#this is wild

[dxrlingluv]

HELLO ODDY DEAREST!!I LOVE YOUR WORK SMM💖 i hope you've been well, mwamwaa! Your top fan, aina hereee 😝,, May I request a Jealous!Antinous x Tele's Sister!Reader smut please? :3

it could be likee,, reader and antinous are in a secret relationship after ody comes back home (bro miraculously survives), antinous learns that reader's been getting more suitorsss,, yk something like that 😭 THANK U BB !! 💖

Branded

A/N : Thank you, my love, for requesting this beautiful masterpiece. Also, if it’s not obvious enough, I have no idea how to make up a good title for my stories. If anyone could give advices, I would really appreciate it! Antinous art is from Duvetbox.

WARNING : Smut, slight angst if you squirt. Dom!Antinous.

Word Count : 2.1k

The great hall of Ithaca, once a den of boorish thieves, was a royal court once more. The scent of spilled wine and greasy smoke had been replaced by beeswax, polished wood, and the faint, salty air drifting in from the sea. Your father, Odysseus, sat upon his throne, his presence a heavy, grounding force that had finally brought order to the island. Your brother, Telemachus, stood at his side, no longer a boy but a prince who had earned his place. Your mother, Penelope, was a vision of serene grace, her weaving telling stories of triumph now, not sorrow.

Everything was perfect. A storybook ending.

Except for the ghost who haunted the palace. And the secret you held tight in your heart, a secret that would shatter this perfect picture into a thousand pieces.

Antinous.

He had survived. In a moment of political calculation your father called "mercy," the ringleader of the suitors had been spared the arrow. After a spectacle of begging, groveling, and swearing eternal fealty on the graves of his ancestors, he was allowed to live. But not to leave. He was a prisoner in all but name, confined to the palace grounds, his family's power and wealth holding him in a gilded cage to ensure the loyalty of the other nobles. He was a shadow, a whisper in the corridors, his once-blazing arrogance banked to a cold, watchful ember.

And he was yours.

Your love had been a secret, forbidden bloom even before your father's return, born from stolen glances and whispered words in moonlit gardens. You had seen past the swaggering pride to the fierce, passionate man beneath. In the tense, strange peace of your father's new reign, that love had become a desperate, secret solace. A lifeline.

Today, that lifeline was stretched to its breaking point.

You were seated on a cushioned stool near your mother, the picture of a dutiful princess. Before you stood Philoetius the Younger, a suitor from Zakynthos. He was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and praised for his skill with a chariot. He spoke of his lands, his herds, his devotion to the gods. He was, by all accounts, a perfect match for the daughter of the King of Ithaca. And as he smiled at you, his teeth white and even, you felt nothing but a rising tide of nausea.

Because across the hall, leaning against a marble column half-hidden in shadow, was Antinous.

He was dressed simply, the fine silks and gold he once favored replaced by the plain, dark tunic of a man with no status. But it couldn't hide the coiled power in his frame, the broad set of his shoulders, or the sheer, dangerous intensity of his presence. He wasn't looking at the suitor; he was looking at you. His dark eyes were chips of obsidian, and his handsome face, the face you traced in your dreams, was a mask of such cold, possessive fury that a shiver traced its way down your spine.

He knew. He was watching this man try to court you, and the jealousy radiating from him was a palpable force, a poison that seeped into the very air between you.

You offered the suitor a tight, polite smile, your mind racing. "Your lands sound bountiful, my lord," you murmured, the words tasting like ash. "You honor our house with your visit."

As soon as protocol allowed, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. You didn't dare look in Antinous's direction, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you fled the great hall. You didn't go to your chambers. You went to his.

His rooms were small, tucked away in a disused wing of the palace. The cage within the cage. You slipped through the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind you and leaning against the solid wood, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He was waiting for you, standing in the center of the spartan room. He hadn't moved, yet he seemed to fill the entire space with his rage.

