#a queue s a

[idratherdreamofjune]

"Faramir and Éowyn", by willowwaves_art on Instagram/our very own @willow-s-linda

(Not a repost - tragically, she hasn't been active on tumblr since 2020.)

[sojutrait]

qian beauty just launched !

[ukulelekatie]

fun fact: @staff recently made a cute little change to desktop where clicking on the url of the previous reblog will now take you to the top of that person's blog, instead of their reblog of the post

a super cool fun consequence of this is that it is now way harder to find previous tags! so if you're gonna 'prev tags' someone, I highly recommend also copying their tags into your reblog. (It's generally a good thing to do anyway tbh, in case the previous reblog ever gets deleted and their tags are lost forever.)

I will definitely be sending my feedback in a support ticket, and if this pisses anyone else off, I suggest that you do the same!

Update: Putting this post in reblog jail. I think my explanation of the issue wasn't clear enough and don't want it to spread and cause more confusion

[consumebread]

It's bro's turn to cook *insert zero to hero here*

[tomatoart]

doodle page who cheered

[fear-is-truth]

𝐇𝐈𝐌 & 𝐈 𝜗ϱ . . . 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons﹒drug use﹒kinda toxic relationship﹒ p in v﹒handjobs﹒choking﹒use of the word “daddy”

SFW

has a habit of disappearing without explanation, sometimes for days at a time. when he returns, he acts as though nothing happened, brushing off your concerns with dismissive and cryptic responses.

extremely critical of appearances as he doesn’t handle flaws well—patrick fully expects you to mirror his aesthetic standards. even the slightest imperfection, such as chipped nail polish or an out-of-place hair, will piss him off. you’re basically his personal doll at this point—he buys you designer clothes, ensuring you wear the “right” brands to fit his ideal of a partner. he notices everything, from your choice of perfume down to the shade of lipstick you wear. if you switch brands, he’ll immediately make a comment on it.

prefers to keep conversations shallow and detached, as deep emotional topics make him uncomfortable. he constantly rambles about his niche obsessions—pop culture, business cards, and the “superiority” of certain types of suits. that being said, patrick talks at you rather than with you. he can yap on for an entire dinner about the fabric quality of valentino suits or the importance of a tie that “truly complements the suit’s structure.”

a walking encyclopedia on serial killers. in the middle of any conversation, he’ll start spouting facts about ted bundy or ed gein. he expects you to be thoroughly impressed by his knowledge and gets viscerally disappointed if you don’t show interest.

genuinely believes his opinions on music are groundbreaking. he’ll pull out albums and spend a good thirty minutes explaining why genesis or huey lewis and the news are masterpieces, analysing lyrics and production with the passion of a critic.

talks about dorsia as if it’s the holy grail of fine dining. if he’s lucky enough to get a reservation, he’ll spend days before and after the meal casually hyping it up to everyone, making sure they know he managed to get a table. however, if he fails to secure a reservation, it completely ruins his week. you sometimes wonder if he’d cry over it. (as a matter of fact, he does)

frequently asks if you think his business card is better than “so-and-so’s,” as if it’s a critical matter. if he gets even a whiff of another guy’s success, patrick becomes obsessed with one-upping them. you’ve had to sit through countless complaints about paul allen, his dorsia reservations, the fisher account. he can’t handle criticism, especially if it challenges his idea of “perfection.” if you casually mention you’re not a fan of his music taste or his suit choice, he’ll literally sulk about it for days.

when patrick gets jealous, you’ll catch him clenching his jaw, his hand gripping your waist a bit too tightly. sometimes he’ll try to act indifferent, but the slight sweat on his forehead or the vein throbbing in his temple gives him away.

lives by his routines and gets annoyed if anything disrupts them. you’re expected to adhere to his exact schedule when you’re with him, from gym time to dinner to his beloved skincare regimen. if something goes off-plan, he becomes irritable, even if it’s just because you suggested a new restaurant.

although he appears to be emotionally distant, he’s highly hypersensitive to how he’s perceived by you. an offhand comment or anything less than admiration from you makes him noticeably on edge.

obsessed with acquiring materialistic items that showcase his success. he’ll bring up these possessions repeatedly, and when he buys something new, for instance a painting or a stereo, he’ll practically drag you to admire it with him, giving an extensive monologue on its artistic value or technical specs.

