#bless you june

[strangerhands]

thhinkingg.. about.. thiss.. again..... always............ god....

Marc with his hand around your throat — not choking, no pressure just holding it there firmly as he slow fucks you into the mattress and you feel like you can’t BREATHE SORRY BYE

You show him, even though you know you shouldn’t. It is just so pretty: tanned Italian leather, nickel plated.

“It would look good around my neck, wouldn’t it?” you say, joking. Like, 20% joking.

The two of you went all in together on this apartment to get him out of his parents’ house. It had been moving out or joining the army—and the last thing you wanted was Marc gone, gone away from you, gone doing who-knows-what and who-knows-where.

You had moved in together, and spent every last penny from both of your savings to keep afloat. There was no fucking way he would spend eighty dollars (plus shipping and handling) on a collar, no matter how pretty you would look in it.

That night when he’s fucking you into the mattress you both have on a box spring on the floor, he watches your face with dark, knowing eyes. His hands have pinned yours above your head and then gotten restless—grabbed his belt to slip it from the loops on his discarded jeans so he could bind them together.

He gets like this. He needs to dominate you just as badly as you need to submit to him. You dream of the day you two can have a headboard, one he can tie you to and edge you for hours—

Marc slips his hand around your throat. Your entire body stiffens, full of electricity from the conduit of his touch. He isn’t even squeezing, but you can feel the strength of his fingers. You know the strength of his hands. His thrusts slow into something slow but no less deep, each one brushing the most tender place inside you.

“You don’t need a collar, do you baby girl?” he asks, breathless from the way he’s been fucking you. “Not when I’ve got two hands. Not when you look so pretty with one wrapped around your neck. Maybe I can’t afford to get you a collar yet—but make no mistake. I own you, don’t I, baby?”

His fingers flex and you are gone, eyes rolling back, holding your breath like he’s choking the life out of you even if he isn’t, cunt clenching around his cock. His breathless little laugh rings in your ears, and you know he is right.

Right about everything.

[happyheidi]

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ. June will bring blessings.

ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

[evilwizardval]

following my ada living in spain after the events of re4 au, i drew ada and jill marrying in spain, reference and some information about it under the cut since i believe it is important!

[tiktowafel]

do you ever think about how all you used to draw when you were 10 was ponies and that you should still know how to do that, then get an idea and proceed to draw something like these in nearly one sitting and it turns out better than any drawing you've done in the entire past month

sooo anyway does anyone have cutie mark or pony name ideas for them?? lol

[taryo88]

No context spoilers for Running Close to the Wind by Alexandra Rowland (@ariaste), the funniest book I’ve read all year

[hualianschild]

so you mean to say that those two get their butts kicked on xie lian's birthday every year ???💀💀💀

[reinbouxsworld]

Sometimes life is about spend three entire days making an art to someone on tiktok claim to "just found on tumblr"👍

[flyingrainbowcorn]

Shadowheart might be god’s favorite princess, but @bloodinwine’s Effy is mine.

Reference here. June’s wonderful words here.

Alt version on my Twitter if you don't mind all the other bs I post

[lord-here-i-am]

Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress: so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until he have mercy upon us.

[romanscool]

New maxiel prompt/fic?

I’ve been thinking about teen!maxiel for a long time now, I think this is slightly overdue…

So guess what? I’m starting a farmer teen!daniel and music genius!max high school band!maxiel fic which I really hope I’ll be able to truly start before the end of the year (‘which could mean nothing’ is taking my whole life I swear, and let’s not even talk of work 😪)

I’ll share my notes app cause it’s so funny to me how I’m unable to write anywhere but there (55k of ‘which could mean nothing’ is making it lag poor notes app) so there u go! Enjoy

Lots of love and I hope I’ll be able to deliver what could either be a 12k words one shot of this or a 200k words, 50 chapters monster 🫣

Let me know your thoughts about this!

Prompt:

Ideas/scenes/dynamics:

(Very sorry for the way the notes are written btw, this is purely me going feral over this idea and not being able to be normal about teen maxiel)

[kenonade]

mikel and martin are SO parallel characters i think about it and punch walls everyday…

[virtie333]

That is all

.Be Lost.//1.5

Really wanted to offer something to yall while I deal with all the ramifications of real life right now. This is continuing the request a donator made for soft dom Marc <3 1k

*

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he says. “But this next part is just as important okay, so make sure you’re listening, yeah?” 

