#*head canon

[nightmarefandom]

Wholesome kist headcanon Becuase I said so and wanna share💞 (plus a normal head Canon in the mix).

Killer and horrors jackets are both more like heavy winter jackets were dusts is a nice cosy hoodie jacket so if it ever gets cold in the castle, dust will steal one of killers jackets and wears it. And when killer catches dust wearing one of them he teases him about it.

Actually I guess this can go for both a horrordust headcanon too or just a mtt poly headcanon as well.

Ether way dust steals someone's jacket to keep warm!

(That or he takes on the cold and not giving a shxt)

[justaz]

Hunith giving birth alone in the dead of night, surrounded by candles as a snowstorm rages outside. She is groaning and sweaty and bare as she brings her child into the world. She shouts out in pain as she feels her baby arriving. The flames around her shoot up almost high enough to reach the ceiling, every piece of furniture in her hut lifts and spins in the air, the windows and doors blow open and snow swirls inside, creating various shapes as the snowflakes refuse to land. With a final push, she finally delivers her child, covered in blood and screaming. When she looks down, she catches the barest glimpse of gold in her little one’s eyes.

She knows what it means. She knows what the flames and the snow and the floating furniture mean. She knows what the golden eyes mean. She knows what will become of her baby. She cleans him and wraps him in a blanket, holding him to her chest. He has quieted but her mind in a storm. All of Albion has turned against him and his kind. If he is discovered, they’ll slaughter her child. They’ll take her baby away from her. They’ll burn him, hang him, behead him. They’ll have no mercy for an abomination like him. A monster.

She tightens her hold on him and thinks of his father, Balinor, always on the run, looking over his shoulder. Once a mighty race, the Dragonlords have now been brought down to a man in hiding and a baby who is doomed for death. They used to rule the skies. They used to ride the backs of dragons, soaring high above the clouds. They were once free. She wants that for her baby. She wants him to grow to be free. Able to spread his wings and fly without fear of falling. She doesn’t want him to hide or be afraid.

She thinks back to her own childhood when her much older brother came to visit from Camelot. Gaius had arrived with a bird on his shoulder with which he showed Hunith the tricks he had thought the creature. Hunith had made a comment about taming the beast, but Gaius corrected her by saying he and the animal were friends. When Hunith’s confusion showed, Gaius showed her what he learned of magic in Camelot. He told her of the beauty of it, how it could unify people and even creatures of different species. Magic is part of the world, he said, everything recognizes it. From the field mouse to the owl, from the dragonfly to the merlin.

He finished his speech with an affectionate rub of his fingers along the bird - the merlin. It flew up and away after Gaius pulled his hand away and Hunith had worried that he’d get away. Gaius had chuckled and told her that that was how it was to be. A bird is to be free, not caged. The merlin is his friend, not his pet. He would be cruel to force it to live in a cage between four walls. The sky is his home.

Hunith had barely understood at her young age. All she could feel was worry that Gaius’s bird would get lost and he’d never see him again. She feels that same worry now as she holds her babe to her chest. He sleeps soundly, but Hunith had learned that his eyes are a dark blue when they’re not flooded with gold. She stares down at his sleeping, innocent face and worries that she’ll never see him again. She hopes one day, the hatred and cruelty around will end. She hopes one day, Balinor will come back and they’ll raise their son together without fear of Uther burning Ealdor to the ground and slaughtering them all. She hopes one day, Alice will return to her brother who is already aging into his fifties and they will be able to rekindle their love without fear of the gallows for their magic. She hopes one day, her son will be free to be himself without the flames of the pyre licking at his feet.

In her hope, Hunith cradles her son to her chest and brushes her shaky finger along his plump cheek, his skin as pale as snow. She gives him a watery smile even as he can’t see it in his slumber. She names him Merlin, for the hope that one day, he will fly free, that he will no longer live in a cage, that his wings will spread wide and take him into the sky. She names him after hope of a better tomorrow. She names him with all the love in her heart, the sheer abundance of it overflowing from her as tears cascade down her cheeks. She names him with so much conviction that she finds herself believing maybe he will be the one to change the world.

