#and not once gotten the actual answer

[a-person-who-didnt-wanna-be-here]

Pov you’re literally only a week into school crying over math

[cherryfennec]

Summer Times

Hi! I'm finally back from my two week abroad trip!

[theaxolotlkween]

Silly little comic I made.

[dailyhtfboards]

boowomp

This is the face of a guy whose about to be called a fuckhead <333

(From TV episode 7B Hole Lotta Love)

[mocc-tok-flip-flop]

The submas brainworm is only getting stronger, so I have drafted a whole-ass comic for a new AU idea! One where Chandelure gets to take center stage and become the main character she was always meant to be~

The gist of the AU is that Chandelure has a ghostly soul-bond with Ingo, which essentially means that his soul is under her protection and he sorta registers as a ghost to other pokemon. Basically protects him from other ghosts trying to put their sticky paws on her trainer and also gives the two of them a bit of an empathetic connection. Not quite telepathy, but able to transmit complex feelings and lets them check how badly they're hurt.

Naturally, this means that when Giratina (who was honestly just trying to play around. They were given the tedious task of just opening rifts and looking through all those peep holes made them curious. So when they saw a soul that had a beautiful ghost bond, they became fascinated) snags Ingo and drags him through, Chandelure immediately feels when Giratina's power accidentally tries to overwhelm Ingo's soul and she absolutely loses her shit. Through psychically screaming and using her protective aura to try and bash Giratina, the distortion god acts like a dog that's done something they shouldn't and tries to hide the evidence of their messing around (Ingo getting fucked up via soul and getting not too gently dropped off a mountain).

I have more ideas, especially relating to how Emmet is taking his brother's ace losing her mind and how her actions affect the investigation, but if I keep going down these tracks I'm going to end up with another 90k WIP fic like i did with Naruto. (Though if people wanna see the AU written out...👀... I could absolutely be convinced. I'm very weak...)

[fakeoutbf]

.

[quibbs126]

Opinion on toast?

Honestly, I think toast is pretty good, but I’m a bit specific on my personal preferences

While I white bread toast is probably fine, I prefer my toast to be wheat bread; I just think it tastes better toasted than white bread. I’m willing to compromise with honey wheat, considering my dining hall doesn’t have whole wheat anymore, but it needs to be wheat

I also only want my toast with butter or on rare occasions, peanut butter. It’s not a matter of other spreads being bad, it’s a matter of me being picky, I’ll admit that

But let me tell you, wheat bread toast with a good spread of butter on it, especially when the bread is in that golden range of toasted but not burnt? Absolutely delicious, could eat 4-6 slices of it if I have enough room in my stomach for it

I do also have to admit I don’t like French toast though. I don’t like the taste

[mackthecheesy]

rip to the person in my dream last night who i was in a time loop trying to save </3 woke up before i ever could

[cannonfullofcanons]

@vankaarten inquired: Salty AF Munday Meme (ALSO, YES I MISS YOU, HEYO WELCOME BACK): ☀ What's your rp pet peeve? + ✿ What do you think about public call out posts?

the salty af munday meme || Accepting!

OH BOY I'M REAL LATE ON THIS ONE- also hi Cinbon!!

My biggest pet peeve in the Tumblr RP scene has got to be blog policing. Trying to tell other people what they can and can't write always annoyed me, it's just flagrantly unreasonable and unrealistic to expect everyone to bend over backwards for you. When you're navigating the internet, you curate your own experience and trim out what you don't want to see; that's your responsibility. You don't get to go harassing and making death threats at people because you saw something you didn't like, especially if you're in a space where that something is common. The blacklist exists for a reason, and if someone's not tagging their nonsense, well, the unfollow button is right there, y'know? It's exactly what it's there for. Going on a smear campaign because someone likes something you don't is so immature and stupid, it just irritates me. Conversely there is an argument to be made about expecting consequences when you post weird crap, but as far as I'm concerned that's common sense.

Public callout posts have their place, I think. When someone's doing some really sus or illegal things, I think they need to be flagged so others know not to get involved in their crap. But whole callout posts made because of a ship someone writes? Or because someone has darker/edgier humor, or some friend drama where they just don't like each other? That's just dumb. Unfortunately, that seems to be the majority of callouts, in my experience. When actually used to try and protect others & not just for petty drama, I think it has its place, but it really rarely is. Usually callouts are just petty.