constantly trying to impress you with his wealth or his “connections.” he’ll drop the names of people he “knows” (sometimes with questionable authenticity) or go out of his way to show you his credit card just to emphasise how wealthy he is. patrick assumes his looks and material success is inherently attractive to you, and if you ever show interest in something less superficial, he’s truly baffled.

always subtly fishing for compliments, but he wants them to sound like they’re coming from you, not just because he’s prompting you. if you mention anything flattering about another human, you can see his jaw clench as he makes a mental note to find something he’s “better” at. if you don’t give him the attention he craves, he becomes passive-aggressive until you finally give in and tell him how handsome he is.

if you so much as hesitate before complimenting patrick, it eats at him. he starts nitpicking his own looks, spending even more time obsessing over his skincare routine, gym sessions, and hair products.

to patrick, relationships are transactional. he’s constantly buying you lavish gifts, partially to impress you, but mostly to keep you “tied” to him. he would be genuinely insulted if you didn’t wear or display his gifts, taking it as a personal rejection, even though he never explicitly says this. instead, he’d pout or go into a passive-aggressive silence until you “make it up” to him (usually with sex)

loves the fact that you’re both attracted to and a little intimidated of him. what he doesn’t know is that you also think he’s a pathetic loser.

insecure about whether you actually love him or are just with him for his wealth and status. he craves reassurance but would never directly ask for it, so instead, he does things to elicit compliments from you or waits for you to say something affirming.

secretly torn between wanting to keep you as a sort of trophy and feeling an actual attachment he doesn’t understand. on more than one occasion, he’s imagined what it might be like to marry you—he’s even purchased a 7ct diamond ring on impulse. the thought terrifies him, though. he’s afraid of real intimacy, of anyone truly knowing who he is. still, he sometimes drops hints about “the future,” gauging your reaction to see if you might even consider it.

likes it when you adjust his tie or fix his collar. there’s something about your delicate hands on him, perfecting his appearance, that makes the blood rush to his groin as he reminisces the same pair of hands wrapped around his cock. he’ll even purposely wear his tie a little off or leave his collar slightly askew, just so you’ll step in to fix it.

whenever you say goodbye before he leaves, patrick insists on making eye contact, as if daring you to look away first. it’s his way of ensuring that he’s the last thing on your mind as he walks out the door. expects you to fix his lapel, straighten his tie, or give him a quick peck on the cheek. if you forget or rush the routine, there’s disappointment on his side.

patrick insists on every detail being pristine and coordinated, and he takes pride in the aesthetic of matching “his & hers” items. towels, robes, toothbrushes etc. he doesn’t necessarily see this as sentimental but as a way to project his status to anyone who might see it—like a small, smug reminder that you belong to him. he’ll also make a point to keep these items perfectly aligned on the bathroom sink or kitchen counter, internally congratulating himself when he sees them.

adores watching you in the kitchen, especially if you’re wearing something skimpy or nothing but one of his button-ups left undone just enough. he’ll lean in the doorway, watching as you busy yourself slicing fruit or preparing his bran muffins for breakfast. he often finds himself admiring the delicate curve of your neck, the swell of your ass as you move, though he’d never voice anything genuine about it.

his nicknames for you : “kitten”, “bunny”, “sweetheart”, “doll”, “hun” or “honey” in public, “fuckdoll” in private.

your nicknames for him : “daddy”, “sir”, “pat”

super meticulous when it comes to your wardrobe, especially lingerie. he’s obsessed with victoria’s secret and demands that you wear sets he’s chosen—lace and silk, only in shades he deems “fashionable.” as a way to elevate his experience. he’ll sit back with a drink in hand, watching you with an air of smug satisfaction as you parade around the bedroom like it’s a runway.

has certain… kinks that he knows you wouldn’t approve of. this is when sex workers come in handy. sometimes, he wonders if he could somehow desensitise you or change your mind about these things. he drops hints, gauges your reaction to certain acts, and tests boundaries. if you outright refuse to engage in his fantasies, he holds it against you, making passive-aggressive comments about your “prudish” nature or implying that he “puts up with it” because he “cares about you.”