The sun rises on a new day, shining off the pure white snow outside. Beams of golden light fall through the window and onto her son’s face. His features scrunch up adorably before his eyes blink open. The deep, dark blue of his eyes swim with the gold of the sun and she finds both magic and humanity within him. She holds him close and swears that she’ll protect him. She won’t let them take him. He’s her baby, she’s his mother. They can’t take him. They can’t.

[typingtess]

Sam got his first tattoo at the age of 17. In New York, tattooing was illegal and stayed illegal until the late 1990’s. He and his friend Jimmy drove to a tattoo parlor in New Brunswick. Jimmy’s brother Billy was killed in a motorcycle accident a year earlier so he had Billy’s name and the date of his death tattooed over his heart. Sam didn’t plan on getting a tattoo until he saw the Navy insignia hanging on the parlor’s gallery. He was short $25 for the tattoo but when Jimmy mentioned that Sam was joining the Navy after school, Richie the tattoo artist gave Sam a $25 discount.

Raymond Hanna didn’t see that tattoo until Sam was 29, married and the father of one. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like tattoos.

While he didn’t like Sam’s Navy insignia, Raymond hated the snake tattoo on Sam’s right arm. Sam told Raymond that he and three members of his SEAL Team got snake tattoos after a training exercise in Arizona that included stumbling into a snake den. Nobody got hurt so they all got snake tattoos to ward off any other snake issues was Sam’s story.

What Sam didn’t tell Raymond, or Michelle or anyone else except Greg, Danny and Steve was that his SEAL Team was sent to extricate a drug cartel leader from his Mexican compound. Danny ran into what they were told was the target’s safe room. It was also his snake room – Danny screamed, the team ran in with the target wrapping a snake around Danny’s neck. There was a big snake bite on Danny’s face and on his arm. Steve grew up as the kid who knew everything about snakes. He took his knife and sliced open the snake tail to head. Sam took the butt of his M4 and knocked out the target.

Going back to the compound after getting Danny medical treatment, Steve took photos of the surviving snakes in their tanks. When the four of them returned to San Diego, they each got a snake tattoo. Well, Danny got a fangs right over the snake bite on his arm, the rest got full snakes.

After a long deployment in Afghanistan, Sam had Michelle’s, Aiden’s and Kam’s initials tattooed on the inside of his left bicep. They would always be with him. He had Michelle’s name tattooed over his heart during the summer after her death. After moving in with Sam, Raymond admitted he thought the heart tattoo was “a nice touch.”

No, the nice touch was Michelle getting his high school football number tattooed on her butt for their 10th wedding anniversary. Sam loved it. He loved her and he missed her every day. The tattoo over his heart was his last one – nothing would ever mean more.

Well, some people hold onto [the tattoo tracing paper] if the tattoo is meaningful. It’s like a keepsake. Isn’t the tattoo the keepsake ?

[ahfrickenfrick]

nightwing being hurt in the field, and over comms he can’t get out what was wrong, nearly in shock, and jason puts on his best batman™️ voice and says “robin, report.”

and it snaps dick out of it enough to say concussion, possible broken ribs, and a gash in his side.

no one talks about it, and then a year later, damian does the same thing to tim

[star--bird]

This is more of a fanon Jason head canon but what if as an adult Jason found himself picking up various mindfulness hobbies and therefore has acquired lots of skills that contrast his character such as baking, knitting and/or crochet, gardening, film photography, birdwatching, ect. None of them ever really stuck around, but every so often he suprises people with the fact that he engaged in those hobbies. Here are some scenarios I envision happening:

- Damian has to bring something for a bake sale the next day and he doesn't want to ask Alfred because it's almost midnight and Jason is like "no worries I got you" and manages to make some pretty decent eclairs.

- Jason is wearing a sweater and Dick compliments it and Jason responds with "Thanks I made it" and Dick is confused because Jason can knit?

