#← prev

[willgrahamscock]

Hey did you know that you can’t escape fatphobia even after death? The article talks about how these donated bodies are used for first year anatomy students to study the body, and how the 'perfect' body for that should be 170-180 pounds.

[mossy-addison]

You guys really liked my last poll so

[daveedmee]

she got them 10k kills for that gun skin

[nonbinoclard]

classic toxic yuri btw.

[rainintheevening]

Enjoyed everyone's comments on the last one so much, here's another.

[septemberkisses]

@thelastattempt you're so right!!!!!!!!

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

[alexandriad]

🏺🏺

[its-a-thing-i-guess]

But, like, realistically.

Also! Please reblog for varied responses!

[tojisun]

just. something about being pulled to simon’s lap and being told to ride his thigh makes me feel heady. the way you are told to get off using him; and so you do, rutting slowly, muted pleasure not enough to bloat your euphoria. you claw at his chest and at his stomach, fisting the fabric of his shirt because every glide is just. it’s not enough.

your teeth dig into the flesh of your lips as you move your hips at his beckoning; simon holds onto your waist for purchase, not really manhandling you but using it as leverage. as means of propping you up again after every jolted curl of your body. you don’t know how much more of this you can handle because god, you need more.

but simon just pushes your hair away from your face after every watery plea you warble out, and presses a long kiss on your temple, before murmuring, “jus’ once, yeah sweet’art? won’t you do that f’r me?”

and when simon asks this way — when your pleasure is his just as much as it is yours, even when his cock is left straining underneath his boxers — you find that you can’t… deny him of his pleas. of his rumbled sweet talking.

so you nod, huffing only for it to splinter as a particular glide on his thigh rubs on your sex beautifully. you hiss, eyes fluttering. simon responds with an equally pleasured hum.

“go on, baby,” he coos. “wan’ see you cum like this.”

“ok-ay,” you gasp out, your voice so quiet and weak because everything is just so much wetter now. messier. your sensitive skin feels fever-warm pressed on his slicked thigh, and you hump on him harder, chasing that rising pleasure.

that peaking bliss, leaving your toes curling because you’re so close—

the only thing you remember during your orgasm was the feeling like your ears are packed with cotton, leaving you to hear the world in this fluffed up static that pinches every iota of sound into a heavy white noise.

fuck.

simon’s right. this is fun.

[fandomchaosposts]

nsjdhdhdhd yes!!!

when you’re out at a restaurant or a coffee shop or a target or whatever with your friends and you overhear/eavesdrop the same snippet of some stranger’s conversation, and you look at each other for a second to check that you both heard this stranger say the same weird/funny/baffling thing and just break out in knowing grins and quiet laughter… that’s a love language

[fattributes]

If it’s not listed here, what other ice cream do you associate with prev?