#GIMME

[reborn-from-taxes]

The revised version made me think of an AU where they meet in Xianle when they're both teen, Xie Lian as a prince and Hua Cheng as a young noble who's an absolute menace. More of my insanity in the tags

[pissmamiii]

bouncing on it with the intentions of being ur wife

[theeroticlover]

Animal within me craves the animal within you....

[l0u-agn3s]

And even when being threatened with a golf club, boyf was still serving face😘

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"What—what is that?" Daryl drawled, looking on incredulously.

"Well, obviously it's a momma goat that just had twin kids and clearly they're all ours now. I found them," you said. "Someone has to keep them safe!" you added, like it was the most obvious thing in the world that this would fall to you.

"We've already got—what? Twenty chickens? And a pile of dogs and cats and—Christ, goats?" He was shaking his head but you knew he'd come around. In fact, he was already smiling. "Ya must've lost yer damn mind."

"Oh, yes, of course I have. But I think the more pressing question is, can you say for sure that you haven't lost yours? Because you're the one who proposed to and married me," you said, grinning at him.

"You and yer damn strays..." he murmured.

"Hey, are you forgetting that you were pretty much a stray when I found you?" you asked, biting your bottom lip. Daryl couldn't argue with that.

The smaller of the two little goats bleated and you immediately scooped it up. Daryl sighed.

"Ya named 'em yet or what?" he asked, striding over.

"This one is Blue. I figured I would let you named the other one."

"Alrigh'. Blue and Fang, then."

"Fang?!" you barked. "You can't name him 'Fang'!"

"Thought you said I got to name one, or did I mishear that?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Fang," Daryl said, bending to scratch the other little goat under the chin, while the momma looked on. "See? He likes it," he drawled.

You could only roll your eyes. Prompt: "You must've lost your damn mind." / "Oh, yes, of course I have. But I think the more pressing question is, can you say for sure that you haven't lost yours?"

[selfiship]

Imagine getting scary dog privilege from being with your F/O! Whether it's because they outright look dangerous, or they have a notorious reputation that surrounds them, imagine the high feeling you'd get walking next to them. Imagine nobody ever daring to mess with you, because how could they, with your F/O always by your side. Imagine a crowd separating to allow you both to walk through, your F/O's arm over your shoulder. If someone ever did dare to give you a hard time, the moment your F/O walked up to your side, the person would no doubt begin falling all over themselves to apologize and run off. Just scary dog privilege stuff!!

proship dni

[astarioffsimpmain]

*bark bark*

*ahem*

Gale nose crinkle.

That is all.

[chubmle2]

HIS SAW NECKLACE??

[70sscifiart]

Leonard Rifas, 1972

[mc-pumpkin]

Cow varients please please please 🙏

[fanartist666]

So uh the idea evolved and I'm planning a series similar to @/bluegiragi 's monster 141 series with two of my characters being dino shifters ✨

So far I've designed Anubis Jackal Sterling's dino form (affectionately known as 'Big Eatie'), and working on her smaller brother too

This is the wildest of niches but hear me out

Why are there no dinosaur demi humans/hybrids/shifters in those AUs/fics/bots? Especially for COD based ones? If that shit was a thing, it would be immediately weaponized and how fucking cool would it be to have a T-Rex or Utahraptor hybrid? Bonus points if its 'werewolf rules' or vampires and bat forms and they can shape shift into a slightly off looking dinosaur?

Why do we have Bunny demi humans/hybrids in COD AUs sooner than dinosaurs???

Come ON I want a dino shifter reader in a mammalian shifter 141 setting who scares the fuck out of them, simply by being naturally raptor-ish, like reader clicks and trills and whistles, even fuckin RATTLES, and they HATE it. It freaks tf out of em, maybe I'm playing favourites but fuck you this is MY scenario I do what I want with it, but Bear shifter (bonus points if he's a polar bear) Price is the most brave. Reader's involuntary vocalisations don't bother him as much as the way you look at him, you look at him like prey, and thats what puts him on the back foot, but you respect him, so he respects you. Maybe theres arrangement between the big warm bear and the constantly cool to the touch dinosaur, WHO KNOWS-

[rrrick]

[vanillefawnn]

Leather & Lace 𖹭.ᐟ

Dean winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive content, Sam being the poor third wheel and getting stuck between you Dean's freakness, language

Summary: You like to leave Dean little trinkets when he goes on hunts, just little things to help keep you in his head when he's out on the road.

