#Tis the dream

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

Twenty three is the worst fucking age, I am ten years older than you and I remember being in a very similar position at your age, ready to give up, done with life. From where I am now you are like a newborn baby to me, life is wide open and completely new no matter what it feels like no matter what society says you should have done no matter anything, the hard reality is that you’re on chapter one and it sucks. I don’t know you so I have no idea what you need right now or what would make you feel better or if you even want to feel better at all, if it’s too dark to even think about feeling better I’ve been there and I get it truly, living with my mother sent me down a dangerous spiral more than once. Here’s something I think is worth keeping in mind, there are a lot of mediocre men out there who can’t keep a job can’t finish a degree can’t keep a woman and they never turn it inward, it’s never their fault it’s always something on the outside and they are still a gift to the universe if you ask them. Well from where I stand you are an actual gift to the universe, in no small part because you are a lesbian and we are rare and resilient people and you don’t deserve for a moment to feel like you should give up on life because everything is going wrong in every possible way, see it like this: the same way things can turn for the worse they can also turn for the better, in the same unexpected equally fucked up way that will have you wonder how it even happened. You don’t need to have a plan right now, in fact you don’t need a plan at all you just need to take one step towards something that is good for you even if it’s just a shower or folding one single tshirt. Hope is a sewer rat, it’s gonna be there lurking whether you see it now or not. Things might suck for a while, hell I was 28 before things started vaguely going my way, but you don’t suck and I am not gonna tell you that the world needs you because that’s bullshit the world can do without either of us but there is a you far into the future who does need you, and if I from my corner of the internet have been able to find hope and camaraderie in your mere sporadic presence on this largely anonymous space then it’s worth something to be alive and to keep biting despite the bitterness just because you never know who you’re gonna touch and whose life you’re gonna change just by existing. Again, hope is a sewer rat and it’s not going anywhere you don’t even need to acknowledge it for it to be lurking in the shadows. From a dyke to another dyke I fucking promise it’s not gonna be this horrible forever, you’re a lovely person with a huge heart and you’re gonna find somebody who sees it and doesn’t take it for granted. Don’t give up, life is a shit show but we can’t be taking out the dykes ourselves when they are the best part of this wretched world

[littlemisspascal]

It's a good day for funko buying and the Duffster agrees

[that-vampire-loser]

Born to nap, forced to be an insomniac

[valaruakars]

Is beef baby reader inspired by you? the gym au is so creative

Mayyybeeee

[take-everything-you-can]

My King, my Husband, my Everything.

Repeat 😳😳😳😳

ARE YOU KIDDING ME !!!!!

Tell me 😮😮😮😮

My queen, my wife , my everything 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

gargoyle!Eddie x Reader

18+Only, pure smut, c*ckwarming, monsterf*cking, d*mon c*ck, squ*rting, talk of d*mon s**d, use of king/queen, get str*tched, use of h*sband (they are playing pretend), mention of bl*od, unholy manroot. wc: 423

I am working on part 4 of Gargoyle Eddie (My Goyle Fiend), but this is not it. This is just a baby blurb birthed from thoughts of d*mon s**d.

pls no minors beyond this point. this is monster fuqqing.

Once in a while, you like to sit in gargoyle Eddie’s lap, straddling him.  You strain to push his demon cock in before he gets too hard so you can feel it swell inside, coaxing it to burst you at your seams.  Your movements are slow at first, rocking back and forth on his length, legs dangling, whining with need when the girth of his size threatens to split you at the base.  His hand wraps around your throat with such ease, the claws touch; brown eyes that burn to black while the pupils drink you in, growling filthy promises to you in that ancient tongue that makes your cunt ripple and tighten.  Deep inside, his tip pushes right where you need it most, and you continue to grind in lazy circles, the gift of your arousal dripping down your slit and thighs.  

But then you feel the unholy manroot twitch, heralding a mounting release, and his hips buck up to meet you, making your eyes roll back. Sharp claws sink into the meat of your ass just enough to accentuate your pleasure, producing tiny pin pricks of blood, and you whimper his name on repeat.

You’ve learned a few words from him, and his favorite is when you call him King.  My King, my husband, my everything.  You say them  to him now, and his forked tongue slides over his sharp teeth, a dark, hungry groan purring from his chest.

Repeat he tells you. 

My King, my Husband, my Everything.

He’s doing all of the work now while you bounce there, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at how wide you’re being stretched, and at the frightening depth of your love for him.  Abruptly, he stops thrusting to hold you in place, meeting your kiss with tender urgency.  You brush the long, dark hair from his face with a feather touch.  

“Tell me,” you say to him in his language.

Lowering his forehead to your lips as a yield to your command, he obeys.  “My Queen.”

My Queen, my Life, my Everything.

Strong hands taking purchase at your hips, he returns to pounding you up and down on his cock with aching grunts, bringing you both to a frenzied, shaking release.  You cling to his massive shoulders and cry out, shuddering, producing a stream of cum to match the load of demon seed pumping deep inside of you with each relentless thrust.  

