, in awe of him and the life he lives. you slip into bed beside him, leaving a respectable distance between you and the aussie.

you pass out right around chandler’s vows.

-

you stir between two thick arms. pale, warm skin is wrapped around you, oscar’s soft breath fanning your face as he sleeps.

you watch him, scanning each and every mole on his face, trying to ground yourself. you combat the anxiety of being in his arms, choosing to enjoy the moment, while he’s still peaceful. it’s nice to feel wanted, even if he’s unconscious.

for the first time, you’re glad your ex broke up with you, because how does it make sense that you feel safer, more wanted in the arms of your best friend?

“stop staring, ‘m gonna blush.” oscar mumbles, clearing his throat. his eyes are still shut, but he just knows you too well.

oscar opens his eyes slowly, blinking away sleep. you stare at each other, comfortable silence eating away at the palpable tension.

you kiss him.

because why wouldn’t you? it’s oscar, your oscar, and he’s sleepy and cosy and gorgeous, and you’ve waited too fucking long. you can’t resist it any longer, free from the bounds of being someone else’s.

his lips are warm, and he’s startled, but the surprise doesn’t falter him; just as quickly as you kiss him, he’s kissing you back. his large hand finds your face, and the other finds your waist, pulling you closer. you melt into him, impossibly closer than you already were.

he’s gentle with you, tentative but firm and you part your lips, letting him lick into your mouth. his tongue strokes softly over yours and you keen at the sensation. he pushes you onto your back, balancing on his elbow half hovering over you. your hair fans out onto the pillow, his soft fingers running through your strands, pushing them away from your flushed face. oscar pulls away, scanning your face.

“sorry.” you smile up at him, breathless.

“apology very much accepted. i’ve been wondering when that would happen.” he laughs incredulously.

“really?”

“what can i say? i’m irresistible.” he replies dryly, exercising his sense of humour that was a foundation of your friendship.

“yeah. you kinda are.” you giggle bashfully.

and then he’s kissing you again, pressing himself even closer to you. you welcome him in, wrapping your arms around his lean frame, feeling over his shoulders. he’s tense, restrained, groaning into you at the feeling of your hands raking over his back.

“we should stop.” he mumbles, noses bumping. you frown.

“why?”

“because you said earlier, you’re not ready for this and i’m… well, things are gonna get real awkward if we keep going.” he chokes out half a laugh, glancing down at his-

“oh.”

“yeah, i just, i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. we can go slow.”

“osc, i wasn’t ready with him,” you pause, collecting your thoughts. “but you’re not him.”

“i suppose that’s true.” he shrugs.

“then you better do something.”

oscar lays you back, climbing over you completely this time. his trails over your jaw, taking your chin between his fingers.

“are you sure about this? we can stop anytime, just say the words.”

“‘m sure, oscar. i want to do this with you.” you coo, reassuringly.

his lips run over your neck, your collarbone, and he mouths at the collar of the t-shirt that you’re wearing. his t-shirt. his.

“gonna take this off, yeah?” he asks, whispering low, right by your ear.

“yeah, please.” you say, your own hands running under his t-shirt and up his muscular back. he’s relaxed now, no tension between his shoulder blades, and so you push the material up, and he slips it over his head. his warm digits peel your shirt off, too, and you’re warm all over when his eyes trail over your chest.

you’d forgone a bra, ditching it when you’d arrived at his place, and his pupils are blown wide, hazel hues sparkling with desire. his hands slide up your ribcage, thumbing at the underside of your breasts, while he plants open mouthed kisses down your chest. your eyes flutter shut, gasping softly as he skims your nipple.

“oscar.” you breathe, the light whimper sending his blood rushing south.

“does that feel good?” he asks, searching your face for answers.

“more.” you sound strained, desperate, and he aches.

his sucks your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the swollen bud. he toys with the other one, massaging your breast with his skilful fingers, tweaking and pulling until you’re panting beneath him. he pulls away with a pop, licking over to the other side, deciding to test your limits when he nips delicately at the peak. you moan, bucking your hips, hypersensitive to his every move.

you can feel how hard he is, his grey joggers growing tighter with every passing second.

“want all of you, osc.” you plead.

“need to get you ready for me first, okay honey?” he rubs circles into your sides, warm and calloused. you relax fully, lifting your hips.

oscar mouthed over your belly, peppering sunshine-like kisses down your abdomen until he finds the band of your loose shorts. he mumbles something into you navel about taking them off and you nod, enthusiastic and frantic. you can feel his smile branding your sensitive skin. the material glides down your thighs, pooling at your ankles, and you kick them away. he parts your thighs, making himself comfortable on his belly, and thumbs at the crease of your leg, toying with your panties.

he drags his pointer finger over your covered slit, up and down slowly, applying more pressure every time he brushes over your clit. oscar can see where you’re starting to seep through your panties and he stifles a low groan, anxious to peel the cotton off of your body, the final barrier separating him from you, so he does, pulling them slowly down your legs. he studies your face as he does, keeping his eyes firmly on yours. your lip catches between your teeth, aching as you watch, helpless and wet.

oscar kisses your hip bone, sucking gently until he’s stained it purple, and then his warm breath is fanning your cunt. your eyes squeeze shut.

“look at me, baby. gotta keep your eyes on me.” oscar mutters. your pussy clenches around nothing at the tone of his voice. you pry your eyes open, just about managing to prop yourself up on your elbows. “that’s it, honey. has anyone ever done this to you before?”

you shake your head, no. he smiles to himself, like he knows something you don’t, and dives in.

his tongue works in slow strokes, dragging through your slick with intent, eyes locked with yours. you must look like a deer in headlights, pupils blown, shocked with pleasure when you collapse against the mattress. he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking, tasting, and your legs go weak, splayed open all for him. you whimper as he tugs your clit between his teeth, just enough to graze over the sensitive nerves. it sends your hips flying, bucking wildly against his face.

“osc…” you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut.

“‘m gonna give you some more, is that okay?” he asks, nose bumping your clit.

“yes, please.” you don’t know what more is, but you need it like air.

you feel a finger glide over your sodden flesh, rubbing over your entrance. you sigh out, oh, anticipation and bliss sending white heat down your spine. he circles his finger around your opening, coating it in you, and carefully slides it in, feeling out for any sign of tension or discomfort. when you grind your hips onto the single digit, he knows you’re okay.

it feels good, better than anything you’d ever felt on your own, and you writhe against his bedspread. he thrusts a couple of times, experimenting, seeing what makes you squirm for him the right way, and when his finger curls, hooking deliciously, he knows he’s struck gold. you arch off the bed, searching for more, more, anything.

“another one.” you cry, begging, and oscar’s not one to tease. not yet, anyway.

a second finger joins the lonesome first, and he finds some pace, fucking into you faster. he scissors the digits, stretching you out for him, enjoying the pretty view. he’s achingly hard now, rocking discreetly into the mattress, losing his mind as he watches how you drip around his fingers. he wants another taste of you, addicted already to sweet, salty honey, so he has to finish you off, lap your mess off of his long fingers.

“i think- i think-“ you can’t get the words out, they’re lost on your tongue, but oscar knows what you mean.

“that’s it, baby. so good for me, doing so good. cum for me.” he spurs you on, drawing it out of you.

you let go, crashing biblically, the high sending you to heaven and back, two times over. he grinds his fingers, softer, just enough to help you through it and you chant his name like you’re praying at an alter. you know that you’ll never be over this. your oscar.

“holy shit.” you giggle, smiling lazily as you return to the world of the living. he’s licking his fingers clean; you could black out so easily.

“did you enjoy that?” he punctuates with a kiss to your belly, crawling up your body until he’s hovering over you.

“maybe you should do it again, just so that i can really make sure that i did.” you tease. your hand rakes through his hair, pushing it back off of his face. he’s grinning down at you, eyes fluttering shut. “that was amazing.” you whisper. he’s blushing when he kisses you, and then you are too, when you taste yourself on his tongue.

he moans against your lips, making you pull back. your hand leaves his brown strands, joining your other, which is currently voyaging down his back.

“you’re wearing too many clothes.” you whisper, lips bumping his as your hands slide under the waistband of his sweats. something desperate emits from the back of his throat. you push them over his hips, fisting the thick fabric, eager to have him bare on top of you once and for all. oscar helps, kicking them away, boxers too.

you can feel him, thick and wet between your thighs, his breathing uneven. your nails graze his hip and he jolts, collapsing on top of you, his full weight covering your keening body. he kisses into the crook of your neck, frantic; you need him deep, immediately, his urgent change in form leaving you flushed.

“you want me?” he whispers into your ear, leaving you shivering.

“so bad.” you pant.