Authors note: I'm gonna tackle this man and get him PREGNANT !! (I also did NAWT proof read this sooo ye)

Dean wasn't a sentimental guy—not really. Not in the way people wrote sonnets about or cried over in movies. But there was something about you that rewired the whole system, made him soft in places he'd spent his whole life keeping armored.

It started with a polaroid.

The two of you at a diner somewhere in Missouri, your face squished against his shoulder, both of you grinning like idiots. He found it one morning tucked into the crease of Baby's dashboard, right between the speedometer and the gas gauge.

"Figured you'd miss my face," your neat hand writing read on the back.

He chuckled, thumb brushing over the image as he slid it into the glovebox. He would miss your face, hell, he already did.

From then on, it became a thing.

Every time Dean left for a hunt—wether it be with Sam or solo—there was always something left behind. A sticky note on the steering wheel that said "Drive safe, handsome. I'll be thinking about you." Sometimes, a folded square of paper that smelled just like you, perfume soaked into the fibers until it clung to the leather seats like memory.

Dean had never told you how much it meant. He didn't have to.

But then—somewhere along the line—it stopped being just sweet.

One week, he found a photograph.

And not the diner kind, either.

It was tasteful, if not exactly safe-for-work—your body clad in soft, black lacy lingerie, all curves and skin and confidence. Dean found it when he was rummaging for a cassette tape. Sam was two feet away, completely unaware.

Dean coughed—choked, really—and shoved it into his jacket pocket like it was a contraband. His ears were pink the entire drive to Minnesota.

The next time, it was a lipstick kiss on the rearview mirror. A perfectly formed pout of crimson that made his gut twist in all the right ways. He sat there for a moment, hand resting against the glass like he could somehow hold it.

Sam noticed that one.

"Oh my god," he'd muttered "Can you two not?"

Dean just smirked and peeled out of the parking lot.

But nothing—not one thing—compared to what he found this time.

He was loading up the impala, tossing a duffle into the trunk, shotgun shells rattling in his pocket. Sam was still inside. Grabbing coffee, grumbling something to himself about early mornings and the lore of the case they were working on.

Dean slide into the driver's seat, ready to start the engine—and froze.

There they were.

Hanging from the rearview mirror like the worlds most scandalous charm.

Baby blue lace panties.

Your panties.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Nope. Still there.

Delicate, floral patterns, tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand. His name was stitched in tiny cursive into the inner waistband—Dean, in pale silver thread. His jaw clenched.

The fuck were you trying to do to him?

He practically snatched them off the mirror, glancing around like some cop was gonna pull up and arrest him for public indecency. His fingers brushed the lace. Soft. Still warm from wherever you'd hidden them. Maybe even your skin. His brain was officially out of commission.

You'd attached a note to them, of course.

"Thought you might like to keep a little peice of me with you."

Dean was gonna die.

Actually, no—Sam was gonna die. Because the second he saw these? it was over.

Dean shoved them into the glovebox like they were ticking explosives, slamming it shut just as Sam rounded the corner with two cups.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

Dean cleared his throat. "Nope."

"Your face is red."

"It's hot."

"It's forty degrees."

Dean started the car. "Shut up."

Sam blinked. "Why does it smell like her perfume in here again?"

Dean said nothing.

Sam groaned, leaning back in his seat, already regretting this entire trip. "You two are disgusting."

Dean just smirked, hand resting on the wheel.

But later, that night, when they checked into a ratty motel, Dean opened the glovebox again—just to see them. To touch the lace. Hold them against his chest, breathe you in.

And that night, when he slipped between the sheets. He tucked the panties beneath his pillow and fell asleep to the ghost of your perfume and the sound of your voice in his head.

Yeah.

Maybe he was sentimental, after all.

[blog-o-suffer]

👀

It's 3AM.

I'm having a terrible jetlag.

Desperately craves for some angst pain.

So i choose violent😀

[pissmamiii]

actually need to be manhandled by a big sweet man who just wants to love on me for his own pleasure