- He brings Alfred a jar of preserves and Alfred is like "???????" and Jason informs him that he grew strawberries in his balcony garden and thought Alfred would like some.

[missusarthurmorgan]

Noshir you are AMAZING!!!

Noshir Dalal’s response to my prompt “Please record Charles roasting Dutch post-refinery/Eagle Flies’ death”

Please please go throw money at @noshirdalal over at his newly established cameo. He’s such a talented and dedicated artist who really brought Charles to life and I love everything about this insane five minute monologue he made in response to my joke prompt. The pathos. The catharsis.

This is the only thing I’m going to be able to think about the rest of the week. I have so many questions. Starting with, of course: What did Charles do to his father, and what were the circumstances where Charles told Dutch about it, when that’s not something even Arthur seems to know?

[stevieschrodinger]

When Corroded Coffin make it big, Eddie leans into the persona in a big way. Face full of black and white make up, often made to look like blood is dripping from his mouth. Big, wild hair, usually shirtless, usually leather pants covered in chains, fingers covered in rings.

Eddie does photo shoots in the get up; Eddie wears the persona to interviews. He accepts awards dressed that way. That is what Eddie Munson looks like.

Eddie Munson maintains that he 'doesn't do relationships' and is famous for having a different girl on his arm to every event. They never go home with him.

So when Eddie wants to live his life, he just...doesn't wear makeup. Puts the hair in a man bun. Takes off the jewellery. Steals one of his husbands happy sweaters.

Eddie Munson, possibly one of the most famous people in the world, can walk with Steve in public and never get recognised.

[thatshadowcomic]

To The Artist: what are some of your favorite headcanons for sonic and shadow?

To Shadow: whats it like living with Rouge?

To Sonic: do you have a house

(love your art!)

WOW so long ago-- I love you all so much.

As for HC, I have a lot of weird/stupid ones, but really, I don't write them down, it's more based on how they perceive/interact the world around them, so I'm really bad at answering this directly. But Sonic making music and Shadow being cuddly under the right circumstances is top 5. Please don't bully me.

imagine listening to music and rouge is just like, "bad taste" because she can hear it through your headphones.

[airenaiy]

That time he survived getting struck by lightning and they can finally be happy

[emichevy]

I have a HC that Kurt is Romani/practices Romani traditions since his foster mother and siblings are canonically Romani. Ive learned a little about the culture from watching and finding actual Roma people online and such and learning about their culture and traditional clothings, so I drew Kurt in an outfit referenced from it!

I want to learn more about the culture and what I can and can’t portray- since I know a lot of Romani culture is closed practices for protection and preservation purposes- so if anyone knows any good reliable sources I’d love to know!

A lot of what I’ve learned came from this creator @ florida.florian on TikTok! And that’s who I actually referenced Kurt’s outfit from too!

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅱ ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₃˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, explicit content, spectrophilia, ghost/human, rough sex, "unprotected" sex, creampie, somnophilia, cunnilingus. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after coming home from a grueling day of work, instead of being able to relax, the feeling of someone watching you has you scared. ꒰m!ghost ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

CLICK

𝒯 he soft glow of your lamp casts a warm yellow light throughout the desolate home, but it fails to dispel the darkness that lingers. You make a mental note, weariness seeping into your thoughts, to buy a new lightbulb from the mart later in the week. The dimness of the room matches the heaviness in your heart, as you feel the weight of loneliness settle upon your shoulders, part of you knows you should be used to coming home with no one to greet you, but it still stings nonetheless.

Struggling to remove your gym shoes, you let out an annoyed groan, exhaustion causing you to stumble and collide into the wall with a thump. Finally freeing your feet, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a tired sigh. Your muscles ache from the long day at work, and the fatigue seems to seep into your bones. Your eyes flutter closed from the effects of sleep deprivation but your stomach grumbles with a ravenous craving for a thick pastrami sandwich. The thought of sinking your teeth into the juicy meat and tangy mustard momentarily distracts you from the weariness that engulfs you.

