#BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BAR

[sodapanque]

Watch this young king become a monster who defeated even a god. (Squid Game meme)

✨ Icons que parecen hechos para Netflix XD

[wagsandswishes]

tail going thump thump when i see u + licks on your facies + one million puppy snuggles

[hazey-magnolia]

To combat the millennial look i took the shedded shells of cicadas and put them over the lights. It’s creepy and cool and i love it.

i do not care if bedroom fairy lights are forever perceived as a twee millennial thing i can never go back. any light that is not striving to approximate the soft glow of candlelight does not belong in my bedroom

[ltwilliammowett]

Barque Europa at nighttime in the Antarctic

[amaranthinespirit]

hello! i absolutely love ur writing!! i was wondering if you’d be down to write a fic about reader sitting on simon’s face, you can have total creative freedom with it 🩷

riding simon riley's face

you were nervous, naturally. your thighs quivered as you hovered his face, his honey eyes heavy lidded, his blond lashes occasionally fluttered as he stared up at you.

your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, sticky arousal drooling from your slit with radiating warmth. it didn't help your nerves that you could feel his uneven, warm breaths against your cunt. a low chuckle from deep in his throat as he watched you clench around nothing, a whine surpassing your lips.

his crooked nose pressed into your pudgy thigh whenever he'd pressed a reassuring kiss to your skin, "c'mon, baby, don't be nervous, yeah?" his tone was almost taunting, affectionately condescending as he cocked his head to the side with a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

"but, si," you squirmed as you felt his fingers trail, skin rising with goosebumps, your hand tightening their grip on the headboard, knuckles turning white, "i'm gonna suffocate you!"

he barks out a laugh, making you want to huddle into a ball and lay in a ditch, "then i'll die a happy man, love," his rough, calloused hands snuck around your legs, locking his grip on top of your plush thighs, fingers digging into the supple skin as he orders you, "sit."

you oblige. rolling your eyes at the stupid grin that broke out on simon's face as you nervously lowered your wilting cunt, stopping just shy of his lips, feeling his chapped skin just barely graze your soaking, puffy folds.

he grunts lowly, eyes narrowing as he eyes up at you, "i said sit." his voice is harsh, not in a mean way, but firm and unwavering. "if i hav'ta move a fuckin' inch, i'll keep you here until you're beggin' f'mercy. got it?"

he waits for a response, eyes crinkling with the shallow nod you give him, "that's a good girl. now sit, non'f this hoverin' bullshit."

he tugs you down the rest of the way, ripping a high-pitched mewl from your lips, hands firm on your thighs as they imprison either side of his head, the vibrations of his lustful groans stimulate your clit, furthered by his crooked nose and heavy breaths puffing against your sensitive pearl. slick drools over his lips and chin, creating a sticky, squelchy mess as he licks and laps at your cunt like a man starved, eyes fluttering closed as he grows lax.

he lied earlier. he'll keep you here, regardless if you're good for him, slurping and nipping at your folds and little clit until you're incoherent and a sweaty, sticky mess, close to collapse. you stopped begging for mercy about 3 or 4 orgasms ago, but who's counting?

[inafieldofdaisies]

Squid Game / 오징어 게임 (2021—) | Behind the scenes of Season 2, Episode 1 "Bread and Lottery" | Gong Yoo as The Salesman

[p1tch-p1ne]

BOOYAHHHHH😍🤤🐈

Study of Michelle Yeoh for The Sunday Times Style Magazine

[sugarwarachan]

Just read your horny bakugou post about eating. Hear me out- imagine how hard he gets when he sees you literally licking the plate clean off his food.

post for reference

you're so right, this would have him straight-up BARKING

man is already just about as obsessed with you as it gets, but seeing you lap up food that he prepared for you himself? hauls you up on the kitchen table by your thighs without so much as a warning, knocking down dishes and spilling over glasses—

"baby, the mess," you get out before he's cutting you off with his mouth

"fuck the mess this time," he snarls, biting at your lips, your throat, your collarbone. if he could fucking inhale you he would, anything to get you closer. "sittin' over there groanin' like a fuckin' whore over my food. did you really think this was gonna end without your perfect lil cunt wrapped around me?"

presses you down on the table, hands under your shoulder blades, hips pounding into you, "i know ya like being taken care of pretty thing. show me how much by creamin' all over my cock, yeah? fuckkkk, there's my girl"

[legomaster333]

𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 IN WHICH all you want is heeseungs attention

⭐️୨୧ est. relationship , basically making out , wc 0.5k

Heeseung sat comfortably in his gaming chair, one hand on the keyboard, the other gripping his mouse. His headphones covered his ears on top of his messy hair, the muffled sounds of his friends yelling filtering through as they barked back and forth. You were perched on his lap, arms draped lazily around his shoulders, but he barely acknowledged you too focused on the game in front of him.

