#MHMMMMMMM

[iveneverseenthesebowlsbefore]

ye don't know.

if you picked up.

smoking...

[mydream-synopsis]

🤏 close to drawing my own selfship art

[whoregaylorenzo]

Aleix and a barely clothed Maverick swap helmets after the Japanese GP 2023

[mysicklove]

Spanking sanemi and pulling him on a leash

-🫧

pulling it extra hard to see his hands grip at the collar and a small choking noise escapes his mouth. immediately dropping him back to the bedsheets and he’s heaving for air, but can’t catch it bc the next second your hand swats at his ass. it makes his eyes widen and grip onto the sheets to try and process the pain. it burns.

but he doesn’t complain of course, even when you grip at his hair and roughly pull him back to leave hickeys on the back of his neck, or when you slap him across the face, or even when you call him pathetic or a slut. he was the one who asked for this. the one who begged and begged for you to just be a little mean to him for a bit.

[dreamersbcll]

Prompt: drunk Tara being reckless and getting herself hurt or in trouble and Sam trying to pick up the pieces

“Betting”

with a little twist.

————————————————————————

Bloodshed felt good. It felt right. It felt like living.

It felt as natural to Tara as breathing did. When she spilled other people’s blood, tore into their skin, and got to hurt them, cry- god, did it feel fucking good.

If they wanted to keep their blood inside their bodies, maybe they should fight better. They should be quicker. They should hit harder. They should try and take Tara down before she finishes with the final blow.

What Tara did was mainly legal. It was an underground fight ring. Club. Whatever. All it meant was that Tara was allowed to sneak off when Sam worked nights and take out all her rage on willing participants. It wasn’t like they didn’t ask for it. Tara was just giving in to their wishes.

It was all generally legal. The only illegal part was how much she drank before it. She would down enough alcohol to kill a small child, and stumble her ways to the underground. They could smell the liquor on her breath and they would grin, thinking they bagged an easy fight. That they were going to come through victorious, and take her money.

They were lucky that she wasn’t allowed to kill them. That wasn’t how the betting system worked. She didn’t make any money if they were dead- only if she won the fight by knockout. And she was damn good at it. She hadn’t lost a battle in months. Even while black-out drunk, Tara could take down grown people in under ten minutes, swaying and smiling with blood running down her face.

Surprisingly it was effortless to hide this from Sam. With her sister working two jobs, Sam wasn’t there to watch Tara at all times. Plus, Tara was very good with a makeup brush and could get away with lying about being a makeup artist at Ulta. It wasn’t like Sam was looking at her employment records. All Tara had to do was ensure food was on the table and the rent was paid.

And it was all through Sam’s sweat and Tara's blood.

There was a nickname for Tara floating around the street. El vampiro de la noche . The vampire of the night. The bloodsucker, swooping in and destroying others in the still of the night. The girl who will bleed you dry before you lay a finger on her.

It wasn’t Tara’s fault that she was efficient. That she was short and quick. It was all about finding her opponent's weakness before they found hers. She danced around on the concrete ring, smiling as she broke bones and opened wounds. There wasn’t a night that she didn’t come home with dried blood pasted across her face and a cheeky smile.

To feel bones splinter under her fists and hot blood splash across her skin was to feel alive. Her medication wasn’t doing it anymore. Therapy was just an echo in her mind. She felt slow. Lethargic. She was beaten down. She needed a change and fast.

And a change where Tara got to make others pay for her pain was one that she needed—craved even. There was something so satisfying about hearing their cries, knowing nobody would save them like nobody saved her.

She would fall to her knees and kneel to their ear level, gasping at her own pain, but sucking it up unlike them. There she would whisper the words that her mother used to whisper to her; when Tara was little and wounded by the hands that were supposed to love her. The same mother would be clutching a bottle, ready to drink away her crimes.

“Esto es lo que se merece un pecador como tú,”.

This is what a sinner like you deserves.

