#Midterms Are Coming
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bluedovee · 1 year ago
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Trying some new techniques and coloring with these three
Horror to Sour-Apple-Studios Killer to Rahafwabas Dust to Ask-Dusttale
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cloudyshade · 10 months ago
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someone get this guy a therapist
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surreal-duck · 9 days ago
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some business to take care of
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uc1wa · 1 year ago
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18+ minors dni
OCT. 11 — KINKTOBER ‘23
OVERSTIMULATION WITH JAIME REYES
ktober m.list
tags: fem reader, slight manipulation, small mommy kink
jaime reyes was a pretty boy. the perfect boy who you’d give the world to if you could. and tonight you were, but it was just too much this time.
your lover was past his breaking point—he had been past it three orgasms ago, but he was just too pretty not to touch. and even when he claimed he couldn’t take it anymore, you both knew that he could. despite the protests that’d fall in whimpers and moans, words claiming his body was past its breaking point, his pretty cock still stood tall and begging for attention.
"mommy, please," he begged in your ear in a low whine. he’d just finished filling your pussy full for the third time, hardening cock still in your warm cunt as you sat on top of jaime’s sweaty thighs. "amorcito, you’re okay," you remind him, knowing he couldn’t handle thinking that all by himself. the man needed your help to think, brain turning to mush. and you’d happily help, reminding him what’s in his best interest.
your lips trailed across his jaw, pressing into his neck that was filled with your bites and hickies from previous rounds. what’s another to fill that one spot between two purple splotches?
every movement that you made had the man whine and squint his eyes. you could cum from the face jaime made alone when you pulled back from his skin, eyes meeting for what felt like forever. brown orbs completely blown out from where they rest behind eyelids half lidded.
"too much," he whimpers, cheeks flushed a pretty dark pink. his heads thrown back against the headboard of your shared bed, lip trembling and eyes wide and begging, looking back at you. a shimmering layer of sweat covered his abdomen, a bead running down his neck to sit against his collarbone.
it makes you tilt your head with a small smile. it’s hard not to when you have your pretty boy all fucked out with a chest that’s rising and falling underneath you. dark and pretty curls swarming his face, shiny in a layer of sweat that’s drenched them. it was hard to deny giving the man more, testing his limits in an attempt to see how much the man has the ability to give.
your head shakes, and it makes jaime’s eyes widen. his teeth biting his lower lip that was swollen with kisses exchanged. "you’re telling me the blue beetle’s done? c’mon baby, you’ve dealt with much worse things, ‘m just trying to make you feel all good." and if the words were an attempt to be reassuring, jaime was desperately trying to find the silver lining.
he’d catch some nice and deep sleep once you’re done your torturous activities. he’d know how it felt like so that he wouldn’t have to endure it again. but the one reason he was consenting to stay beneath you was because the smile of approval that spread from one end of your lips to the other was enough for him to want to please you. to want to continue, even if his body was exhausted, because he begged and craved your approval and attention.
it would be a lie to say he’d weigh his options, knowing you had full influence over his spasming figure. knowing that, at the end of the day, you’d be the only one to make decisions when he was the one underneath you.
so, jaime nods with big and blown out brown eyes. his head nodding slowly, then eagerly because now that your pussy’s wrapped around his cock, the word ‘no’ has left his mind completely. wanting nothing but to feel the tightness that entrapped him for the nth time of the night.
after all, his cock was hard once again within you, and it would make you laugh at him, and him feel pathetic for declining the high you give him once more.
"p-please mama," he whimpers quietly, in a whisper. he’d happily become a mess once more. filling up your cunt until you’re leaking out with his seed—which you already are—but jaime hasn’t realized that in his worn out state.
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pls be nice i’m very shy & tired & embarrassed to post something this short
🏷️: @idyllcy , @hearttjason, @finnlikesyourmom77, @roysjason, @loviie-stuff, @nmw-am, @mxqdii
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delicioustarong · 1 month ago
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And that's a wrap! Ford happily dies right by Bill's arms :D
Creator: @honeqq
7/7
Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 |
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Thanks for all the support and tears you all have supplied, it fueled my motivation to finish this comic! XD
This idea came to me in a dream one day and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so after days I finally decided to make it. This is my interpretation of how Ford died and the before events of Route #9 in the Mr.BillPines AU! I really love that au and it's potential for angst, so definitely props to Honeqq for inspiring me :3 (Go check out their AU if you haven't yet 🫵)
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futuristichedge · 1 year ago
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quick doodles
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ivoreene · 1 month ago
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waiting for the kids…. 🥐☕
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phantaloon · 9 months ago
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from "they turned me into a weapon" to taking control over a corpse to make sure the people inside dema rebel against the bishops
something something about how you beat them using their own tricks, but at what cost?