You pouted, tilting your head as you watched his eyes flick across the screen, fingers flying over the keys. His jaw clenched, his lips parted slightly in focus, and you decided then -- you wanted his attention.

Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, just below his ear. He tensed slightly but didn’t react. You smirked, trailing your lips lower, pressing another kiss to the side of his neck. His fingers stuttered over the keyboard for half a second, but he recovered quickly.

"Not now, baby," he mumbled under his breath, barely sparing you a glance.

You hummed in response, pretending not to hear him as you moved to his cheek, peppering soft kisses along his sharp jawline. He sucked in a breath, shifting slightly beneath you.

His grip on the mouse tightened. "Babe," he warned, eyes still locked on the screen.

But you only grinned, pressing a lingering kiss just beneath his ear. You felt the way his body stiffened under you, the way his fingers faltered again, and you knew you were getting to him.

"Bro, cover mid!" One of his friends yelled in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Heeseung muttered, trying to refocus. But then your lips found his, slow and teasing, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

"Goddammit," he hissed against your mouth, trying, really trying, to stay mad, but the second you deepened the kiss, he melted. His hand slid up your back, his grip firm but warm as he pulled you even closer.

"Heeseung? Hello? Are you there?! What the hell, man?!"

The distant shouts from his friends barely registered before a loud GAME OVER flashed across the screen.

He pulled back slightly, blinking at the screen, his lips still parted from the kiss. His jaw clenched. "You made me die," he muttered.

You smiled innocently, brushing your fingers through his hair. "Oops."

"Oops?" His voice was incredulous. "Babe, my rank-"

"You'll live," you cut him off, leaning in again to press another kiss to his lips.

His hands tightened on your waist, a sigh escaping him as he gave in, his frustration dissolving the moment your lips met again.

Meanwhile, his headset erupted with chaos.

"DUDE, WHAT HAPPENED?!" "HEESEUNG? BRO??" "ARE YOU MAKING OUT RIGHT NOW??"

You giggled against his lips as he groaned, reaching up to yank his headphones off and toss them onto the desk. "They're so annoying," he muttered.

You smirked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Guess you’ll just have to ignore them then."

He sighed dramatically, hands sliding down to your hips. "You’re the worst," he mumbled, kissing you again.

But the way he held you tighter, his fingers pressing into your skin, told you he didn’t mean it one bit.

© legomaster333, all rights reserved.

letters from author btw this fic is actually part of my autobiography and these are real events lol!!!!!!!!

[kuri-karin]

ILOVEHUMSOMUCHIM GOJNGINTO OIVERDRIVE INEEDTOHAVEH IM HES SO FRUITY AAAGGGGXNVNCB

Boothill is officially a disney princess

[solbaby7]

High For This

pairing: eris x reader

warnings: jealous!eris, swearing, another overindulgent ball hosted simply for conspiratorial purposes, sexual themes, wrote this with the implication of Beron being dead, abrupt ending bc if i didn’t stop there i prolly wouldn’t stop at all, not edited

summary: Eris is a jealous man and you’re determined to see exactly how hot his fire burns for you.

—

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes roll on their own accord, hands fluffing through fresh curls as dark mascara dries on thick lashes. A tinted gloss stains full lips and Eris hates the way his lungs greedily gulp in the sensual oud permeating the air.

Everything in here smells like you and he doesn’t resist the indulgence of looking around to take in the fluffy duvet sheets neatly strewn over the mattress and the cream throw pillows tucked near your headboard. The canopy drapes are tucked to each post, the middle dripping dreamily like clouds hovering in the sky.

You’re meticulous, he notes; every item you own continent in their convenient little homes. “I said,” The tone you hold makes his jaw clench, his body visibly perturbed by your nonchalance while he felt himself slipping deeper into your pull. You barely spare him a proper glance—too occupied in looking over yourself in the floor length mirror. “I have a date so you don’t have to wait for me. We’ll meet you there.”