They would whimper in pain, trying to force themselves up, and Tara would push them back down. They deserved to sit in their pools of blood and rue the day they fucked with Tara. This is what they deserved for believing that they had a chance.

Just like her mother used to say.

Tara had been brutalized enough to know that they would live on. But they would never forget the night they tried to take her down.

However, what was her fault was letting Sam catch her.

——

Grabbing a fistful of the girl’s hair, Tara screamed as she threw her into the concrete wall, pushing her face against the wall.

This one was a little tougher. She wasn't going down as easy. But Tara wasn’t worried. She would win. There were nearly two thousand dollars in this fight. She had to.

The girl was maybe a foot taller and twenty pounds heavier, but Tara held the upper hand. She could pinpoint that this woman’s weak spots were her knees and lower back. So she focused on that.

Throwing the girl down, she grinned as the girl fell to the ground like a limp sack of rocks. Tara wiped her nose, blood smearing across her cheek. She smiled, spitting out the pool of blood sitting in her mouth. This was what living felt like. She had never felt so fucking alive.

Raising a fist, Tara walked a circle around the crumpled girl, hyping the crowd up. People screamed and stomped their feet, chanting Vampiro, Vampiro, Vampiro. Closing her eyes, she basked in the attention, the audience fueling her darkest desires. It felt so good to be known, to be praised for letting the darkest parts of herself out.

It was goddamn exhilarating.

She stepped back, ready to deliver the final kick to the barely conscious, bloody opponent on the ground. But before she could, she heard the voice.

The voice. The voice of reason, of hope. The one person who made her life bearable. The one who kissed her “tripping” scars and got her ice packs after “kickboxing” class. The sister still loves her even though Tara lies all the time.

“Tara!”

Tara faltered, and her opponent saw the chance to strike. As Tara pulled back, her opponent grabbed Tara’s leg, tugging her forward. Tara slipped, throwing her arms out to break her fall.

But it never came. Instead, Tara was caught by someone and gently put down, the air only slightly knocked out of her lungs.

Her opponent was struck down by a quick kick to the jaw, her body smacking into the cold concrete.

Wiping her nose again, Tara looked up at her sister, wincing at the look in Sam’s eyes.

Betrayal. Rage.

But Tara could tell there was something else there. Something was hiding behind the anger, the hurt feelings. Something put that spark back into her big sister’s eyes.

Excitement.

A smile creeping across her face, Tara knew she had Sam wrapped around her little finger again. Good. Fighting alone isn’t as fun as it is with Sam by her side.

Life brought them pain and suffering. There were many ways to deal with that pain. The sisters’ coping mechanism was violence. Bloodlust. The thirst to strike first.

She’s not stupid. She knows Sam craves the same spilling of blood that Tara does. Her sister lusted for violence and prayed to kill.

And Tara would give it to her. Anything that Sam wanted, she would provide as long as they got into more violence together.

“Hi, Sammy,” she whispered, the grin growing bigger as Sam started to smile.

Bloodshed was good for them.

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

he's in grey sweatpants and you two end up talking for a bit and one thing leads to another where you're sitting on the kitchen counter and he's leaning his hip into it his eyes perfect height with your chest

and then he ends up leaning into your touch as your hands run up and down the contours of his chest and he nudges your nose with his own and your hands cup his cheeks planting a soft kiss on his lips almost as a test

and he just ends up like absolutely ravaging your lips and his hands end up on your hips and he’s just pulling you forward and grinding his hips into you while your hands wrap around his back and latch onto his shoulders and maybe he starts to kiss his way down to your panties when you hear

“papa? what’re you doing to miss darling?”(darling because she always hears her dad calling you that)

and you two jump so quickly but your panties are so wet you’re sure there’s a wet spot on your shorts and obviously billy is just so hard that he’s trying to hide behind the counter

“oh don’t worry kara, your daddy here was just making sure that my uhhh KNEES, my knees weren’t hurt”

