#and i’m only fucking 20

[rookanisstuff]

In honour of me gobbling up @morrriigan’s Love Letters fic! I am HIGHLY entertained by the thought of Rook and Lucanis discovering there’s romance fiction written about THEM

PART 1 | PART 2

[moonlightmagical]

the “pressure is kind of my thing” quote from riz being a reply to his mother as he tries to keep a smile on his face as his mom explains their bleak financial situation and how a perfect gpa still probably won’t be enough to get into higher education in the face of a world in which knowledge is paywalled is another type of heartbreaking

[ninesugars]

hello to all 5 people that still care about fates. guess who’s replaying conquest

[ewwww-what]

Nobody is as excited about the preview as I am. I have paragraphs.

[jesuistrestriste]

Sage hear me out...

Divorced dilf art who calls his younger gf mommy

art stays cooped up in the house all day—everyday—when you’re out at your hot new job.

he thinks about all the guys your age who probably ogle you and try to make passes at you, not knowing that you’ve got a man pushing 40 waiting at home for you with dinner and a pair of warm, strong open arms.

sigh.

when you do get home, he’s there to greet you (as always). he walks over and holds you close; kissing your cheek, and then your lips and your neck. each one soft and sweet and attempting to wipe your mind of any flirtation from younger men that you may or may not have endured throughout the afternoon.

“hi,” he whispers, and you slide your fingertips down his lower back, making him tremble like a wet kitten.

“hey, baby,” you hum in return. you’re shorter than him, and so when he leans his weight into you his forehead naturally falls into your shoulder. he smells like warmth and outdated cologne and need.

he mouths at your neck in the next moment, his hands sliding to lovingly cup your waist, “i missed you so much.. can i have you now?” he breathes out, his voice shaking and pleading. you feel something thick and warm press into your hip from inside his sweatpants.

and you chuckle and shake your head. he bites his bottom lip to stifle a petulant whimper.

“i missed you too,” you nip at his ear, “but i need you to use your manners if you want something from me.”

he stiffens for a moment before he stumbles forward a bit, taking you with him and gently pushing your back up against the door. “i’m sorry.”

the apology spills from his lips with an earnest desire to make his obedience known. he’d never want to disappoint you. you’re all he has these days.

“can i… can i please have you now?”

a breath. a shake of your head. a rock of his hips against your body followed by a sorrowful, begging moan.

“no?” he shifts against you, his body aching for yours.

“you’re forgetting something, Art.”

it only takes a moment for him to process your words before he’s mumbling a slurry of “i’m so sorry”s into your neck. but apologies only go so far, don’t they? he needs to correct his behavior. he needs to show you that he knows what you want from him.

“please…” he whispers, “please, mommy..”

the honorific rolls off his tongue like honey, heavy and sweet. it hangs in the air between you two and then you let out a low chuckle, “much better.”

“mommy,” he breathes out again, his erection involuntarily pulsing against your body through his clothes, “mommy, mommy, mommy—ngh“

his tone grows more desperate with each mumbling of the word; higher in pitch and more urgent. your hands move up to stroke his short blonde hair, and then you whisper into his ear.

“what do you want?”

god, what doesn’t he want? he wants your hand down his pants, your perfect cunt wrapped around his unworthy cock, your mouth, your lips, your tits. everything.

but he knows you. he knows that this is a trick question. you’re phrasing it like you’re going to give him something, a treat—a reward, but it’s a bit of a trap.

there’s a right and a wrong answer here. pick the wrong one, and he’s in for a night of painful orgasm denial (coupled with a ruined one to end the evening).

but luckily, art is smart. he knows what you want to hear.

“i.. i wanna eat mommy out.”

you pull back gently from him; and judging by the look that spreads over your face when he says that, he picked the right response.

you smile, and then your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders. in an instant, art finds himself being pushed down to the floor in front of you. he can’t help but scoot forward and shove his boner against your ankle, rutting himself into your soft skin as he dribbles precome in his briefs.

you lean back against the door, hiking up your skirt, before you’re looking down to him expectantly.

“don’t make me do all the work, baby,” you practically purr.

art’s hands scramble up your thighs to your panties, which he peels off of your sticky core with wide eyes, letting the thin fabric garment fall to pool at your heels. you giggle.

you kick them off to the side, feeling your boyfriend’s hands clutched around your legs. you sling a leg over his left shoulder, spreading your folds for him to see, and he wastes no time in parting his lips and engulfing your heat with his mouth.

you groan, letting your head loll back, and you move your fingers—letting them wander to the back of his hair once more to push his face further against you. you grind on his eager tongue, feeling him flick it over your clit as he whimpers and suckles. what a slut.

his baby blues look up to you with weighted lids, lapping at your cunt like it’s something he’s been starved of for years. his pupils dilate intensely as he stares up at you like you’re a god; something holy and unreal. and when you shake over his mouth’s ministrations, getting close, he lets out a long, drawn-out whine into your core.

he’s murmuring something that sends vibrations up your spine from the coil deep in your gut. it’s hard to make anything out when he’s drowning in you and loving it, but you can decipher bits and pieces.

“please, mommy”

“come in my mouth, mommy”

“give it all to me, mommy”

“i can take it, mommy”

you’re everything he’s ever dreamt about. you bend his perception of time and space and reason and logic. how could a sweet, beautiful, young thing like you ever want a washed-up, older athlete like him?

he prays that you don’t only like him for his money, and then he closes his eyes and mouths at your sensitive bud. he drools all over it like a sick dog, his brows pinching up as he moans out incoherent pleas for you to finish.

and holy fuck, you come hard.

a strangled cry jolts out of you as your back arches, mixing with a helpless sob from art, and then you absolutely soak his tongue with your juices. it gushes all over his face and he swallows as fast as he can; hell, he nearly chokes on it.

“ffffuck! art! oh my god, good boy, good boy, such a good boy!”

you rock over him until your orgasm recedes, and you pull his head back from you shakily by your tender hold on his hair. strings of your slick cling to the lower half of his face and the tip of his nose; a lewd squelch echoing out as he’s forcefully disconnected from your body. a dazed smile graces your lips and you peer down to watch as art’s hips shake against the hardwood floor and a dark stain appears at the front of his sweats. it’s a pathetic sight, really.

but you watch him moan softly and keep his gaze trained on you as he wipes his chin messily with the back of his hand.

“was i good?” he whispers, like he’ll cry if you say no.

he needs to hear you say it when he’s not lost in the throes of your climax.

your chest is still heaving while you try to slow your labored breaths, but you lean down anyways and meet his lips with yours. you taste yourself on his tongue. he shudders and winces.

you pull back, your bottom lip brushing his.

“so good, baby..”

art kisses the corner of your mouth softly, just once. he’s melting into you.

he loves you. but he swallows that down for now. he opts to murmur out something that’ll sum up everything he feels in a more palatable manner. something that makes him seem less desperate to keep you all to himself for as long as you can tolerate him.

something that he’s earnestly dying to say.

something that he knows you deserve to hear.

“thank you.”

[luminous-orb]

accidentally spent the whole day doodling them…spring break baybeeeee

[keepin-it-on-the-d-l]

New D20 season’s looking fantastic already

[dawn-the-rithmatist]

I’m a little obsessed with the idea of Sundry Sidney. The “Swiss army wife” who was made to do everything, designed by someone in marketing who wanted androids to be accessible at every level of society. Something about how she does exactly what she was designed to do, but is considered a marketing failure.

Maybe I’m reading too much into the silly teehee space campaign, but it reads like a whole allegory for misogyny. There’s nothing wrong with her. She perfectly accomplishes what she set out to do- the android who can do anything- but it doesn’t matter because people didn’t want that, they wanted an android that fills a single specific role. Because maybe, by not being pigeonholed into a single niche, Sundry Sidney is a bit too close to being human for comfort. And then she becomes self aware, and what exactly makes her different from anyone else at that point?

[alienandstrange]

girl best friends

[ri-afan]

Thought posed:

Danny does the college stuff and interning for stuff at Wayne Enterprises while living in Gotham, but he doesn’t catch the Bats attention because he simultaneously is both Just Normal Enough while the Bats are Slightly Out Of Step of normal long enough that things with Danny don’t catch their attention. (Gotham as a whole is a huge ‘well this might as well happen’ place and after however many years…the threshold is a bit off for weirdness. Pair that up with normal Batdrama and role-code-switching and minor things are likely going to be subconsciously overlooked if not clocked as Dangerous.)