“A date?” Eris repeats sharply, staring at you through the mirror.

“Is there a problem with that?” You know the answer before the question is even fully spoken, a smug little smirk ghosting in the corner of your lips as you sift through your jewelry box. Rings are slid onto your fingers, gold bands and pretty emerald cut jewels glittering in the faelight. “I specifically remember you saying that you didn’t need a plus one.”

“Because,” Each syllable is drawn out, his restraint slipping as you pushed his buttons with such expertise. “—I already had one.” You read between the lines, a brow raising as you settle in the knowledge that the High Lord had expected you to hang off his arm.

“I don’t recall you asking.”

“It was implied.”

Dark kohl lines your eyes and accentuates full lashes, a pretty blush placed on the high points of your cheeks and such beauty seems lethal when you stare through the mirror. “You’ve never had an issue articulating your wants before—if you desired it bad enough, of course.”

You leave room for a response, trying desperately to mask the flicker of hope beginning to drudge to life within the embers. Centuries of waiting for Beron to no longer be an issue, no longer looming over both of your shoulders and destroying every meaningful moment.

Things were supposed to be different when he was finally dead.

Easier.

Only, Eris had grown more guarded. Terrified that showing a hint of affection would backfire as it had so many times before. He takes his time, smoothening out his tone and compulsively straightening out the neatly folded handkerchief sticking elegantly from the breast pocket of his perfectly tailored suit. “This is not up for debate, bunny. Turn your little friend away and let’s go before we’re late.”

“No.” You shove past him, clutch tucked under your arm and high heels clicking furiously against the hardwood.

It stuns him for a beat of time but he recovers far quicker and Eris all but barks out your name as he exits your door, following a few paces behind with a snarl working its way up his throat. “Get back here!”

“I am not some object that you can just command when you please.” Elegant curls bounce angrily with your every step, jewelry chiming with each little bounce down the stairs. One hand grips at the banister for balance, the tight fit of your dress forcing you to move slower than you’d like. “You do not own me.”

"You're right, bunny. I don't own you but I am your High Lord and you will stop walking this instant."

The immediate fae-like stillness of your form has Eris’ heart thumping with excitement against his ribcage. A perfect mask is painted across your features when you slowly turn on the balls of your feet to face him but nothing could ever quench the fire that burns behind your retinas. “My Lord?”

A noise is hummed low in his throat—pleased or patronizing?—you weren’t sure but judging by that leisurely stride and the special time he takes in looking you over, it has to be a mix of both. “I like that tone much better.” Eris’ hands are warm when he brushes a lock of hair away from your face, fingertips grazing against your neck with such care that you have to suppress the shiver threatening to rake up your spine.

You refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing how his touch affected you.

Not when he was acting like such an entitled toddler.

“Wonderful,” Venom burns under every word, even if it is wrapped in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I aim to please.”

A smile bleeds its way onto his face, the faelight casting shadows over the handsome contours of his features and frustration forces your fingers to fidget when the intoxicating oud of his cologne engulfs your senses. “I’m thrilled to hear that, bunny.” Eyes narrow up at Eris as you clock that tone of voice—that devilish look burning behind amber irises. “Let’s hope all that enthusiasm helps you survive the night.”

“Funny you should say that,” The way your hand elegantly rests in the crease of his extended arm feels utterly natural, no matter how much contempt is quivering behind the movement. “It’s not me who needs to worry about surviving the night.”

—

Playing the part of the demure, doting date is a million times more difficult than you make it look. Sweet smiles and the inviting shape of your figure brings in more attention than normal—or maybe it was because of who’d been permanently fused to your side since the second you’d arrived.

Eris had never been so on guard, amber irises raking over anyone who came within a five foot radius and most of your time is spent wading the rigid line of his shoulders. “Quit it,” You snap through your teeth, concealing the bite if your words with a bright grin. “You forced me to be here with you and now you’re scaring everyone off.”

“Forced you?” He doesn’t even sound offended—just smug as he motions to your hand curled comfortably around his bicep. “Is that the narrative you’re running with tonight, bunny? How unoriginal.” The body language portrays anything but ‘forced’ and once he’s pointed it out, you’re quick to pull away, snatching your hand back and grumbling profanities under your breath.

