#emotionally?

[thedarklinkfell]

Saltburn spoilers (again, more major this time)

In a hypothetical scenario where Felix got with Oliver (either out of genuinely liking him or out of fear because he caught on that Oliver might hurt him), do you think that would change things? Would it have saved Felix's life at least? Or was he doomed either way?

[golddplatedd]

I Need to get more Regular

[soufre-de-paris]

.

[starbuck]

“…to me” is one of the most powerful disclaimers we have on here… is this character analysis accurate? debatable. but it’s real… to me.

[scurvyboy]

they would get along i think

[mantareidraws]

Giving battinson the big birb hug he so desperately needs 🫂

[angelicathedaisy]

[ditzybat]

Dick, sighing: it’s hard being the only emotionally adjusted one in this family

Tim: LOUDDDD incorrect buzzer

Jason: you’re the most like Bruce out of all of us, and that man isnt exactly the poster child for emotional stability

Damian: I concur, while Timothy and Jason see their feelings as afterthoughts, and fear mine underminded - you, Richard, brood and suppress until the miscommunication blows up in your face, just like father.

Tim: exactly, the most expressive and normal one of our colony are the Batgirls… and that’s saying something

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[regicidal-defenestration]

A bus is basically the classic thing to wait in the rain for

[theorist-fox]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[valtsv]

"i wish i could exfoliate my brain" you can. by reading things that challenge you.

[ellstersmash]

things i learned today:

solas could've avoided this whole mess and probably had enough free time to take lavellan on a nice little date if he just took up archdemon hunting instead of all the rituals and the other dastardly deeds

lucanis won't romance rook if they go to minrathous but will romance neve because despite saying he's cool, he's not cool

everyone's nice and no one has slaves or anything because *checks forearm* the blight

all your companions get along with you and each other because also the blight

even though he's like, really manipulative and uses people all the time, solas accumulated but then gave up an entire army's worth of spies and agents because he decided he wasn't ready for a management position

red lyrium isn't really around because—and you are not gonna believe this—the blight

solas just lies. all the time, outright, to everyone. so I guess he was actually only super careful to not ever actively lie in Inquisition as like a fun little challenge to himself

tying the veil to his life force (you know, the guy who couldn't even take down an archdemon on his own and actually just got his ass beat so is not in great shape in the best ending) fully repaired the veil! \o/ don't ask how you wouldn't understand it it's not a big—

everyone near minrathous is cured of the blight! but @ everyone else you may be entitled to compensation 🥀

the only ritual solas has ever gotten or will ever get right is cleansing the idol into the ritual dagger. good thing too bc it was way more dangerous than this one. other than that, wrong about everything ever

elven magic is like not that big a deal, dude

the griffons are, unfortunately, long-term fucked

the elves don't see the crossroads differently anymore because uh.. because....... war

spite does not get involved in rookanis sexytimes. so perhaps him spreading his wings was actually just in preparation to leave bc ew they're kissing gross

NO ONE cares about the goddamn spirits

[sillyshadow]

first kiss

bonus:

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived