#『v!child』
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
liroyalty · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Blessed is She Who beholds the World Whole Eyes Unclouded, Evils & All
And for the World She nurtures it's Silvers & Flora Amidst Greedy Gold & Tainted Black
The Angel that the Lord Sent to Earth, Beheld & Holds
9 notes · View notes
Text
Pinterest reminding me that Sue was once a sweet baby angel
Tumblr media
BABY WHAT HAPPENED?
*looks at the canon*
Oh... right...
3 notes · View notes
lazylittledragon · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
mombin™ has me in a CHOKEHOLD right now
6K notes · View notes
k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
averaillisa · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
lil doodle 💧🔥
2K notes · View notes
itischeese · 11 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
He knows what words mean, Minato-sensei.
676 notes · View notes
demaparbat-hp · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Zuko was awoken by the ghost of a caress on his left cheek and the echo of a voice that told stories of dragons and spirits and love. No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are.
Zuko's childhood, as told in For the Spirits Chapter V: There Was Sun.
When did Zuko start seeing the spirits of the dead? How did loss become the norm for a child?
(Maybe it was after Lu Ten, or after Mother. Maybe it was because of the burn or the fire or the dreams sent to him by Agni. Maybe such was the way of things since the very beginning of time.)
660 notes · View notes
v-albion · 10 months ago
Text
Look who’s inside again
Masterpost
Warning for child abuse at 1:11
He’s there for a few weeks. Shouldn’t have talked back or tried to sneak out
1K notes · View notes
thegoldenavenger · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
when your pet immortal cultivator doesn't understand the difference between a demonic lion and a righteous spiritual tiger
895 notes · View notes
judyalvqrez · 2 years ago
Text
there was something really jim henson-esque and campy about how some of the non-human races were portrayed in the new dnd movie that i really enjoyed. they could’ve easily gone the shitty cgi route or just not shown those races up close at all, but no, they said you want a bird man? we’re gonna get you a bird man
3K notes · View notes
liroyalty · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Tiny little legs, tiny legs running as fast as they can down the hallway while she makes a 'nooooooom!' sound effect. She's a speedy car! Yes! She is! The fastest car!
Tumblr media
"Princess! You can not run down the hallway making noise like this! Stop that this instant!"
Tumblr media
Oh. ... Well... she was the fastest car. "... Sorry, nanny." Being yelled at by an adult made the little princess slide to a stop, a dejected look on her face. Sue should listen better, shouldn't she?
3 notes · View notes
sydneighsays · 6 months ago
Text
Jee and V getting along (optional)
I found this audio Instagram.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
474 notes · View notes
stagefoureddiediaz · 1 month ago
Text
The Helena diaz of it all has me fascinated. I’ve said for a long while that Eddie’s real issues are his mommy issues and this episode just cemented for me that we’re gonna explore that and deal with it.
Because it’s Helena who forced Eddie to grow up to fast - because her husband wasn’t around much - so she pushed Eddie into de facto parent and husband role ls - selfishly filling her needs and ignoring the damage it was doing to her son (it is a form of abuse in my book).
Eddie then had the audacity to fall in love with and marry Shannon and get her pregnant. It’s why Helena was always so off with Shannon - she was punishing her. She is also punishing Eddie for all of this and his refusal to return to El Paso only cemented further her bitterness and resentment.
Now she does have Ramon back she doesn’t need Eddie any longer to fill that role so she is still punishing him and part of that is tied into her glee over now getting to parent Christopher - something she has always been intent on doing the doppelgänger just gave her the opportunity- as well as allowing her to further punish her son and his love of Shannon.
Her barbed comments about building a pool were all about showing what she can provide Christopher - how she is parenting him better than Eddie - it’s part of her mind games - making Eddie feel like more of a failure as a parent to his son.
The reality of course is that the reverse is true - Helena’s parenting is all superficial, flash and showy - it isn’t the hard day to day parenting when things get tough and you have to be the bad guy. While Eddie has made mistakes, there is nothing superficial, flash, or showy about his parenting. It’s why bucks comments about Eddie being a great dad are so important.
Eddie feel like a failure right now and that he is entirely to blame for everything. But in reality, while he does bear a bit of the responsibility, the truth of the matter is that he needs to learn and deal with the fact that all of it actually stems from Helena and her abuse of her young son - Shannon never stood a chance just like Eddie never has.
#genuinely don’t see how she can get any sort of redemption arc#but this is 911 so maybe they’ll find a way 🤷🏻‍♀️#Helena’s treatment of Eddie is a form of child abuse - it has done so much damage to him psychologically#I do really hope we finally get to meet Sophia and adriana as part of this arc beciase I think it might be very revealing#I am also wondering if Ramon had a stache in the past - and that is what Eddie is subconsciously trying to mimic#and that is about him trying to regain his mothers affection - trying to fill that husband role she forced him into#and that shaving it off is a part of his dealing with that and choosing to free himself from her clutches#and in doing that - standing up for himself etc - it will be the trigger that v ring schristopher back#the catholic guilt and Eddie’s queerness is also all tied up in this - the church reinforces and condones Helena and her actions#the Catholic Church has a long history of abuse of children in all it’s horrendous forms#so Eddie seeking solace in that direction think it will help him find away back to Helena’s good books only for it to open a few doors he#has bolted shut#as for the queer aspect - forcing Eddie to grow up too fast and fill this role of husband to his mother and parent to his siblings means#Eddie never got the chance to learn who he actually is - to explore his sexuality and all that goes with that - at the age one normally#would - as a teenager and into your 20’s. it explains so much around his relationship with Shannon and dealing with the helana of it all#and the queerness of his identity - ​will also allow him to actually let Shannon go#Eddie’s arc is going to be incredible - heartbreaking and gut wrenching - but incredible#Helena diaz it’s on sight - she is evil and cannot be redeemed in my eyes!#911 spoilers#Thinky thoughts#eddie diaz#911 abc
242 notes · View notes
formulanni · 28 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Esteban Ocon as the Knight of Wands:
This person is a man of action - he represents the manifestation of an idea and the passionate pursuit of a vision. Because this person is highly focused on action, he can also be brash, impulsive and unrealistic.
This card embodies high energy, enthusiasm, and a willingness to take on challenges. The Knight of Wands encourages us to embrace our ambitions and pursue work that aligns with our passions. However, it also cautions against hasty decision-making and advises careful research and planning for long-term success.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls @brawngp2009
175 notes · View notes
bonesmarinated · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Lacazette + Titou - cyberpunk 2077 (i know dogs are restricted in Cyberpunk lol but am drawing whatever the fuck I want because i can )
2K notes · View notes
rayveneyed · 4 months ago
Text
cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /
choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.
in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.
to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.
it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—
“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”
control which he now flounders to grab.
a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.
you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.
“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”
that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.
“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”
his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”
“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”
his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.
you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?
a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.
“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”
“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”
all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.
you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—
“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”
his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.
metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.
“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”
he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.
“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”
oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.
he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.
“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”
and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.
“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”
246 notes · View notes