[akkivee]

since hiphoppia and h era reformation are connected, i was thinking about what of rinka i’d like backbone to answer/emulate and a song based on these ideals i think would be fire

[vehemourn]

nausea forever

[ruelpsen]

Honestly, as someone who has been going through fictosexual attraction for years and also didn't know how to deal with it at first: Just write and think about the most self-indulgent bullshit you can picture. It is the only way to keep sane or so I've found.

Oh I'm already on it, believe me. In fact, here's a little snippet from what I've been working on...

"Are you... turned on by this too?" you ask. "I'm not sure," he growls. "I will admit it's not something I've ever involved in my... liaisons before. But seeing you so desperate like this is always sure to awaken a hunger in me. Or rather-" he pauses for a moment, burping again- "a thirst." With that, he kisses you deeply once more. You feel his fangs press against your lips as you moan with pleasure. You grip the back of his shirt as your hips instinctively buck against his, suddenly jostling his body. He abruptly breaks his lips away from yours only to turn his head to the side and release a short, thick belch. "Apologies," he says. "I didn't want to be..." He trails off, lost in thought for a moment. He eyes you for a second, observing the redness in your cheeks and the pleading look in your eyes. "On second thought, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Yes," you moan. "God, yes." "My, my, what a nasty little creature you are..."

[crownconstellation]

my parents are such funny people in the deeply insidious way that conservative parents always are. (i do not mean funny in an actual comedic sense, i mean it in an ironic / insulting one).

like ever since my stint in the hospital my mom has been fussing about making sure to keep my stress levels low because stress can affect blood pressure and how i need to take it easy at my job more. meanwhile while she’s saying this she’s - as always - loudly blasting her 48294884 deeply right-wing podcasts she tunes into religiously every single day and it’s like hmmmm. Have you not considered that maybe THESE and the shit they spout in them (and the rhetoric you and dad parrot in response) are perhaps a greater influence on my stress level than my job even at its worst

[holeforzenin]

Tw - Boss!nanami, sir kink, reverse cowgirl, buttplug usage. Grammar errors.

Your thighs burned from how long you’d been riding him, the wet slap of your hips crashing down on his thick thighs echoing through the room in an inconsistent rhythm. Kento is lying beneath you, thick golden hair ruffled and mussed against the silky pillows, shirt still on but lazily unbuttoned like he’s been in a fight, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he didn’t even intend to fuck you this hard. Like he thought he could keep it neat.

But oh there’s nothing neat about the way your creamy pussy leaks down the length of his cock, nothing tidy about the way your eyes roll back as your ass bounces on him and your cute little plug nearly slips out—again. The pressure of his girth almost fucking the plug out every time it slides into your hole.

His hand darts up with that same practiced precision he uses in a fight, thumb pressing flush against the jewel at the heart base of it.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice deep and commanding as he pushes it back inside, and watching you squirm once it’s back in. “You keep it in like a good girl, understood?”

You nod obedienly, mouth hanging open, barely able to keep your balance as your thighs tremble around his waist. “Y-Yeah—yes, Kento—!”

“That’s sir to you,” he corrects.

That thumb stays in place, pressing into the base of the plug each time your movement threatens to dislodge it. It’s actually so mean—the way he insistently keeps it in, making you feel every bit of stretch and fullness, making it impossible to ignore how stuffed you are in both holes before he even starts thrusting up into you.

“Look at this,” he murmurs darkly, slightly shifting under you and spreading his legs more so his cock drives deeper with each roll of your hips. “Stuffed so full, and you’re still desperate for more. Fucking greedy. You like feeling this helpless, don’t you?”

Your moan answers for you, messy and loud, warm tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Kento’s cock is veiny and thick—he always stretches you up but the added plug makes it even more unbearable in the best way possible like your body can’t decide if it’s overwhelmed or starving for more.

“Please, please, sir—feels so good, I-I can’t—”

“You can.” That thumb pushes harder, pinning the plug in like a fucking button he’s got full control over. “You’ve taken everything I’ve given you tonight. You’re going to take this, too”.

Your nails dig into his sweaty chest for balance as he starts fucking up into you, ruining the pace you were trying to keep. Kento is usually a patient man but your lazy, fucked-out rhythm was getting on his nerves.

Now he’s in charge again—hips ramming up into you from below in a brutal pace while his hand stays glued to your ass, his thumb making sure that plug stays nestled tight like it’s a part of you. You continue bouncing helplessly, letting him use your body like a toy, stuffed full and shaking and fucked raw by your boss.