"A headache?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a low rumble that promised violence. "Or did the brilliance of your new admirer simply become too much for you?"

"Antinous, please," you whispered.

"Please what?" He took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. "Please allow you to entertain the next rich lord who comes sniffing at your door? Am I to stand in the shadows and watch you smile at him, fluttering your lashes as he describes the fine sons he will give you?"

"It is not my choice! It is my father's will."

"And you are the dutiful daughter." The words were a sneer. He was in front of you now, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body. He braced his hands on the door on either side of your head, trapping you completely. His dark eyes bored into yours, filled with a terrifying mix of jealousy and pain. "Did you like him, Y/n? Did his talk of chariots and herds thrill you? Are you already imagining yourself as his queen?"

"You know I am not," you said, your voice shaking. "I want no one but you."

His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, the cold fury giving way to a raw, desperate vulnerability. That was the truth of it. He had lost everything—his ambition, his pride, his freedom. You were all he had left. The thought of losing you was not just a heartbreak; it was an annihilation.

"Then prove it," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on yours.

This was not one of your gentle, stolen kisses. This was a kiss of pure, desperate possession. It was angry and punishing, his mouth hard and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. All the frustration, all the jealousy, all the fear he felt was poured into that kiss. And you met it with your own desperation, your hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss only to press his mouth to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. "Mine," he snarled, and you felt the sharp sting of his teeth as he bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a definite, angry mark on the sensitive flesh just below your ear. "You are mine. Not his. Not your father's to give away."

His hands moved from the door to your body, gripping your waist with a bruising force. He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the rough wood of the door, hiking your chiton and peplos up with an impatient rustle of fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered in anticipation.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural rasp in your ear as his hand splayed across your bottom, squeezing one cheek hard. His other hand worked at the lacing of his own trousers.

"I'm yours," you choked out, your mind already spinning. "Only yours."

"Who do you belong to?" he pressed, his hot breath ghosting across the mark he'd just made on your neck.

"To you. I belong to Antinous."

The sound of his release of breath, a shuddering sigh of satisfaction, was your only warning. You felt the thick, hot head of his cock press against your entrance. He was massive, and in his anger, he seemed even larger. He wasn't using any oil, and you were slick with arousal but tight with a nervous tension. It didn't matter. He wanted to possess you, to fill you so completely there was no room for thoughts of anyone else.

He shoved into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, a sound that was half pain, half exquisite pleasure. He was huge, stretching you, filling you to your very womb. You could feel every thick inch of him inside you. He paused for a moment, letting you feel his complete possession, his body pressed flush against your back, his hand gripping your hip to hold you pinned against the door.

"Feel that?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips against your ear. "That is me. No other man will ever feel this. No other man will ever fill you like this. You were made for me."

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were punishing, a savage rhythm driven by jealousy and fear. He slammed into you again and again, his pace fast and brutal, forcing a choked gasp from you with every deep, powerful stroke. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the cool wood of the door as you gave yourself over to the onslaught. This was what he needed—to fuck the thought of any other man out of your head, to brand you with his body, to reclaim you in the most primal way possible.

And gods, you needed it too. You met his desperate rhythm, tilting your hips back to take him even deeper, your own hands pressing against the door for leverage. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the small room, a raw, wet, percussive sound that was utterly obscene.

"Did you smile for him?" he grunted, his pace becoming frantic. "Did you imagine his hands on you?"

"No," you cried out, your voice strained. "Only you, Antinous. Always you!"

Your confession seemed to break something in him. The rhythm of his thrusts changed, the anger bleeding away, replaced by a deep, desperate passion. The movements became slower, deeper, each one a deliberate act of love and possession. He pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into you, stretching you, stroking a secret, sensitive spot deep inside you that he knew better than you did yourself.

"Gods, Y/n," he groaned, burying his face in your hair. "What you do to me."