“I’m listenin’.” 

“If you want to cum, you get permission from me, first.” 

*

If there had been a masturbation hiatus before, there was a masturbation embargo now. Just as you were coming to terms with the fact that you could probably think of Marc (and have the best orgasm of your life) without feeling guilty or perverse, he dropped the permission bombshell, and suddenly the rug was pulled out from under you again. The last thing you wanted was for Marc to know how desperate you were all the time. 

But the thought of going behind his back, touching yourself and cumming without his approval…no. You just couldn’t do it. This dynamic was built on trust. He trusted you to tell him the truth, and you had given him your word. 

It was going to be a long winter. 

A week and then two comes and goes. Most mornings you wake up with a pillow between your thighs, foggy remnants of your latest Marc-dreams drifting away like smoke on the breeze. You don’t think that it counts, what you get up to in your honest-to-God unconscious sleep. You don’t feel the need to tell Marc every time you wake up hot and bothered, and you don’t feel guilty about withholding such information. 

One day he finally messages to ask: 

You been doing as I ask? 

Of course! you text back, a little waspishly. If he’s noticed your increasing crabbiness since that conversation in the dark two weeks ago, he hasn’t mentioned it. Yet. 

Alright, he messages benignly. He moves the conversation on to something else, but there’s no chance you can let that topic come and go so easily. 

Why do you ask? 

I was just curious, he says. But I figured maybe you just weren’t in the mood. 

Not in the mood? Has Marc lost his mind? That night two weeks ago you had been so turned on that you stepped out onto the porch, the bitter night air, whipping at your bare legs, just to calm yourself down. 

Before you can message back, your phone buzzes again: I’ve been jerking off every day.

You’ve never known words to have such a visceral affect on you. You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut, winded, lightheaded from lack of air. The image is in your head now. You can almost see Marc’s tidy apartment. Does he touch himself in the shower, let the water wash away his spend? Or does he do it late at night or early in the morning when he is still laying in bed clinging to the remnants of sleep? 

You ache. You shut off the stove burner so that you don’t burn your dinner and sit heavily at the kitchen table, phone on the oak in front of you. Bold as can be, you arch up and work your sleep pants off your hips, taking your panties with them. 

One hand pecks at your phone: Just go ahead and give me permission now then, and I’ll do it later after dinner. 

The other hand ghosts between your legs. Even this barest hint of a brush leaves your fingers coming away wet. You feel like you’ve been edging yourself for days with your own thoughts. Brushing the pads of two fingers over your swollen clit, you let out a choked moan that echoes around your tiny kitchen. 

I don’t think so, he says, phone buzzing on the table to get your attention. It has to be in the moment.

Whyyyyyyyyyy, you text, letting out an audible groan. You are so close, and you have barely touched yourself. Your fingers dip into your folds, tracing along the slick, swollen flesh. When you drag the wetness up over your clit, you nearly cum—it takes all your deep breathing exercises and relaxing the twitching muscles in your pelvis to let the pleasure recede. 

Your phone buzzes. 

So I can touch myself and maybe cum with you

Yeah, there’s no holding back anymore. Your body stiffens, a ripple passing over you from head to toe making you flash cold and then so, so hot. Your cunt clenches tight around nothing. 

You just have the foresight to smash keys and ask: 

can i ?,

And he must be sitting there with his phone in one hand (and his other in his pants, perhaps) because he messages back almost straight away: 

Fuck. Go ahead, baby 

It is the weakest, lamest orgasm ever, and it still leaves your legs shaking. Your head drops to rest against the wood of the table while you spasm and clench, emptier than you’ve ever been. It isn’t enough. 

again? you ask. 

Holy shit. That quick? You’re right there again already? 

marc pla, then you have to correct yourself; pls 

Go ahead, he sends. But you see him typing, and so you slow the frantic, messy rubbing of your fingers, edging yourself unconsciously. It is worth the wait: Can’t wait for it to be my fingers that you’re cumming on

Your next peak is stronger, deeper. Your back bows against the dining chair, cunt spasming as you work yourself through the release. You are so empty that you tuck two of your fingers into yourself afterwards, wishing they were thick enough to mistake for Marc’s. 