NSFW

his dry cleaning bill has spiked noticeably ever since you started dating. nearly every other day, a new suit or bedsheet stained with cum is dropped off, patrick never looks the dry cleaner in the eye.

patrick’s version of aftercare is incredibly minimal. he’ll be content to simply roll over or give you a lazy kiss on the shoulder but that’s about as soft as it gets—he’ll immediately head off to the en suite to freshen up. if he’s feeling particularly generous, he’ll hand you a bottled water and that’s that. if you need anything more, he’ll listen, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests he’s already moved on mentally.

very fond of kissing your neck or collarbone, especially before you attend social settings—leaving hickeys and bruises. kisses from patrick can be surprisingly sweet and sensual when he’s in a rare moment of vulnerability, but it’s always short-lived.

he’s become addicted to the sound of your voice, so much so that he has tapes of you—masturbating while saying filthy things. when he’s stressed at the office, he’ll slip on his walkman, listening to your sweet whimpers and moans echo in his ears.

gets a thrill every time you say his name—whether it’s a soft “good morning, patrick” or a “mghm-ahh patrick!” when he’s jackhammering his cock into your cunt. he’s especially weak to hearing you coo or whimper his name, and he’ll go out of his way to make you say (scream) it repeatedly.

has a ritualistic routine for doing coke—spreading a neat line along your stomach and the valley between your breasts, admiring how good you look beneath him. when he leans down to snort the line, he often allows his lips to ghost over your hard nipples.

has no problem dropping obscene amounts of money on you—high-end jewelry, designer clothes, perfumes, he loves the way you look in everything he picks out. “only the best,” he’ll mumble as he fastens a diamond necklace on your neck. but his favourite part is admiring the pieces when he has both hands wrapped around your throat while fucking you.

he’s particular about which rings he picks out, envisioning how they’ll look on your fingers while you jerk him off. there’s something erotic about the way they catch light and glitter against your skin.

you’re kneeling in front of him, the hardwood floor cool against your knees as you stroke his thick, angry cock. patrick reaches down, thumb brushing over the 18k rose gold ring he’d recently bought for you. “looks nice on you,” he mumbles, almost distracted. you watch him for a moment, noticing the way he’s staring at your hand, like the ring is something precious he’s put a part of himself into. “you think so?” you ask, trying to read his expression as you continue to jerk him off. patrick clears his throat, dropping his hand a little too quickly. “of course. wouldn’t have bought it otherwise,”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[sinfulpatata]

untitled

drawing them like this™ is very important to me

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+bonus

it's very important to appreciate each other's...assets

[peachdues]

horny Thursday or somethin

Sanemi still shows up at the bookstore; still serves as equal parts distraction and entertainment.

Before, the only time you touched him was when he needed to be batted away from where he lurked behind the counter, or whenever he’d offer some cheeky comment or flirtatious quip that you hadn’t known how to respond to, so you’d smacked his arm or the back of his head, too flustered and yet too unwilling to admit it.

Now, there are stolen kisses between the bookstacks, flirty touches against your waist or furtive squeezes of your ass as you kick him out from behind your counter whenever the door bell announces the arrival of customers.

There’s the steadying support of his palm against the small of your back whenever you climb up on your ladder to pull boxes in the storeroom. The squeeze of his hand around yours as you lock up for the night and set off for home.

And sometimes, there are more than just quick pecks and fleeting touches. There are times when Sanemi’s mouth is pressed hotly to your neck, one hand groping your breast or playing with the fastening on your pants as he presses you harder into the shelves. Other times he is behind you as you’re trying to cash out your register for the night, his fingers pushing under the hem of your sundress to tease along your inner thigh, his groin pressed flush to your ass as his cock strains against the seam of his pants.

He’s never fucked you in the store, but he does seem to enjoy riling you up until you’re flushed and practically dragging him by his wrist back to your apartment. But you do dream of him sitting you atop the counter’s ledge and burying himself inside you. And often, far too often, you wonder what it would be like for him to hastily pull away and tuck himself back into his pants right as customers arrive, leaving you to assist them while his cum pools in your underwear.

[bebemoon]

cubeb smoker boudoir doll postcard (c. 1929) .

[radarsmenagerie]

[mammoth-clangen]

Ok so technically Summit won but i have no self control so u get Steppe Prowl as well, bc she has already has a ref from her debut >:3

Ice Fangs have both a given name and a surname, which are passed from mother to daughter and father to son (trans individuals can decide which parent they prefer to take after, or which children are given theirs, ie: Summit took his father's) This will be explained in comic too but it's not a spoiler so i have decided you are allowed to know as part of the teaser cx

Important: No, these two having refs does not mean they will inherently be joining the Kindred! As you can imagine that would cause quite a stir XD

Enjoy this meme i made months ago while drawing Moon 6 X'D

[14dayswithyou]

Please give rendancted a kiss from me! I just took an mbti test and was wondering if ren’s mbti would be compatible with mine hehe…. So what’s his MBTI? For both ren and redacted! rendacted!