“I can feel it,” he growls, hand moving from your ass to grab your jaw, forcing your fluttering eyes open to look back at him. “The way your little hole clenches around it every time I hit that spot. So nasty, bet you’re gonna cum just from this, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, fingers slipping against his sweat-slick chest as your thighs quiver.

“Tell me,” he says, almost sweet now, almost gentle as he stares up at your flushed face. “Tell me how it feels to ride your boss’s cock with your ass plugged up like a dirty slut, so shameless—all this just for a little bonus huh?”.

“S-So full—Nanamin, it’s too much, I c-can’t hold it, I—fuck!”

“You can”. His grip on your jaw tightens just slightly. “You’re going to. I’ll hold it in for you if I have to”.

And he does. Every time it threatens to slip from how wildly you’re grinding against him, how soaked you are, how greedy your body’s gotten—he’s there, thumb pressing and pushing, guiding it right back in like he owns every part of your body now.

Your orgasm hits quick and sloppy, back arching and your plushy ass grinding on his pelvis, tight cunt spasming around him like you’re trying to take all his babies from him, your asshole clenching around the plug tighter than ever.

“Fuuuck, that’s it,” he groans, barely holding back from how sexy and filthy you look cumming on top of him. “So fucking tight—so full, shit!”

He spills inside you with a broken grunt, hips slamming up one last time and holding you there with a big hand clasping your hips and keeping you impaled on his cock, stuffed full of him and the plug both.

You feel every pulse of him emptying into you, the warmth leaking out only to be caught and squished deeper by his still throbbing shaft.

When you start to lift off him, the plug nearly slipping again, his hand flies back to your ass.

“Ah, ah,” he warns, pushing it back in firmly. “Did I say you could take it out?”

You whimper, obediently sinking back down with your brain fogged and mouth slack. You’ll stay like that as long as he wants. “You look perfect like this,” he murmurs, voice tired but still husky as always as he strokes your back. “Plug in. Pussy leaking with my children. All mine”.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere knight who once was a boy you adored.

A sequel to this

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! TW. Dubious consent, Mentions of non-con (past), forced marriage, isolation, yandere, fem pov, implied Stockholm Syndrome towards the end

You constantly had to remind yourself that there were many worse fates out there for young ladies like you. Ones so lowly they were pawned off to the palace to curry favor with the royal family. From birth, you’d been a lamb made to be thrown to the wolves, and he was the biggest one of them all.

Yandere knight who can't stand being apart from you.

You had to assume that it was something to do with being on the battlefield for so many years. He'd jolt awake screaming in the night, and then he'd murmur apologies for startling you out of your slumber. His arms would wrap around your waist, and he'd sleep like a babe after.

He practically demands that you sit in his study all day while he sifts through mountains of paper work. It must've been quite the shift, from being a mere squire to the hero of the kingdom and a Duke. He learned to read within the palace as part of a basic education, but he often pulls you on his lap and asks you for help.

"Tell me, love, what does this word mean?"

You'd be patient and kind, like any wife should be, and he'd nod and keep you pressed to his side for hours while he worked.

Yandere Knight who refuses to let you leave the estate.

After years of being in service to the princess, you desperately wished to go and actually explore the world a bit. But your husband had already seen far too much to ever consider letting you go.

Yandere knight who tried to sate your growing need for freedom with gifts.

At first, he tried giving you gowns and jewelry worth your weight in gold. They were dazzling things that you had long ago expressed to once wear for yourself after watching the ladies of the court parade around in such finery. Yandere knight who cherished your every word now and back then, and seeks to fulfill your every wish. But he simply refuses to let you out. Not for balls, galas, or a leisurely walk about the nearest town. Nothing. The furthest you are permitted to go is the lawn of the manor, and that is only with his express permission or supervision. It is suffocating, to say the least.

After catching you wandering in the gardens one early morning where you had snuck away, he'd had all of your shoes fit for going outside removed. It was only soft slippers and robes that you'd be positively humiliated if anyone from outside your household saw you in from then on.

Yandere knight who grows more and more desperate to have you love him as much as he loves you.

"Love, why do you avoid my kisses?"

It was such a blunt query that you had to drop your fork. It clattered loudly against the porcelain plate, and you stared with wide eyes at your husband who's face was obscured by candlelit shadows. You stammered and tried to answer, but he sighed, looking almost sad.

"I know that you did not wish for this," he admitted softly, like it was some grave secret. "But I will not have you ruin our happiness."