Discarding your wool coat onto the carpeted floor, you shuffle yourself wearily down the hallway towards the kitchen, fully expecting it to still be a mess from three days ago. The cluttered countertops and unwashed dishes serve as a constant reminder of your chaotic schedule and the lack of time you have for yourself. It’s as if the mess mirrors the disarray in your own life, and you can’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all. At times you missed living with your parents and not having any responsibilities. Being an adult was so stress-inducing you just wanted to lay in bed and cry sometimes.

Leaning against the hallway wall, you find solace in pressing your forehead against the cool, flowered wallpaper. Sleep weighs heavily on your eyelids, momentarily clouding your vision and tempting you to succumb to its embrace. And just as your legs threaten to give way, a gentle chill dances down your spine, jolting you awake with a surge of electricity. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you run your palm down your face, mustering the strength to continue towards the kitchen. The chaotic mess that greets you almost makes you cry.

Resting against the entryway to the kitchen, a pang of regret washes over you. Deep down, and not even buried that far truly, you wish you hadn’t taken your coworker’s shift. Despite your fondness for the woman, working two consecutive twelve-hour shifts was more than you could handle. And as the new nurse in the hospital, you were an easy target for those who wanted to shirk their responsibilities, they left you to run around like a headlesss chicken.

You finally gather the energy to carry yourself into the kitchen, reaching for a cup from the cupboard and turning on the sink faucet, allowing lukewarm water to fill it. Impatiently you can’t wait for the tap to run cold and quickly knock back the glass, the satisfaction of quenching your thirst outweighs the temperature. Slouching against the sink, you take a moment to stretch, feeling your joints crack and your muscles slacken. You flutter your eyes shut to stop yourself from gazing at the mess that’s your kitchen.

Placing the glass on the worn countertop, you set your medical bag on the kitchen island and head towards the staircase, overwhelmed by the longing for a shower and some rest. However, as you approach the hallway, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. Your legs momentarily go numb, and you manage to grab hold of the stair railing, preventing yourself from stumbling. After being on your feet for a whole day, you were shocked you had not immediately collapsed when you walked in the door.

A sudden sense of unease washes over you when you survey your modest home, the horrid sensation of being observed seeping into your skin and festering in your mind. It’s as if the feeling surrounds you, leaving you breathless and on edge. Your eyes dart between the dimly lit kitchen and the shadowy staircase, it’s as if the shadows themselves are in motion. Objects seem out of place, and didn’t you leave your bag on the island?

Confusion creases your brow as you search for your bag, it takes a while but you discover it leaning against the couch’s armrest in the living room. Your unease deepens, causing a slight twitch in your eye. The entire situation leaves you unsettled. Anxiously, you bite down on your lower lip, feeling the sting as your teeth sink into the flesh. Once more, the sensation of being watched intensifies, as though someone is observing your every move, listening to your every thought, and knowing your every action. Goosebumps raise on your skin, skittering down your back.

You shake your head in disbelief and pinch the bridge of your nose, the weight of exhaustion and hunger bearing down on you. ( the latter was something you would fix in the morning, as you did not have the energy to cook anything.) The darkness of the hallway only adds to your supposed delusion. With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the railing and begin the arduous climb up the stairs.

Stopping just shy of the top of the stairs, you reach your hand out and glide it along the cool walls beside you, feeling for the light switch��� one may think that you would know where the light was in a house that you’ve lived in for two years, but you seemed to fail to find it every time. Your palm glides along the walls, desperately searching for the elusive light switch. It’s a futile attempt, as if the house itself is playing tricks on you. The anticipation builds as you inch closer to the top, your body tensing with each step.

Finally, the click of the switch echoes through the silence. But it’s not your doing. Panic sets in as you realize someone else must be in the house, but soon the hallway is bathed in harsh light, exposing every shadow and corner. Yet no one is there. You stare at your hand, questioning whether you had unknowingly flipped the switch.

Ignoring the fear that threatens to consume you, you force yourself to continue. Quickly, you make your way to your room, seeking solace behind the closed door. But even within the confines of your sanctuary, the feeling of being watched persists. It’s as if an unseen presence lingers, peering into the depths of your soul.