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dykedvonte · 28 days ago
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The second fic idea is a what-if scenerio where Jimmy dies in the crash due to and altercation with Curly and how Curly would navigate being Captain once he has to notice the little things and how he and Anya's relationship develop as he adopts an identical view point to hers rather than just keeping the peace.
And maybe i will write it but only time will tell tbh but it's stuck in my brain dome for the time being.
#cause even if it got to Curly snapping and killing Jimmy for the sakes of the crew would you not have that guilt in being responsible for#anothers death espcially with all the responsibility on his shoulder and how he realizes he tried to be reponsible for things and made them#worse like the guilt drives Jimmy insane even if he doesnt admit like imagine Curly who would care so much and wonder if it shouldve#been him not to mention Anya being free from Jimmy but still not his actions and having to navigate still being stuck with the pregnancy an#the shallow feeling because relief doesn't mean happiness like i think shed believe shed be happier that Jimmy cant get to her anymore but#what now that their stuck? That the Captain is faltering and they are stranded for like another 6 months? If they even make it that long?#Like he may be gone but all his damage is still there and thr wounds fresh like its such a good concept i just cant divide my attention lik#that as i am still in college and it is sadly midterms#anyway uhhhh I just really want to write a fic where Curly and Anya can have that hard conversation on how he handled Jimmy constructively#and without him looking like undercooked skirt steak like there would be those moments where it lingers between the monotiny of staying#alive but how would they even address it? what comes first the sorry or the list of why he should be? like Curly places a lot of value on#his use to others and its interesing and subtle and its mostly directed between Jimmy who steers it and Anya who rides along with it#like go the thoughts and ideas i have but not the fuckin time!!!!#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#curly#curly mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#also daisuke and swansea are there but like i still have to think of the reflections they have and how to play with their characters in thi#idea world but yeah I want Curly to make amends and Anya to rediscover her autonomy and living outside that fear.
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some-pers0n · 1 month ago
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I always feel a little out of place whenever I express my vehement disliking of biology as a branch of science to study. "Oh but it's so fun!" how do you people have fun with memorizing terminology. That stinks. I don't wanna count 517 individual formations of fungal bacteria and write a lab report on it. I don't wanna have to memorize like 49 different terms and all of their meanings. Where are the formulas? I miss my numbers
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astrobei · 2 years ago
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52 year old mike wheeler and will byers are hosting a star wars day watch party at their house today btw. i know bc they invited me ❤️
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mudandmire · 1 month ago
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✨Azris time-loop AU✨
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UPDATE - - -
16k folks! It's not polished in the slightest, also not done, but man am I having fun. I had no idea so many people love time-loop aus!! This is so exciting, I feel like a mouse who found a little mouse colony 🐁
...I think I've gotten to a point where I hate my writing because I want it to get better but also I know it's getting better by objective comparison but also the progress is so slow and I'm so wordy so all my scenes are like over 1k words and it's a pain in my ASS anyway 😎
moral of the story is to never trust what you think about your writing (by extension yourself) after 9pm.
I have SNIPPETS come and get y'all food
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The archer is somewhere else this time. Eris takes too long trying to find him, and by then it's too late. Rhur goes down with the bodily thunk of an arrow meeting its mark. His form crumpling to the ground as it spears right into his chest, spurting blood as he falls onto his back, the bones of his wings crunching beneath his dead weight.
Rhav is lost soon after. Caught in the throes of devastation, he doesn't see the archer draw another arrow and aim again. Eris's shout of his name falls on ringing ears, and though he throws a lash of flame at the archer, he looses his arrow before the fire can scorch him.
The brother falls. His body splayed beside his kin.
Eris knows, then, this cycle he will not win. Not that there was much hope, but his mind is scattered with how quickly things went wrong. He doesn't even hear the draw of a bow—larger than the ones made for slinging across the back. Wildly, his eyes scan his surroundings taking nothing in. It's only Azriel's voice, rising loud and panicked above his own panting breath, that he's able to break through the wave of hopelessness that had overcome him.
Too late.
The heavy twang of a bow string. Eris's hair stands on end at the sound of a whistle, high and soft as air behind him—Azriel's war cry is lost to darkness.