Thank you so much mow <3333

✦゜ANSWERED: It's already been answered here, but Ren (and by extension, [REDACTED]) is an ISTJ! Whenever Ren is pretending to be Haruko, however, then he'd technically be an INFP.

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

wear headphones :)

You know what? This ones like a lootbox, you gotta open it to find out... :)

Guys. I am not lying to you, the request for this one was innocent. He just wanted to do that.

text cannot accurately describe this, but I must try.

Transcription: Fuck. Fuck. *exhales* Shit. mmmm-ohohoho. God ffffffffffffffffuck. Kff-agh. Aghhohoho fuck-God! Hah. Mmh!

The video is over. Go away. Go on. Get outta here.

What do you think there's more video? Oh what, because you can see it in the little seek bar? You just assume there's more content to extrapolate here?

Well, there isn't. Tell you what. Go ahead if you really want more content so bad, you pig. Go ahead and subscribe then. That's the way to see more of it.

Now goodbye! I'm off to suck Minos' c-

*end transcription*

Don't tell anyone but this is actually 2 clips I stuck together.

audio source part 1 - context for the noises

audio source part 2

[wrenwrongs]

Worth More Than Silver

Sihtric/fem!Reader

Summary: Sihtric has been frequenting the brothel in Winchester. Osferth and Uhtred investigate why he still pays for your company despite his claim that you love him.

Word Count: 1.3k

cw: afab reader, she/her pronouns, use of the word whore (2x), childbirth (not described in detail), slight deviations from canon timeline, Sihtric and his football team of kids

“Have you made a decision yet?” asked Sihtric, his horse striding alongside Uhtred’s own. “Have you given it thought?”

“Given thought to what?” His Lord answered in false ignorance. It gnawed at Sihtric’s insides. He would not give up in his quest, yet he knew if he pushed the subject too hard Uhtred was wont to set his denial in stone. Lady Gisela seemed to take pity on him.

“Uhtred,” she warned from her place next to her husband.

With her aid, Sihtric continued, “My request to marry, Lord. I wish to have a family.” It was true. More true was that he wished to have a family with you.

He had been captivated from the first night he met you. Your laugh ringing out as he threw you on to the bed. How your brushed your fingers through his hair as you caught your breath. Still, he knew it was nothing more than he had payed for.

It was almost a fortnight later when he saw you walking down the road, the frost had tinged your cheeks red. Your arms were overburdened with logs as you trudged though the ankle high snow. He carried them for you to your home; a small room with a bed and a hearth. When you invited him in for tea, he saw how you had decorated with herbs drying from the ceiling, furs, and paint all along the walls. It was a proper home in his eyes, not just the place you rested your head as he had become accustomed to.

You laughed as he regaled the time he and Finan strapped fake legs to a horse and convinced a drunk Uhtred that it was Sleipnir, the chip in your front tooth evident, and he knew he was yours.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

“Lord, you will answer the man.” It was Gisela again. In that moment Sihtric thought her sent by Freyja herself.

Uhtred sighed before turning his head to speak, “I will speak to her at Winchester and give you my decision.”

“Thank you, Lord.” With a grin, he fell back into line as Uhtred shouted back at him.

“But you are to give her no more of your arm-rings, nor silver!”

A gentle breeze swept through the valley, cooling the sweat on their brows. The sun, now past its highest point in the sky, warmed the earth as they arrived in Winchester. Finnan and Sihtric accompanied Uhtred while Osferth was sent out on his own quest.

After visiting your home and inquiring at the brothel, he was directed outside the walls of the capital. There, he spotted a figure emerging from the surrounding trees. The glint of silver around your biceps confirmed your identity.

“My lady,” he spoke softly as he approached, not wanting to startle you.

“I am no Lady,” you responded, the wind rustling your hair. “And I’m not working today.”

“No,” he blushed. “You misunderstand me. I am one of Lord Uhtred’s men.”

You said nothing, but looked upon him with suspicion and doubt.