Your skin tingles in question as the ethereal sensation of fingers delicately cupping your cheek sends shivers down your spine (truly almost nonexistent). A surge of unease washes over you, even though you can’t see anything, you can sense an intense, ravenous gaze fixated on you. Shaking off the remnants of your episode, you take a hesitant step forward, determined to overcome any lingering apprehension. With a burst of courage, you scurry to your dresser and retrieve an oversized T-shirt, a memento stolen from your older brother years ago, along with a pair of plain black cotton panties.

No matter what strange occurrences were unfolding, you refuse to let them hinder your plans for a hot shower. The past twenty-four hours have left you covered in sweat and grime, and you are determined to cleanse yourself of it all.

With eager anticipation, you make your way to the bathroom, barely bothering to close the door behind you. Placing your clothes in the sink, you turn towards the shower, pushing the curtain aside to adjust the knobs and pull up the shower valve, spurring on the hot water. As the bathroom fills with steam, your breathing becomes slightly shallow, the heat causing your cheeks to flush.

Stepping back towards the sink, you gaze at the fogged-up mirror, your reflection blurred and distorted. Like a scene from a horror movie, you raise your hand and press it against the glass, wiping downwards and watching as the water droplets cascade lower, dripping on your discarded clothing below.

As your eyes meet your reflection once more, they immediately lose focus and fixate on the imposing figure standing just a few meters behind you. Towering over six feet tall, his muscular frame exudes a suffocating amount of dominance and power. A scream of terror and disbelief escapes your lips, and in a panic, you grab the hand soap from the sink and swiftly turn around, hurling it towards the intruder. The bottle soars through the air, crashing into the wall before landing on the tiled floor.

There was no one there; you were going crazy.

“Calm down. You need to sleep. It’s been a long day; your mind is playing tricks on you.”

You were just full of excuses, desperately trying to maintain your sanity. But surprisingly, those excuses provided a strange comfort, no matter how unbelievable they were. So, you decided to settle yourself down, shedding your work pants and kicking them aside. Your shirt and undergarments followed suit, as you let go of all inhibitions. In that moment, the fear that had consumed you was momentarily forgotten.

You gazed at your reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to wipe away any imperfections. Your eyes wandered down to your body, taking in the soft ridges of faint stretch marks on your breasts with your fingertips. As your palms venture lower, they lovingly caress your thighs, reveling in the velvety softness of your skin and the warmth that radiates from them.

With a shake of your head, you release a sigh of surrender, allowing your hands to fall gracelessly to your sides. You take a step closer to the inviting tub, parting the shower curtain to reveal the steamy water within. As you enter the embrace of the hot water, a soft moan of pleasure escapes your lips, the heat enveloping your entire being and melting away the tension in your muscles. This shower was exactly what you craved.

After diligently scrubbing your skin until it’s both raw (and irresistibly smooth), you find yourself sitting on the floor of the tub, relishing in the sensation of the water cascading over your hair and body. However, as much as you yearn to stay in the blissful sanctuary that is your tub until the water turns cold, you reluctantly acknowledge the losing battle against sleep that you’re already engaged in.

Carefully rising from the bathtub, you extend your hand under the cooling sprays of the water to twist the knobs and halt the shower, pushing the valve down afterward. Exiting the tub, you forgo the use of a towel and opt to let the air dry you while reaching for your toothpaste and toothbrush from their respective places. Relocating your clothes from the sink to the nearby shelf, you proceed to brush your teeth swiftly, counting to fifty before spitting and returning everything to its original position.

You grab your face wash and dispense a small amount onto your palm, with gentle strokes, you massage the cleanser into your skin, creating a lather that removes the remnants of yesterday morning’s messy makeup. Switching on the tap, you lean over the sink, allowing the warm water to flow into your hands, smoothly gliding it across your face and rinsing away the soap.

Your back divots suddenly with a delicate grace as an ethereal caress firmly grasps your sensetive hips, eliciting a startled gasp of surprise from your parted lips. Your eyes pop open, darting around in a hasty manner, well, stupidly, seeing as you hadn’t quite finished washing your face--- the remnants of soap trickling into your eyes. A sharp hiss escapes your mouth as you instinctively lower yourself to rinse away the discomfort.

Once more the tantalizing trail of fingers tracing along your spine is undeniably present. You remain still, your muscles tensing in anticipation, trembling as the touch ascends higher, encircling your neck. With trembling hands, you turn off the faucet and inhale deeply, attempting to steady your racing heart. The deep, seductive timbre of your name being whispered intimately close to your ear fills you with a bone-chilling terror. Quickly, you snatch your garments from the nearby shelf and flee into the sanctuary of your bedroom, momentarily struggling with the bathroom door.

“Calm down, calm down; this is not happening. You’re hallucinating.”

You erratically throw on your shirt, using it to also dry your face, and shimmy your panties up your legs, the soft cotton resting comfortably on your hips. You quickly crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to your chin, shutting your eyes and tucking your bottom lip into your mouth. (Your hair could wait, you were not getting out of bed.)

“Hey, Alexa, turn off: Bedroom Lights. ”

You can’t even recall switching on the overhead light, but honestly, you’re past the point of caring. The mechanical response plunges the room into darkness, and the moment your head hits the pillow (as comfortable as it can be when cold and damp), you’re fast asleep.

You’re unsure how long it’s been, but your eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep when you feel the sensation of large, calloused hands gliding up your stomach softly. The touch is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t necessarily frighten you as it should, instead, you can feel yourself throbbing in your panties, gentle and shy. You blame your sleep deprivation on the lack of fear.

The hands approach your bare breasts, a thumb rubbing over the taught peaks of your pebbled nipples causing a soft gasp to escape your luscious lips, your cheeks burning with fiery heat, and your body arching ever so slightly from the bed, offering your breasts to the awaiting, eager palms.

Your pussy, warm and slick, constricts and drools with your arousal. Maybe it’s the thrill of imagining a supernatural encounter, but you’ve never felt as aroused and eager as you do at this moment; dripping and throbbing.

You feel a surge of anticipation as your panties are gently shifted aside, a trail of your desire following suit. Ghostly fingers swiftly trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to your sopping pussy, and despite the uncertainty of the situation, the mysterious touch ignites a fire within you. The paranormality behind the sensation makes your heart pound and your pussy salivate with need. Lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, a soft caress on your clit causes your hips to involuntarily buck, your lip bruised from the force of your bite. “Ah~”

Your voice comes out as a breathy, needy whine. The suspense of where and when the next touch will land sends shivers of excitement down your spine. And as soon as you're almost on the verge of begging, a rush of hot air sweeps over your dripping core, causing your pussy to clench instinctively. Your throbbing clit pulsates with an insatiable ache, lost in a haze of pleasure, and your eyes roll back, unable to fully grasp the intensity of the experience.

As the sensation engulfs you, your throbbing bud is devoured by their hungry mouth. The combination of their saliva and your own intoxicating arousal trickles down, moistening your tight, quivering entrance. The sensation is nothing short of divine, as if their touch is delicately fondling and slurping at every nerve within your shuddering body.

Your hips, moving with a will of their own, rise from the bed and writhe. You can’t help but squeal softly as firm, powerful, and large hands encircle your hips, forcefully pressing you down onto the mattress, indulging in your warm, sticky juices; skillfully teasing your clit with its tongue. Your cries and pleas echo loudly, a stark contrast to your usual quiet demeanor when having sex with men.

Oh, but you felt like a bitch in heat, like your entire being was engulfed in flames and burning you from the inside out— it made you want to scream and cry.

Your body trembles uncontrollably as the knot tightens, gripping your stomach, thighs, and lower abdomen. In a desperate bid for relief from the agonizing pleasure, you instinctively gyrate your hips. Your vision blurs and fades into a blinding white haze, signaling your impending climax. But just as you teeter on the edge of release, the touches abruptly cease, leaving you yearning for more.