Eris opens his eyes to the yawning, black mouth of the roof of his tent. His eyes are wide, he can feel his lids stretch in panic as he pats himself down from head to chest to abdomen. A quick death. He can't help the relieved swallow as he tips his head back, squeezing his eyes closed.
Stuck in the pitch black of his tent, the ground cold and hard beneath him, Eris curls up on his side. Dreading the light. Dreading the loud footsteps of Anton signaling the start of another cycle. His breath is entirely locked away in his chest—tightened and painful as he brings his knees up to his sternum. As close as he can get to being small enough to wink out of existence.
Something solid presses through the thin stuffing of his pillow and into the side of his face. Too hard to be the earth, it rises like a crest from beneath and Eris feels dread slide down his spine.
The dagger. Azriel's Cauldron-forsaken weapon Eris had foolishly taken from the ruins that first day. Looking back, he doesn't know if it was in some misguided sense of remorse or remembrance. Either way his lip curls up in a snarl at the thought of its ornate onyx hilt.
A thought dawns; sharp and bright as the dagger under his head. If he could destroy it, would it end the endless days? It sends a foolish spark of hope, burning as a carefully tended fire, into his chest.
Eris works quickly, knowing the sun is not so far away now. He cannot be there when Anton comes—he firmly shoves away the intrusive thought that if this works he'll be able to explain why he wasn't there. Steps at a time; the dagger, his armor, his sword, his pack. Night settles around the camp in a blanket, dawn just barely on the cusp of the horizon, that bleary, opaque blue lightening the sky beyond. The darkness is scattered around the torches, set every couple of feet down the row of tents. Even at such a quiet hour, the faint sound of talking between the guards on watch prick Eris's sensitive ears. He makes sure to walk on light feet—in the way his armor won't brush and clink and give him away.
The stables are too far, makeshift and holding supplies Eris knows will be heavily guarded against thieves. Instead, he aims for a group of stallions near a trough. There's packs of horses everywhere, not enough room in the camp to set up a stable for hundreds of them.
Eris's breaths fogs in front of his face, steaming against his night-chilled skin as he ducks behind the spread of a canvas tent as two guards pass in front of the torchlight.
Their chatter fades, Eris makes his quick dash across the field for the tied up horses. A sleek, black friesian had caught his eye.
Apart from light, it moves like an oil-slick shadow. Eris is careful, walking crouched and slow towards them. These aren't war horses, not like how the Spring and Autumn court bred them.
They snort at his presence, heads dipping and thick lashes fluttering as they stamp a hoof on the ground.
"Shh," Eris hushes them, no louder than an exhale. The night is waning, he can make out the edges of tents and the makeshift buildings now.
"Shh, easy," he says again, taking each step cautiously towards the friesian.
Eris knows from his time with his hounds and in the Forest House's stables, how to handle a spooked horse. Hopefully—he begs against the pounding of his heart—it doesn't come to that. The friesian blinks his big, lake-dark eyes at him when Eris approaches. He doesn't shift nor flinch when Eris runs careful, soothing palms up the side of his muzzle, a gentle caress against the smooth pelt.
"Good." He whispers, easily untying the knot of its reins on the fence post in front of him.
"I apologize for dragging you away," the reins come loose, and he slips them over the friesian's head, "I promise you will not come to harm, friend."
The friesian does not say anything back, his mild manner relaxing Eris's tense shoulders ever so slightly.
They cannot stay long, though, Eris knows. Keeping careful eye on the progress of dawn—sooner or later Anton will come to his tent and find him missing.
"Come." Eris leads the stallion away from the group, getting nothing but a snort in response as he jolts into a heavy-boned trot.
Eris hadn't thought very hard about which direction he would go, he only knew where he wouldn't. The mountains to the east morph to a stunning shade of violet this early in the morning. Gathered around its roots are the dark, tangled shadows of a forest.
Quickening his movements, Eris attaches his pack to the friesian's saddle, hefting himself up with one more comforting pat to the strong neck. One touch of his hand to his hip lets him know the dagger is still there. It's not a comfort, yet he breathes a sigh of relief and leans forward over the stallion's back.
Their escape is gentle—quiet. Though it's difficult to make a horse's hooves silent, if not impossible, so Eris keeps his body tucked as close to the saddle as possible.
The tents are beginning to thin out, dry, sun-worn land crunching under hooves as Eris begins to relax.
"Hey!" Eris's ears perk up at the same time his heart tumbles down from his chest into his stomach.
"Hey—someone help me get this horse!"