He reached around with his free hand, his long fingers finding your clit through your damp folds. He began to rub you with a firm, knowing pressure, perfectly in time with his deep, rolling thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your vision began to starburst. The feeling of being so completely filled from behind, of his thick cock hitting your cervix with every powerful lurch, combined with the skilled attention of his fingers, was sending you over the edge.

"Antinous, I'm close," you panted, your body trembling violently.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."

He sped up his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts becoming powerful and driving again. Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike. Your back arched, your inner muscles clenching violently around his cock, milking him. You screamed his name, a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your climax triggered his own. With a final, deep, guttural roar, he drove into you one last time, his body going rigid as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, he stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. The rage was gone. All that was left was the man, vulnerable and trembling, clinging to the only good thing in his shattered life.

Slowly, he withdrew from you, the feeling of emptiness almost as profound as the feeling of fullness had been. He turned you around gently, his eyes, now clear of rage, searching your face. He saw the mark on your neck, his own thumb coming up to trace it with a look of regret.

He didn't speak. He simply lifted you into his arms and carried you to his narrow bed, laying you down on the rough-spun sheets. He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms and legs around you, cocooning you. He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you might vanish.

He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your head.

"Promise me," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, stripped of all its former arrogance. "Promise me you will not let them give you to another. Promise me you are mine."

You tilted your head back, looking into his dark, desperate eyes. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

"I promise," you breathed, and in the quiet of his small, lonely room, it felt like the most sacred vow you could ever make. "I am yours."

[palmtreepwr]

like

[gunsatthaphan]

"please command me as you wish."

[rosy-crow]

Holy mother of— you GUYS. HE’S SO FUCKING BIG. I know Palmer is tiny but STILL. Imagine seeing this literal 6’7 war machine walking around Shinra HQ like this all the time. Also, love the audacity of him going back there in plain sight like, “Yeah I’m back. And alive. You fuckers couldn’t erase me :)))))”

Credit to the original post and video here by @sunworshipluna on Twitter!

[drawkivi]

obsessed w the fact that pete wentz just can't stop writing songs about mikey way 20 years later and patrick has to sing them

[shenachigans]

Volleyball with the Kirammans | KIRAMMAN SANDWICH AU

CollegeStudent!Caitlyn would beam whenever you came to watch her volleyball matches. She would see you situated on the bleachers, keeping to yourself as your eyes wandered in interest (and perhaps slight confusion if you weren’t familiar with volleyball mechanics) while the crowd cheered around you. It brought the younger woman pride and eagerness to impress you with her skills as the captain and main setter of the team.

You were her good luck charm, dedicating each point they scored to you, and her heart fluttered every time you flashed her a proud smile, of course it was only directed at her. When the team was going through a challenging match, she would find your stressed expression endearing because you cared so much about something she found trivial. The glow of amazement in your eyes whenever she set the ball or served (and sometimes spike) was something she wished to etch in her brain permanently. You were so expressive, wearing the truth on your face unlike many others, and she loved you for it. However, the bliss didn’t last long, especially not when her mother got involved.

LawProfessor!Cassandra happened to attend one of Caitlyn’s games out of the blue — something she never did because she didn’t want her daughter to continue her volleyball career after high school. Caitlyn, of course, was sure something was at play and she suspected you were involved. Her smile had never faltered so quickly at the sight of her mother tailing you as you looked for seats. She didn’t like how the older woman sat too close to you on the bleachers either, there was plenty of space to create a respectful distance, but nooo, Cassandra had to rub in the proximity between you. No one would bat an eye because they knew you were her TA, and if they did, no words were said as it was obvious that you belonged to her. It was the unspoken gossip on campus.