You whimper and attempt to reach down to your soaking pussy to pat and rub at your engorged clit, but you unintentionally freeze in place; a small knot of fear causes your eyes to well up, yet it only intensifies your craving for its caress. When nothing further occurs, you start to plead, like a desperate whore— as if you hadn’t been touched in years.

And as if pleased, the ghostly caresses return to your sensitive clit, moving with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down your spine. You can’t help but let out a series of soft moans, as you offer up sweet words of gratitude to the mysterious entity pleasuring you.

“Ah, yes, yes, please!”

Your body tenses as the knot tightens, aching with a mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more of that sweet torment. Yet, it stops once more, leaving you to come down from your ruined high. You’re a sobbing mess now, grinding against the air, waiting for something, anything.

Your throat constricts suddenly, leaving you breathless as fingers delve into your tight, dripping pussy, curling and prodding your spongey g-spot. The digits seem to know your pussy like the back of their hand, stroking every nerve inside of you. The squelching sound of your arousal drowns out your heavy breathing and mewling moans. The entity suddenly adds its thumb to the mix, circling your clit quickly. The pleasure escalates swiftly, and your eyes squeeze shut as a rush of pure ecstasy overwhelms you, leaving your thighs quivering and twitching from the deep, blissful climax.

After the high subsides, you pant for air, the tension easing from your throat. You sprawl sensually on your bed, clit throbbing and arousal coating your sheets. A tepid, exhausted breath escapes your lips as a thickness delicately nudges apart the folds of your pulsating entrance, prompting an instinctual urge to flee. However, unyielding hands firmly pull you closer, and your legs reluctantly surrender to their command.

You can feel a bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip forcefully penetrating your quivering, weeping pussy eliciting a mixture of pleasure and pain at the invasion. Your pretty eyes roll quickly to the back of your head as the unknown entity plunges its heavy, thick cock into your tight entrance, your thighs pressed to your chest and legs draped over broad shoulders.

You keen softly, as your pliable walls ensnare his cock in a vice-like, velvety embrace. “More, I need more; please fuck me, please.” Your plea is abruptly silenced as its thick length withdraws from within you, only to resume with an intense, unconventional rhythm—leaving you no opportunity to adjust to its entire length.

The unyielding grip on your waist marks you in the most delicious way, leaving behind a trail of bruises that only heighten the pleasure coursing through you. Your pussy feels so full and sated, despite nothing physically filling you, you throb with satisfaction.

Lost in the depths of your pleasure, the reasons behind your desperate pleas elude you, but you continue to spill them forth without hesitation, unable to think. Once again, your breath is stolen away, your throat constricts, and an intense orgasm surges through you like a forceful tidal wave. A delicious warmth then radiates from your core, spreading through your tummy.

The most painful and pleasurable feeling of being filled with cum has you aching for a taste of it. Your body goes limp, but whatever is fucking you doesn’t stop; their cock pistols into you despite you slowly losing consciousness.

As your eyes flutter open, you gradually rise from the bed. The room is shrouded in darkness, leaving you disoriented about the time you’ve spent asleep. Urgently, you rush to the bathroom due to your full bladder. Stepping out of bed, a gasp escapes your lips as your foot lands on a cold, damp object. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s your panties. Blushing, you drop them and shake your head, with your hair still slightly wet from the previous night’s shower.

As you enter the bathroom, you opt for the wall light switch instead of the one on the ceiling, casting a gentle, warm radiance throughout the room. Oblivious to your reflection, you casually stroll past the mirror, too exhausted to spare a second glance.

As you ease yourself onto the toilet seat, your tired eyes gently close, and the tinkling sound of you using the bathroom lulls you into a state of sleep for a brief moment. A few moments pass, and you linger a bit longer before reaching for a flushable wet wipe, dutifully cleansing yourself before discarding it into the swirling abyss of the toilet bowl.

With a swift flush, you rise to your feet and shuffle to the sink to cleanse your hands. However, as you slowly open your drowsy eyes and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, a sudden chill runs down your spine.