One of the guards walking the camp grounds calls out, most likely to his partner on duty. Eris takes a quick glance over his shoulder, revealing the soldier in all his fine, shining armor glinting in the light of a torch in his hand.
Eris's eyes narrow, and with a ripple of heat in his irises, the torch in the guards hand flares. A flame jumps out, tall and licking at the empty sky. The soldier yells in alarm, dropping it as stray sparks fly into his face.
A quick kick of his heels into the friesian's flank sends them off into the direction of the dark boundary of the forest. Eris leaves the clamor of the guards behind him, settling into his seat and trying to get a handle on his pulse as he does on the reins.
The friesian works up to a canter quickly. The dense, strong muscle of his body moving under Eris as he shifts in his seat. He had been riding since he was a boy, ponies no taller than his hounds, until his feet could comfortably fit into the stirrups. It is not new to him, so acclimating is easy enough as they bolt across the landscape, racing for the safety of the shadows.
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the amount of times I've killed Azriel so far in this draft is insane. I'm trying to make it, like, respectful? It's not death for deaths sake, y'know, I don't wanna kill him just because, but I need to it's necessary. I'm playing the game "how many ways can I describe someone dying" and it's....something. that's for damn sure.
Also I made a map 👉👈 I can't plan battles for SHIT and though I love the artistic-ness of the Prythian map I can't envision anything being anywhere. so. enjoy my crappy little rendition of dawn and day court, not the whole of Prythian cause that would be ridiculous, but I needed something cause my brain just can't picture places I guess
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✨ta daa✨ (thank you Inkarnate)
Tag-list: (lemme know if you want on or off)
@chunkypossum @c-starstuff-man0 @molcat07 @futurehunt
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armandaughter · 1 month ago
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wishing everyone who said to tag my marius hate a very read 'orientalism' by edward said
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peachyhoolagan · 8 months ago
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Y’all i got a second job now so im going to have three in the summer :(((((((((( anyways have this lil practice thingy of the boy
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fexarii · 11 months ago
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Dude, , I just gotta ramble about Jevil and Spamton's character designs and how genius they are in a shape language sense..
(this is completely impulsive and I haven't played the game in like a few months by now so don't mind it if I misinterpret their personalities a bit. They're very blorbofied in my brain but I will put my biases for these literal criminals aside.)
First of all,, what is shape language? In short, it's a meaning we've attached to shapes in art, specifically character design in this case! Square is tough and reliable, triangle is dangerous and pointy and circle is friendly and approachable. There's more shapes and more theory but yaaawn no one's here for a lecture.
So onto the actual deltarune stuff, the secret bosses, Spamton and Jevil both have clear use of shapes throughout their design. Spamton relies very heavily on triangles while Jevil does so with circles.
Peep these examples , ,
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((His nacho body type is so funny to me sorry </3))
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Yet this seems to contradict their behaviour!
Jevil is in no way friendly, well, he was at some point. As a court fool it makes sense for him to be squishy and friendly, he's a walking squeaky toy meant to entertain. We don't know what exactly he looked like before being thrown in his prison, but we can assume that his body probably didn't change that much since he had no body morphing shenanigans going on like Spamton did.
But as he devolved and his games only got more and more violent, that squishiness is all gone. Yet when you walk in, you still see him like that,, luring you in a false sense of security until uhoh!! He's kinda fucked up in the head and wouldn't mind turning you into slices!!
Spamton on the other hand, is way less inclined to violence than Jevil. I mean, the way to unlock his secret bossfight in the normal route is by bartering with him, he even berates you for beating him up.
He prefers using his words over his fists to lure you in instead, and even offers you items with... Varying quality. But despite his insistence on being friendly and helpful and allat, his shape language betrays him, feeling almost dangerous to be around. He could poke you with that sharp nose and hair.
This only gets more clear with NEO, where he does resort to violence to get Kris' soul. His hair and armor are all straight up triangular shapes, he's no longer using reason! Attacking his strings is the only way to get through to him.
((This is not mentioning snowgrave btw, , Spamton is straight up a villain there, but funnily enough you don't even see him there until he's NEO, ,))
Okay that's all . I'm typing this while my head hurts like shit so I hope it made sense uhmm👍👍yywah
Toby is a genius, thank you for always subverting our expectations as the media critics say.
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runwayrunway · 22 days ago
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"How is Runway Runway doing?" he got out of a midterm only to immediately trip over a fire hydrant while trying to photograph a plane going by so more of the same really
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