Caitlyn’s blood fumed at the satisfactory expression on her mother’s face. What was the older woman up to? The distraction cost her team a few points, and it started to take a toll on her teammates. Now was not the time to be petty and jealous, she couldn’t embarrass her team and herself, so she tried to focus on your presence only, her good luck charm, and the point gap lessened. However, something nagged at the back of the younger woman’s mind. Were you sick? You were hot and bothered from her view on the court and it wasn’t a particularly hot day today either. Worry started to wash over Caitlyn’s expression… then her gaze flicked to her mother.

Oh.

That sly old hag– The older woman was aroused. It was clear now: your poorly masked trembling, flinching, and feverish disposition. It was a telltale sign: Cassandra plugged you with a vibrator. In public. At her daughter’s volleyball match. And she was teasing you with the controller. Fury overtook Caitlyn. How could her mother do this? Was this revenge for fucking you first and mocking her for being a coward? She wanted to peel that victorious smirk off the older woman’s face. It only fueled the younger Kiramman to go on a rampage, breaking the college milestones and winning the match with a large point gap, as adrenaline and jealousy coursed through her veins.

Instead of celebrating at the end with her members, Caitlyn watched how her mother cradled you in her arms as you silently came while the crowd rejoiced, unaware of the dirty act that had occurred. With this, the (petty) war of who would monopolize you had just gone into a different and more dangerous route.

A/N: No one asked for this, but it popped into my head. Also, I know Caitlyn is mostly, if not always, associated with basketball with the fics I read, but I think she would be pretty good at volleyball too, she is a decorated woman after all ;) Cassandra got her revenge and how she did it was FREAKY. They're gonna have a freak off smh, poor reader.

Inbox is open! (Please read my rules first)

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.

[secondbeatsongs]

in case anyone wanted to watch the wienie 500, here's the stream link

[kaeyachi]

THEY ACTUALLY CHANGED THE DIALOGUE

I DID CARIBERT ON MY F2P ACCOUNT BUT THEN I SAW THIS AND I HAD TO PAUSE COZ HOLY CRAP

[stillgotscars]

try. and come. for. her. job.

[elizabethzoopzoop986]

Out of context Tbhk

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

physically disabled people: i love us physically disabled people

other people for some reason: what about everyone else? you don’t love everyone else? you could have just said disabled people. or just people. you’re excluding any non-physically disabled people. why are you promoting exclusion? i’m a bastion of inclusion and yet people are attacking me for it. if physically disabled people have their own spaces or positivity posts it’s because they’re ableist to everyone else and no other reason. if physically disabled people ever uplift themselves and not everyone else too it’s because they’re hateful

[rosy-crow]

HE LOOKS SO???!!???

BRO ARE YOU OKAY

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, about the heads up. I've been playing the pride category for the past 10 minutes trying to see the full deck. I'm 90% certain Buck and Eddie are the only ship. Since heads up is not technically free, copyright material would have to be licensed since there are in-app purchases. Other answers in the deck include stuff like "heartstopper" "pride flag" "LA" "Chappell Roan" "Bob The Drag Queen" it's just general queer culture stuff. There are a few cities, the lgbtq+ acronym, a bunch of queer artists. While playing Buck and Eddie were the only ship that came up for me.

[angiemaniac]

Attention, fellow Maniacs. I have an important announcement regarding my shop and the Durge t-shirts.

Someone is reproducing my design and selling it on another site. If the website doesn't have my name attached, nor have I announced the shop to the public, it isn't me.

(The false website is on the left. The legit one? Right)

Please do not purchase any merch or designs on any other site aside from the links I personally provide. For the time being, please spread the word on this info so people do not purchase from the wrong site.

The link to my shop is below, and it is the correct place to purchase any merch I may make in the future. I'm still selling them in my shop and restocking items this week for the next people wanting them!

The Official Site to buy the shirts here.

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

ok i'd seen posts about and references to the tiktok tunnel girl but today i finally saw one of her videos and it is SO much crazier than i imagined???

she has actual mining equipment? people made it sound like she was just digging holes but no this is a legit mine??? what the fuck???? so many questions

+ some of my favourite comments on the video