He cleared his throat before speaking again, “You are Sihtric’s woman are you not?”

“That I am." You stepped closer to him so that the two of you could hear each other clearly. Osferth took a glimpse into the basket you carried. Elderberries and yarrow sat among a myriad of herbs. "You must be the Baby Monk I’ve heard about.”

“You love him?”

“Yes." There was an edge to your voice.

“Yet, you still take his silver?” The hurt in your eyes sent guilt rampaging through him.

“He is not the first man to make promises of love in hopes of a free night. I have seen the heartbreak and shame those girls are left with too many times to allow myself to fall for the same trick.”

“It is no trick. He wishes to marry you.”

“So he says.” You began walking back to the gates leaving Osferth to follow.

“You don’t believe him?”

“I wish to." You nodded to the guards as you passed them. "As much as I believe that Sihtric is different, I know those other women thought the same of the men that left them.”

“He has asked for permission from Lord Uhtred.”

You paused, hands tightening on the basket till your knuckles turned white. “He will not get it,” your voice was cold as you spoke. Osferth opened his mouth to argue, but you had already disappeared into the crowd of the afternoon market.

It was the next morning when Uhtred came to you. Sihtric had already departed after reluctantly leaving your bed and breaking fast together.

“Osferth spoke to me last night. He says your heart is true." Uhtred's words did little to calm your nerves. He sat across from you at your small table, drinking your own blend of vervain and violet tea. You could see his eyes flicker down to watch you tug at loose threads of your sleeve. "I will give my permission for you to marry.”

“Thank you, Lord Uhtred,” you said. Meeting his eyes was no easy feat, still you managed. “Sihtric mentioned last night, that if given your blessing, he wished to marry by the time your company leaves next.”

Uhtred shook his head. “You will come with us.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped before you could contain it. “A Saxon who fights with Irishmen, Danes, and monks now wants a whore to accompany them?”

“Not a whore, a healer. Osferth told me you where gathering herbs.”

“Mathilda’s son has a fever. I just made something to help bring it down.”

“Gisela said you often assist the læce. Do you know how to sew a wound?”

“Yes, Lord.” Though your experiences in doing so were less than pleasant as you struggled with the sight of open flesh. In truth, you would rather never do it again, but if it meant you could be with Sihtric perhaps it would be worth the sting of bile in your throat.

“Then you will be of use to us,” Uhtred said firmly, and you got the impression that he was not one to easily change his mind once it was set. “I will inform Sihtric of my decision. When we depart from Winchester next, you will accompany us.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” You could no longer contain your smile as Uhtred took his leave. As he bade you farewell he took notice of your thumb absent-mindedly stroking one of the rings while you stirred your tea.

Perhaps it should have become routine at this point. Woefully, that was not the case. You had birthed six of your eight children with Sihtric and while the boys joked that pregnant was your perpetual state of being, the labor remained grueling.

“I swear this is the last one,” you said through clenched teeth as the midwife rushed around you.

Sihtric knelt by your side, cringing as you squeezed his hand, “You said that during the last one.”

“I mean it this time. Seven is more than enough.” You suspected Sihtric would have as many as you allowed.

Aethelstan had come into your lives just after you had discovered you were pregnant. You agreed it was best for you to stay back, even after your first daughter was born. Sihtric brought Cynlaef shortly after that, he was less than ten years old at the time. 

It seemed that if you weren’t with child when he and the others returned you would be by the time they left. True to the promise he made on your wedding night, he was present for as many of the births as he could be. Because then came the twins and later your youngest daughter, named Fianna after Finan who had pestered you one too many times about naming a son after him. Truthfully, if Osferth had been any younger you would have counted him among them.

It felt like ages before the midwife placed the boy in your arms. Sihtric turned to Uhtred and spoke, “Last chance to have one named after you Lord.”

“No.” Both Uhtred and you said at once. But you supposed your husband was right, it was the last chance to name your child after someone you both loved so dearly.

You turned back to the babe pressed against your skin, your words barely above a whisper, “His name is Osferth.”

[tomatoart]

_(>u<)/🩷\(O_ō)_

[anetherealpoetess]

stabbing is just how galadriel and sauron flirt. what do you mean he finds out her one goal in life is to hunt him down and kill him, so at the first possible opportunity he arms her with a dagger? yeah, he wants her to stab him so bad.