As you gingerly raise your shirt, a gasp escapes your lips. The sight before you is both shocking and unsettling. Crimson and violet bruises, resembling the imprint of a colossal hand, encircle your throat, cascading down to conceal your collarbone and shoulders. As your eyes wander further, a gasp escapes your lips. Vivid handprints, a testament to an intimate encounter, mark your hips in crimson and violet, while a constellation of hickies adorns your tummy.

As you gaze into the mirror, you suddenly catch sight of a man standing behind you, from earlier. Surprisingly, he seems closer than the last time you saw him, and you can feel the warmth of his body through your shirt. He stands tall, with bulging muscles and an overwhelming presence that leaves you breathless. However, his appearance remains a mystery, as you struggle to make out his features. Just then, the bathroom door slams shut, plunging the room into darkness as the lights flicker off. Your heart skips a beat as you feel hands slowly trail up your shirt, eventually cupping your pussy.

His voice is like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with its deep, sensual, sinful, and amused tones.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

[justaz]

omg omg omg

arthur gives merlin his mothers sigil thinking that hes going to die and wants to finally tell merlin how he feels and what better way of conveying the intensity of his emotions and how serious he is other than marriage? merlin accepts the sigil which means theyre married!! yay!! only. they both survive and arthur QUICKLY realizes that merlin has no idea the significance of the sigil. he has no idea theyre married. and arthur has no idea how to tell him bc then he’ll have to explain WHY he gave him the sigil aka WHY HE PROPOSED and now that hes not staring death in the face. he just. cant.

blah blah blah time skip to happy ending

the druids invite arthur and merlin to a celebration of the unification of emrys and the once and future king and the fruition of their destinies. merlin and arthur are excited bc finally peace is here and magic is returning and this can be the next big show of trust and reconciliation between camelot and the druids and so theyre there in the druid camp having fun when theyre approached and asked to participate in the ceremony. theres a huge buzzing crowd watching as the elder druid ties their hands together and goes on and on about the magnificence of two men standing before them and their great destinies and how the two sides of the same coin are joined finally as the prophecy said all those years ago. merlin doesnt realize it was a handfasting ceremony until hes talking to a few of the druids later on

anyway. merthur accidental wedding(s). now they both know theyre married but they dont know the other knows theyre married bc different ceremonies and traditions and all that. arthur is all awkward about it bc hes emotionally constipated. merlin is convincing himself he doesnt have to bring it up to arthur bc its not like the DRUID marriage ceremony is legally binding in camelot. they didnt sign any papers or anything. theyre not really married in camelot so arthur doesnt have to know. and then merlin can selfishly keep this truth close to his heart. even if its not reciprocated.

married life shenanigans ensue. merlin and arthur both have to physically stop themselves from calling the other their husband. jealous spats when out in the tavern or when visiting royals/nobles stop on by. leon knows all and is this close to snapping. extra protective idiots. and idk someone catches merlin holding the sigil and explains the significance of it or a druid asks arthur where his husband emrys is and my boy is STRESSED about being caught but then the druid brings up the handfasting ceremony. stupid idiot x stupid idiot.

you see my vision, right?

[cat-cosplay]

What's your favorite head canon?

[skallitun]

some brain-rot obviously.

trying out Krita (drawing software) after losing my phone can you tell I'm a complete noob at it?

[thatonefananticinclass]

So if you think that vox likes alastor but alastor dosn't like him back how do you think vox would react to alastor flirting with him?

Vox would probably be flabbergasted for a second, but then immediately try to regain his composure. Try to be smooth about it even though he's panicking on the inside, wondering why Alastor is doing this. Most likely he'd assume it's Alastor trying to mess with him(which he probably is) but he would still sweat a little under his collar. Alastor has easily played and provoked Vox to the point of causing a black out, so I think if Alastor flirted with Vox hard enough he'd lose it abs cause a couple blackouts around him. I don't think Alastor would go TOO flirty with it, at least physically. Leaving Vox once again irritated and obsessed. ....And unsatisfied 🤭 lol