You’re barely able to catch your breath before gargoyle Eddie has you on the ground, burying his black tongue in your folds, feasting on every last drop. 

[paintedcrows]

they make me feel unwell

(continued: Stan & Young Ford)

[ruporas]

birthday party (id in alt)

[goryhorroor]

horror directors + their most known movie + my favorite

[ilona-mushroom]

The lesbian urge to move in with your girlfriend after four months.

[heartorbit]

can i get a magical girl set please

[this-too-shall-bleed]

mr. scratch but it’s like the scene where john is staring up at the ceiling in terror as arthur begins an episode of absolutely traumatic sleep paralysis (youknow the one)

just the inking version is kinda cool (I was hesitant as hell to put down paint because this took like 4 hours) originally the orientation was flipped like this but I think it kind of makes more sense visually in the first image? I don’t know ceiling creature perspective is wacky upside down you go

thank you @ellamenop for the idea!

[lithiumseven]

Part I

[ven0moir]

Will had hope ... and then lost it.

He had hope that maybe, just maybe, Mike and he felt the same way. And I think it started here:

Mike expressed relief at the idea of Will not joining another party. And Will's look seems ... surprised but joyful? Like he's picking up on Something the audience is not.

Then we have this:

I know a lot of people say he meant this in a friendship way. But I don't think he did entirely. I think he was 'testing the waters' so to speak, to see Mike's reaction to him asking something like this so forwardly--an action driven in part, possibly, also by frustration. Of course their friendship was his priority but he was also Sending Mike a Message. Speaking in code, if you will. And I'm not sure if Mike picked up on it or not, but he knew what he was doing when he used the word 'us'.

Then of course we have Mike's speech to Will in episode 4. The way he slightly tilts his head to the side inquisitively after Mike said 'It's Hawkins, it's not the same without you', as if he's thinking "am I dreaming? Is he really saying this?" And not to be meta but he might even be wondering if he's being delusional here.

On top of that, the speech prompted him to gather the courage to do this:

hope again. But then his arc culminated in this:

Will's facial expressions when Mike is self-depricating ... he seems so sad. In the second one, even Mike notices and cuts himself off to apologize for bringing up this subject.

I think he, sadly, realized Mike did feel the same way as him, but not in the way he had initially hoped. Mike, like him, is struggling with not feeling good enough for the person he loves.

And Will did not want Mike to feel the same way he did. So he did what we saw him do and give the painting to Mike, which symbolizes his love for DnD, for what they do together, for their friend group, for him. His intention here was to make Mike feel better. Important. Seen. Even at the cost of his own heartbreak.

"Every smile you fake, I'll be watching you."

So to recap, at the beginning of the season, Will had been acting weird and painting for someone he liked ( according to El ). We find out very quickly that the recipient of the painting was intended to be Mike. I don't think Will ever intended for the painting to be a full blown love confession--but a start. A continuation of the 'hint dropping' they started doing at the end of S3. But of course, the whole world went to shit, and his feelings got amplified to the point where the painting's meaning took a different turn. And it became the basis of a veiled love confession.

I think this is devastating because the narrative forced them, once again, down a different path from the natural progression this would've been had Mike been allowed to enjoy a nice spring break in California.

I do believe by the end of S4, Will has completely lost the last vestiges of hope he had left that Mike would ever reciprocate his feelings, especially after Mike's love confession. I think he feels stupid for even allowing himself to believe there was a chance.

I mean, look at him. And, terrifyingly, I feel like that is exactly where Vecna needs him to be at the start of S5.

Sprinkle in some #birthdaygate and voila ... we have the perfect recipe for a horrible Vecna vision.

I don't know how they'll resolve this, but it does feel to me that the intention of Will's S4 arc was to get him to a point of loss of hope, which signifies the death of his dream.

Going into S5, he probably sees this dream now as stupid and childish--an impossibility. Adding to this, there's no way in hell Will is going to confess. Not when this happened and it was never resolved.

The ball is on Mike's court, for better or for worse.

And I think this is also another plot twist we will find out through Vecna: the fact that Will had hope that he and Mike could be together and felt the same way. And that honestly makes whatever Vecna does to Will 10 times worse because if Will had NEVER had hope, then there's nothing new there. But having hope and then having it crushed to the ground? Yeah ... my heart hurts as I type this.

[boydonegood]

ohh you make me tongue tied 🎶

[fatedroses]

More than just the Demon.

[notbecauseofvictories]

it takes years for terry pratchett's books to get consistently good. I would argue that the series doesn't really hit its stride until Feet of Clay, which means that pratchett was writing and being published for 12 years before he found his groove.

and I genuinely can't imagine that. in part because I do think that pratchett's publication calendar looks different than what's expected of writers today---he had about 2 books published per year for his entire career. he must have been writing furiously, and the publisher must have relatively quickly gotten these to press.

but also....I just can't imagine any modern-day publisher keeping an author on their list for twelve years, unless that author is a prestige get or a constant presence on the bestseller list. And what does it say about the state of publishing that you can't go on publishing someone's good-but-not-revelatory books until they figure out what story they're trying to tell?