Yandere Knight who starts to become more demanding with his affections.

He's your husband, so you must do as he says. You know that. You held your tongue when he claimed you so roughly in the carriage. You held your tongue before you cried quietly at night. You held your tongue as he began to fuck you while he worked in his study during the day, but you wondered how much longer you could hold out.

"You will love me," he whispered into your ear, his breath rasped over your ear as he slowly fucked into you. You struggled to maintain composure. It wasn't fair that he was dressed while you were in barely more than a nightgown. He'd been removing even more from your wardrobe until you couldn't bear to be anywhere but in your shared chambers or in private like this.

He had gotten better at writing, even more so while he was buried inside your velvet cunt. You gasped and twitched, tears spilling from your eyes.

"I'm certain of it. I adore you, so it is only natural," he promised, more to himself than anything else. He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, his eyes focused on the paper he was scrawling on. His mind, however, was in a thousand different places. All of them being a nook and cranny of your body, sweet and his to rightfully claim. Honored by the king, honored by the country, so what else could you do besides take it?

Anguished whimpers that used to spill from your tongue gradually faded, and you found yourself leaning into his touch for the first time. He shuddered, but did not make a move to startled you. His hand was splayed over your hip, squeezing gently as he slowly set down his pen and hugged you. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, and you could feel tears of his own start to spill. You could hear him silently whispering 'thankyouthankyouthankyou'. To whom, you did not know. You did not care to find out.

You melted against each other, both wallowing in two different kinds of desperation. Yours was far more nostalgic than you had expected. Perhaps you should have known that there was no other option for you than to seek out his warmth. For the fuzzy, innocent feeling that he had stolen from you. There was little comfort to be found, though.

After all, the boy you'd adored had died at war and now returned a monster, and there was hardly any love you could feel for that.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon likes what you likes

Tomorrow I promise to get some requests in my inbox done 🤞

Whenever Simon was asked what his favorite color was, or favorite movie, favorite song, favorite anything, really he always had the same answer.

“Don’t have one.”

Johnny would roll his eyes. Kyle would snort and call him a grump. Price wouldn’t bother asking. But Simon never thought too hard about it. He didn’t see the point. Liking things—really liking them—meant caring. And caring opened doors to places he preferred staying locked.

That was before you.

Before you, with your endless lists of favorites. Your hobbies, your collections, the way you lit up when talking about a movie you loved or a book you couldn’t put down. You could talk for hours. And you often did— sometimes with him half-listening, half-lost in the rhythm of your voice more than the actual words.

And somehow, over time, your favorites became his.

That one film you swore he had to watch? He rolled his eyes, grumbled through the first half— then watched it again when you weren’t home. It was the way you recited your favorite scenes by heart that eventually made it his favorite, too.

The book you kept on your nightstand? He picked it up one lazy afternoon, expecting to read a few pages just to pass the time. He finished it in a day.

Still, every time you asked him about his own favorites, he’d just shrug.

“I like what you like.”

You’d frown. Just a little. A soft downturn of your lips that made something in his chest ache.

So one day, he sat down and thought about it. Really thought.

What did he like? What was his thing?

Guns. Killing. Tracking a moving target from a hundred yards out and watching it drop.

Right. Cool.

So he took you to a shooting range. Taught you how to hold the weapon properly. How to breathe through the shot. How to steady your hands and trust your instincts. He might’ve gotten a little carried away with the details— describing things in a way that probably sounded more violent than romantic. But you liked it. You smiled through the recoil.

You liked doing what you thought he liked.

But the truth?

He would’ve rather been at one of your pottery classes. Covered in clay, watching you laugh when he ruined another mug. He’d rather be curled up on the couch, rewatching your favorite film for the third time. He’d rather do anything, everything, if it meant doing it with you.

Because Simon didn’t care about the things.

He cared about you.

He liked your smile. The way you dressed. The way you smelled— so much that he started using your body wash without even thinking about it.

“Why do ya smell like cupcakes, Lt?” Johnny had asked once, squinting at him, nose wrinkled.

Simon didn’t even blink.

“Your bloody nose probably doesn’t work properly after all the times you’ve been punched in the face.”

He never told him the real reason. Didn’t have to.

He’d already made up his mind.

It was never about the movie, the book, or the smell of your shampoo clinging to his skin. It was about you. About keeping a piece of you close, even in the smallest, stupidest ways. Simon didn’t need a list of favorites.

He had one. Just one. And it was you. Always you.