“What else would you call it?”

Eris feigns aloofness when responding, refusing to grant you the decency of his gaze and your spine goes ramrod straight when his words sink in. “I’d say it’s no different than when any of the other High Lords attend with their plus ones—though it seems theirs are more well behaved.”

“I’m not some hound who submits to your every command, Eris Vanserra.” Hurt lingers in the words you spit out just loud enough for him to hear. “What the other High Lords have are wives, partners—mates. They’re not cowards; wanting someone and stringing them along.” Tears well in your waterline, grip shaky around the flute of champagne until you abandon it altogether. “You’re wasting my time and I have little patience left to offer.”

You’re forced to walk away before the dam breaks, refusing to wear your heart on your sleeve for it never worked well before. Makes you too vulnerable; too tethered to a male too afraid to return the sentiment.

Balcony doors creak under your touch, opening just enough for you to slip through and close it behind you. For once, you’re grateful for the solitude. Basking in the cool breeze and the comforting smell of fresh flora, you let your eyes slip closed, a single tear falling free and your back bows as you sag against iron railings.

Just a single moment of weakness.

And it’s completely shattered by another presence.

“Want me to kill ‘em?”

You snap up like a spring, neck nearly snapping with the force it takes to turn so quickly. Palms wipe at your cheeks, straightening out the fabrics of your dress. “Sorry,” You quickly flush the moment realization sinks in, eyes taking in the towering Illyrian standing just a few feet away. His hair held in a neat bun at the nape of his neck, burly form slouched in a lounge chair, wings stretched high behind him. “I thought I was alone out here.”

“Looking how you do, I doubt you’re ever really alone.”

You scoff, this hateful, bark of a noise that refuses to be tampered down or subdued. “Not everyone shares your sentiment.”

“Date ditch you?”

“A girl could only dream. No, my ‘date’ is spending his time being a grade A douchebag—needed fresh air before I did something stupid.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a chilled glass of amber liquor dripping condensation down the thick stretch of his forearm. His head cocks to the side when he looks you up and down, making note of that forlorn expression casting shadows across pretty features. “Want to make him jealous?”

You should be ashamed for how abruptly the notion piques your interest. For how quickly satisfaction settles within your bloodstream at the thought of Eris watching you waltz around with this brick wall of a male and his effortless presence. “What’s in it for you?”

“Pretty thing on my arm is prize enough, even if it is just for show.”

There’s a pause where the Illyrian can literally see the gears turning in your head. Outweighing the risks. Mulling over potential consequences.

He can tangibly grasp the exact moment you shove all that aside—too scorned to give a shit about retribution. Too much time had gone into getting ready to waste it all on a male too prideful to cherish the gift wrapped before him. You head nods with finality, one hand outstretched before him. “It’s a deal.”

His hand is warm against your own, significantly larger and riddled with callouses. Tattoos the shade of obsidian is etched into tawny skin, arms rippling with muscles that bulge against the tight fit of formal leather attire. “I’m Cassian.”

“I know who you are.” Hesitation lingers in the set of your shoulders, spine not fully lax though Cassian doubts that’s fully possible with the skyscraper for heels adorning your feet. “Do you know who I am?”

His grin only grows when he stands at full attention, so tall your neck cranes just to meet his eye. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Ice clinks against his glass as he offers it to you, lifting the rim to your lips and muttering a soft praise when you drink obediently. “There’s a girl. Drink up, you’ll need the liquid courage.”

Liquid courage. Makes sense when it burns on the way down, easing frazzled nerves and a short temper until your arm slips in the crease of Cass’ elbow like it was a regular occurrence.

He’s confident. Borderline cocky with the way he urges you closer, hips bumping into one another with each step. The closeness does the trick though, a smoldering set of sandy eyes fall on you the moment you’re thrusted back into the fray. “Chin up,” Cassian murmurs softly, lips barely even moving over the words.

You’re led to the dance floor, situated smack dab in the middle. It’s a spectacle but something tells you that’s the whole point when Cassian circles a hand around your waist. The other reaches for your free hand, easing your fingers against his own until you’re palm to palm. “Do you even know how to dance? I don’t recall that being apart of Illyrian curriculum.”