“you had an ouchie?” and you walk over to her, soaked panties be damned

“mhmm, an ouchie, one that needs to be kissed”

“mhmm that’s right kara baby, darling here had a boo boo that needed to be kissed, a lot” he smirks as he picks his daughter up

of course you shoot him a look as he starts to bring his daughter back to her room

[thinkingnot]

EGG

scallion pancake

[yoonyia]

In ias I studied the Burundi genocide and I was enthralled by the political and colonial and religious and ethnic elements of the conflict

I wrote so many bullet points

it's only supposed to be 4 minutes

I have 6 pages worth of information

it's supposed to be 500~1000 words

I dont know why I hyperfixate on things like this

when the essay prompt lets me get a little autistic with it

[theorphicangel]

I haven’t written miguel smut yet…

[writinganon1]

Uh huhhhhh

Hmm…(wasn’t sure if this was better as a comment or ask) But that last part of what you said, how Kendra has no family to trust left….makes a very interesting dynamic with her and Donnie. Donnie’s family is dead, however he can still talk to them so much, he had to make a machine to keep them out once in a while. While Kendra’s family is alive, and yet she is never going to be able to speak to them again. Once again, your symbolism (whether intentional or innate) is fantastic!

This time it was intentional

[whoregaylorenzo]

mhmmmm sweat soaked diggia.....

[willbee-1]

How many times can you fight, how many times can you fall

How many times can you be there for them until it's just not worth the fight anymore

Rae had already asked that himself enough with Icarus

But today they crossed that line

He can't-

He won't

He can't keep trying to help someone that isn't worth saving or even trying to save themselves

They're not worth saving, not after hurting his family

They may be blood

But yet they're so far from being in his family anymore

He can't keep trying to save them when they don't even want to be saved

So there goes the promise

The promise he made to Easton that'd they'd keep fighting for them

At least for now

[gothsuguru]

suguru would be the sexiest office siren send tweet

[thebindingofpillo]

Old sketch of Dogma I cleaned up and used as an excuse to fuck around with the glitching effects.

A couple of things about the lil guy

It’s a demon, born of all the hateful words people put into God’s mouth and all the atrocities humans commit in His name.

Very young for a demon - while people have been doing awful stuff in the name of the Lord since forever, Dogma itself started manifesting rather recently, after technology became readily available for anyone. First it was the telephone, then the radio, then the TV was invented and now Dogma can easily access any house it wants. This is why it looks like a foetus, it literally is.

It exists in a kind of in-between state, not really in Hell but not really on Earth either. The TV it’s just its favourite medium to manifest itself, and the one that uses the least amount of energy.

Poses itself as an angel, ready to prey on vulnerable people by offering comfort and then spreading its influence to them until the unfortunate human is little more than a puppet.

It doesn’t really have a goal, it possesses people to feed on them and survive. It’s goals might change as it grows older and more powerful, but as of right now Dogma is very much guided by instinct, and not really powerful enough to bother more than one person at a time.

May or may not have had a hand in making Isaac’s mom completely coo-coo but I haven’t decided that yet. Even then, Dogma probably had a very very minor part in it, Isaac’s family life was already down the drain even without demonic intervention.

Soft and squishy, quite goopy and warm. Touching it would probably feel like putting your hand on an old cathode TV, all fuzzy and probably radioactive.

Probably sounds like that SNES text-to-speech thing

[mutantenfisch]

Knitters of tumblr i need some suggestions! While cleaning my livingroom and reorganising my craft supplies i found an unwound skein of what i remember buying as hand dyed acrylic yarn in a fingering weight. The colours are a variegation of rich red and pink and also some teal and coppery and dark red or brown (almost black) hues with the red and pink dominating. I estimate it to be around 1000 m in length and have no idea what to make with it. heck i don't even remember why i bought it in the first place because i can't really wear acrylic or polyacrylic yarn on my skin. What am I supposed to make with it? Any ideas?