“i’ll be gentle.” he promises.

he guides himself through your folds, slippery and warm, all for him. he nudges the head inside of you, hips stuttering at the blinding tightness. you gasp, but he catches it in his mouth, softly moulding his lips to yours as he pushes further. you open up for him, pliant, and when he eventually bottoms out, he holds himself there, letting you adjust.

“oh, fuck.” your eyes roll back, nails leaving crescent marks in his shoulders.

“so good for me, so pretty.” oscar grunts. “say when, baby.” he breathes, rubbing soothing circles into your hip.

“move.”

oscar rolls his hips, rocking you into the mattress. he hooks your knee over his waist, driving himself deeper and deeper with every thrust. you’re boneless, lost to the delectable stretch, to the way his cock seems to touch every part of you that makes you quiver.

“tell me how it feels.” oscar murmurs, grip tightening on your thigh.

“fuck, oscar, it’s so good. ‘m so glad it’s you.” your voice shakes, raw with emotion.

“me fucking too.” he mumbles, increasing his pace ever so slightly.

his thrusts lull into more of a grind, reaching your depths and revelling in the way you only get tighter for him. you’re spilling around him, already so close to meeting your end, and all it takes is the calloused pad of his thumb brushing your bundle of nerves to have you convulsing. you’re somewhere else entirely, on a whole other spiritual plane, utterly and completely his as he fucks you through your second orgasm.

when he spills, white hot and sweat slicked, he gushes endless hushed whines of your name. it sounds perfect when he says it like this, rolling off of his tongue with dire urgency.

his dampened hair falls over his darkened eyes, full of stars and total adoration. you’re smiling sleepily up at him like he’s made of sunshine. you always thought he was, and now you know that he most definitely is.

the most beautiful sunshine man.

“hi.” he whispers.

“hi.” you whisper back.

an intimacy, different to the one you’ve just shared, blossoms between you, encapsulating you here with him endlessly.

“i’m gonna clean you up, ‘n then we’re gonna order food.” he gazes fondly, stroking your hair.

“perfect.” you agree.

“put friends back on, i’m gonna run you a bath.” he begrudgingly stands from the bed, trailing towards the en-suite.

“you’re gonna join me in there, right?” you admire his naked frame as he disappears into the bathroom.

“obviously.” he pokes his head out once more to scoff, and you lay there, grinning like the worlds most lovesick idiot, your thoughts dulled by the sound of running water.

when the bath is full of hot water and too many bubbles, he gets in first, and you sink into the revitalising heat. oscar pulls you close, your back to his chest, kissing over your hairline as you mould yourself against him.

“thank god you broke in.”

-

oh i’m soft

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne

lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[danielhowell]

DOOMED MERCH HAS DROPPED!

No this is not a drill - after touring the world (that is ending), probably the coolest merch I will ever release is finally here - we have scoured the corners of the earth to pull together a collection of WE'RE ALL DOOMED! merch to celebrate the recent show (and slit) and bring it online for you.

From the tour date t-shirt, to the iconic DOOMED ambigram hoodie, the black metal longsleeve and ..the 'DanHub tee' - choose what your apocalyptic aesthetic is.

WORLDWIDE: shop.danielhowell.com USA: us.shop.danielhowell.com EUROPE: eu.shop.danielhowell.com AUSTRALIA: au.shop.danielhowell.com

As a SPECIAL (wow) online-only offer - every order of the super limited quantity Vegan Leather Jacket (with rapture art on the reverse) will also ship with a totally unique Polaroid selfie that I took while thinking about death! 

I make no promises what I will be doing - it could be a cute smile, or a middle-finger. It's just whatever the vibe was in the moment. Who knows what someone will trade for the rare under-chin angle that some lucky person will get? (I am so sorry)

And it's not just garments - we've also got rare collectors items to snatch including the interval playlist cassette tape, and the 'Tears of My Enemies' water bottle, that I drink out of myself everyday while manifesting people's downfall.

Lastly, look out for the signed Ally Pally London show posters commemorating the final performances, which may come with fingerprints allowing you to perfectly fraud my identity, due to my left-handed sharpie smudging.

I want to say thank you to the tens of thousands of people that tuned into the stream to celebrate my show - without you it wouldn't have been possible to capture for posterity and now the message can live on. I'm going to begin my quest to determine where DOOMED will live forever, and who knows if we'll manage to wrangle any of the other rare itemz🐝 along with it in the future. I appreciate you all and I can't wait to see you all looking gnarly as fuck scaring the normies in this merch. Thanks 🖤 - Dan

[blorbofrommyshows]

Does anyone else have decision anxiety? Or spending money anxiety?