It’s a harmless tease—the jab earning you a laugh so organic that it shows both rows of shiny teeth and a pantydropping set of dimples in his cheeks. “Pretty and funny. You really should consider not being so charming, I have an awful habit of hoarding treasures like you.”

Your head dips, a blush growing along the apples of your cheeks that only grows when Cassian is emboldened, ushering you in closer until you run the risk of stepping all over his toes. If he cares, you can’t tell, too washed up in the feeling of being shown off—proudly at that. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Even if it doesn’t work.”

“Trust me,” Cassian drawls, his gaze far off as he focuses on something behind you. “It’s working.”

He doesn’t elaborate, though he doesn’t really have to when you pick up on a familiar step pattern. Nose catching the earthy scent of spicy cinnamon and nutmeg. Of pine trees and bonfire smoke. “Bunny,” Eris fixates on the Illyrian’s hold on you, the corded muscle in his jaw jumping with the effort it takes to restrain himself from burning Cassian’s hands to a crisp. “Mind if I cut in?”

“This dance is nearly done.”

“And you’ll be finishing it with me.” It’s sick how desire pools in your belly at the possessive tone. How pleased you feel with yourself when Eris all but pries you away from Cass and into his own arms. You barely have enough time to say thank you to the Night Courts General before the eldest Vanserra has whisked you far, far away from those giant wings and the enigmatic wearer of them. “Where’d you run off too? I was worried.”

“Worried about what? That someone else was cherishing what you neglect?” You hum to yourself at the raw guilt that screws up the handsome pout of his mouth. “What’s that saying? One males trash…”

“You aren’t trash. You know I don’t think of you as trash.”

“No, you just treat me like it.” The chattering of guests drowns out your words from prying ears. “Hiding me at the bottom of the bin like you’re ashamed of me or something.”

You’re working yourself up again. Overthinking. Self-depreciating. Resenting. Digging a hole with no means of pulling yourself out but Eris halts that train of thinking with a hand to your jaw. The grip is gentle but firm, guiding you to look him in the eye; insisting you see the seriousness that swirls in the copper tones of his iris. “You are everything to me,” His confession stops you in your tracks. Steals your breath away at you hang onto every constant and vowel like a lifeline. “I wake up everyday just so I can see your face and I lay my head down every night praying that it’s filled with dreams of you—of us. Everything I do, anything I’ve ever done is to ensure your happiness. Your safety.”

“Eris..”

“No, listen to me.” Both hands cup your cheeks, all space eaten up until each breath he exhales in the air you inhale. Two halves of a whole slowly sliding into place. The final pieces of a puzzle connecting as one to fulfill the bigger picture. “You are mine.” Thumbs brush over the curve of your cheekbones, tracing at the slope of your nose and memorizing the shine of your lips. “My woman,” Tenderness leaks from every syllable, sincerity bleeding from every pore until you’re unable to fight back the rushing currents of your tears. “My love, my mate and while I can never promise to be a perfect male, I can vow that I am thoroughly vested in all things categorized as your best interest.”

“If I’d have known dancing with another male was all it took for such a confession, I’d have done so long ago.”A breathless laugh emits, one that softens the stern line of his brow and eases the fear his father engraved in his soul.

Noses brush, lashes kissing until your lips meet his own and all of your doubt is washed away. “I love you.”

“All I’ll ever love is you.”

[blueaubrey]

I just read a text post that started with "I recently taught a baking class for 12-year-olds" and I misread it as barking class and my immediate thought was Parents Hate This One Trick

[wolfentwined]

this is who youre asking to work 40hrs per week btw

[sundogrocky]

I hate to be pedantic, but boiling milk is not pasteurization, and pasteurization is not boiling. People before Louis Pasteur had alreay been preserving goods through boiling. Pasteur's discovery was that heat under 100°C could also effectively elimate microbes. Milk is pasteurized rather than boiled because it better preserves the flavor and nutritional profile.

So it's not that these people have reinvented pasteurization without realizing it. It's that they're using a worse method for no sensible reason. I suspect that the perceptible diffence people attribute to pasteurization is actually due to homogenization. I am not aware of any reason why non-homogenized cannot be pasteurized, and if one had raw milk at home, they could readily pasteurize it with a double boiler it and enjoy creamy milk without the tuberculosis risk.

The raw milk people don’t even know what raw milk is

[mwagneto]

what the world looks like after a big cup of lemonade