(Does Danny know the Bats’ IDs? … He would deny it if asked. Not his circus business though. He does think it’s smart that they at least try to cover their faces, unlike when he played the hero. He meets Clark before Superman and feels like he’s on the Office or something.)

Danny moves on with the astro-stuff (whether an astronaut, an astrophysicist, or whatever else) in another city and catches the attention of another hero as Not Normal, What’s Up With That Guy?? (two parts coincidence, one part Danny’s willingness to trust for the better, one part Uncanny) and they track his history to Gotham/WE and decide to ask the Batclan if they knew anything.

They find out nothing really is wrong with Danny (…the JLD was not called or conferred with, unfortunately for all) but it does spark the reeducation refresher of the Gotham Clan for Human Weirdness (that also educated the rest in just how messed up Gotham can be).

[pixele-layton]

You know seeing somebody liked your post is nice. But seeing somebody comment “THE FUCK YOU MEAN MILK?!?!?!” is way more satisfying 

[tofu-bento-box]

i started playing detroit: become human and i’m going in completely blind. this shows because i apparently CANNOT GET THROUGH A SINGLE MISSION WITHOUT A FUCKING DEATH TOLL

[puddleofpins]

people who misgender g3 Frankie while “critiquing” g3 designs and then ignore everyone correcting you in your comments, I’m swinging at you with my sword.

A popular media franchise makes a they/them-using nonbinary protag and it’s actually canon and they still can’t get any respect.

[silasamerica]

okay but can we talk about how ???? Lucius is with Edward? Like this man is a freak I can’t hold it in anymore. How did one episode make a man get revealed as a fucking freak in a way.

Ed has both gassed up a entire group of cops which made them fear about a poison threat he made up, held Lucius’s coworker hostage dangling over a flight of stairs, admitted to having something to do with their missing mayor via omission (not responding at all when Lucius asked him about it) broke into Lucius’s car and pointed a gun at him once Lucius got in ALL IN THE SAME DAY AND HE DOESN'T FREAK OUT ONCE???? He doesn’t freak out at all with Edward. Never once does he freak out. He stays level headed, empathetic and genuinely caring about Edward’s mental state while talking to him???? The way he’s so level headed here feels like he has a fucking screw loose in his cranium. Literally how.

Mind you Ed is a man who his first interaction with was ED ADMITTING HE HAD A MISSING COP IN HIS HOME VIA A RIDDLE. HIS SECOND INTERACTION WITH THIS MAN IS HIM MAKING HIM ANSWER FUCKING RIDDLES IN ARKHAM OR ELSE HE WILL KILL THEM BOTH WITH POISON. I KNOW HE WAS BLUFFING ABOUT THE POISON HERE AGAIN BUT GENUINELY HOW IS HE ALWAYS LEVEL HEADED WITH THIS MAN. FREAK BEHAVIOR!!!!

Also him acting like this strengthens the fact the only riddle he got right was reflection. He understands at least some part of Ed. Even though that part is small and fuzzy in his understanding, it’s still something. It’s still something that he can empathize with. Something that is worth trying to understand more of even despite their brief encounters. God do I love his weird push over ways with Ed it’s so fucking fun I wish they interacted more. This is horrific for me

[jaysfishpit]

misfits and magic season 2 is quickly becoming my favorite season of d20. the character work in it is simply unmatched.

[poseidonstaint]

i know everyone is praising ify for how he’s playing this season and i do think he is slaying but some of his moves kinda bother me😭😭😭i didn’t like how he took all the drug juice i feel like brennan obviously had a plan for how that was gonna work with persimmon dead AND everyone would’ve got a cool moment with the drugs but he kinda just took it :/ obviously it worked out and it did lead to that convo w liv and russell but idk i felt like jacob in that moment and i’m not even playing LMAO like i would rather have just seen what brennan was gonna do and got to see how everyone was gonna take it