Sweat clings to your temples. The warmest you’ve been since winter began. Your phone buzzes on the table and your eyes widen at the preview of the text: From Marc 🌙 : Send me a picture of yo…

With your non-dominant hand, you type in your phone’s passcode and read: 

Send me a picture of your messy fingers

Fuck, he’s filthy. You’re filthy—literally, when you work your fingers out of your wet pussy and sneak them from your pants to look at them beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights. 

Your fingertips are fucking pruned. You’re soaked down to the base of your fingers, where they meet your palm.

“Oh God,” you groan. Shaking, you do your best to take a picture with your weaker hand. You send it before you can chicken out. It takes six entire minutes for Marc to message back: good girl.

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

Coffin and their big naturals

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

A little Princess: "Hold Hands & Stick Together."👑

Robert Fulghum: All I need to know I learned in Kindergarten:

Most of what I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday school. These are the things I learned:

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don't hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don't take things that aren't yours.

Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.

Live a balanced life: Learn some and think some.

And draw and paint and sing and dance.

And play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world:

Hold hands and stick together.

Be aware of wonder.

Watch out for traffic.

[namitha]

Inhaling the crisp morning air, I delight in the intoxicating aroma of incense sticks wafting through the atmosphere. The remnants of last night's gentle rainfall glisten on the vibrant leaves and delicate petals, casting a shimmering allure upon nature's canvas. The melodious symphony of birdsong resonates, celebrating the dawn and heralding the arrival of a new day. Amidst this enchanting serenade, the dulcet voice of my neighbor aunt reverberates as she devoutly recites verses from the Quran, infusing the surroundings with a sense of spiritual harmony. Such is the enchanting fabric with which my Saturday unfolds, and in this moment, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the precious gift of life itself. 🍀

.

[coridallasmultipass]

[ Nikke spoilers for mid September 2024 update mini story / my comments on it. ]

Closeted trans dudes dressing up at the family function like:

It's such a familiar scene, for family to see you dressing up out of obligation and then being like, 'Oh, NOW you're so beautiful, you should do this more often.' And internally, your body is screaming that it feels so wrong, why did you perform your perceived gender for this event! Or like, for me personally too, the whole missing the vibe of the event and dressing up way more than anyone else, and then feeling so out of place. I've joked before about Red Hood having older brother vibes, maybe she has trans vibes for me too now, lol.

Also, strange that Liliweiss is saying 'for the future' to Red Hood. Who, y'know, is basically terminally ill (corrupted). Red Hood doesn't 'have' a future, she just has the present and past. At this point in this mini-story thing (I'm assuming it takes place around the time of the Red Ash event), is Liliweiss aware of the plans to integrate Red Hood into Rapi, and therefore 'have' a future? Or am I just reading into this way too much? Lol. Just sounded like a really weird and inconsiderate thing to say to her.

-

That aside, why the fuck did y'all vote the dress over the other two Red Hood skins?! I'm so disappointed, the other two were way cooler and not out of character:

((I mean, I guess it's technically in-character since it's canon now, and has to do with 'old music' but c'mon, man...))

Image description below cut:

First image: Red Hood from Nikke: Goddess of Victory is in a strappy and revealing dress. It's the same colour as her hair. She's embarrassed and standing next to a gramophone, while holding a champagne glass. She is also wearing fingerless half-palm leather gloves. Text: Red Hood: Oh jeez, I can't do this! I just can't!

Next two images: Text: Dialogue:

Commander: You did well in that outfit.

Red Hood: Anything was better than staying at that party, even fighting raptures. I've never been so glad to have a bunch of them show up.

Rapunzel: Your dress is all dirty, though. And the hem is all torn...

Red Hood: Who cares? It's not like I'm going to be wearing this ever again.

Liliweiss: Why not? I thought you'd be keeping it for the future.

Red Hood: No thanks. Not a chance.

Snow White: That's too bad. At least I finally got to see you all dressed up. Can I at least take a picture for posterity?

Red Hood: Absolutely not. I don't want to leave any evidence of this humiliating sight.

Last three images are the Red Hood skins/appearances that we voted on. First image is the feminine dress with the gramophone mentioned before, which won the poll. Second image is Red Hood on a motorcycle with a leather jacket, crop top, mini shorts, and thigh highs. Third image is Red Hood standing next to a wolf, and she is wearing form-fitted high-rise pants, a strappy harness bra-top and collar, and a cropped blazer.