#girls need love too

[xothemedia]

Power Book II: Ghost 3x8 | “Sacrifice”

[professionalfacesitter]

How many ways do we gotta sing girls need love too for yall to get it?

[heesimp]

hee and you tag teaming a girl ???? that is so hot ... drabble/fic abt this Please i beg

ah I don’t know how to write this drabble without inserting myself in there…maybe I’ll make “me” into a character or something and give her a name? I want to write it but don’t know the best way to do it ahhh

pls give me ur thoughts as when I posted that I just imagined heeseung eating a girl out while I kiss her or suck on her tits or something fmfnmdnssm

[allynabean]

group selfie 📸!! im obsessed with the final girls or the four ggggs or whatever they’re calling themselves <3

(plus their weird creaky neighbor. bigb my beloved)

[choccy-milky]

smooth, seb 👍 ((redraw of this scene from the goblet of fire))

[kennythetrampvamp]

[pokeberry5]

girl experiences gender euphoria and is immediately slammed by grief

for @litttlittt <3. this was supposed to be a portrait of caroline hill, but litta mentioned tim looking like janet when dressed as caroline and identity issues and angst and things spiraled

something about tim not knowing if he's his mother's child or bruce's or neither's.

figuring out the looks:

i wanted janet to have that poofy 70s hair

[cowboythewizard726]

BLOOD SOAKED FALIN!!! BLOOD SOAKED FALIN!!! BLOOD SOAKED FALIN!!! BLOOD SOAKED FALIN!!! BLOOD SOAKED FALINNNNNNNNNNN!!!

[hamoodmood]

[starryeyesmasc]

fuck it. thinking about a girl riding my strap when she figures out how desperate I am to cum just from fucking her.

her hips rock again and she stretches, slick and glistening, around the head of the strap. I whine as I watch her sink down fully, but I can’t move to touch her how I’d like. my hands are neatly tied to the headboard, courtesy of the girl on my lap right now. she laughs at the painfully turned on expression on my face.

“awww. what’s up, darling?” she coos, sighing as she works herself slowly up and down the length of silicone. “am I teasin’ you? is someone getting a little flustered down there?”

any answer I might’ve been able to give fizzles out when she props a hand on my chest to pick up her pace. I drop my head back against the duvet and groan as the orgasm I’d been rapidly nearing comes steaming back. we’ve been at this for at least an hour, and she’s already cum at least three times. all without letting me cum once. I’m struck wordless, desperate, by the sheer weight of my desire for her. so when she begins to lift again I shake my head and whine.

“no, please. please please please.”

she grins and shunts her hips back down fully, completely swallowing up the ruined strap. it’s the visual of her cum from two orgasms ago smearing into my boxers that makes me arch and jolt.

“fuck—oh fuck, I can’t—m’gonna—fuck—”

for one blessed moment, I think she’s going to finally let me cum. then she laughs again and I feel her teeth nip against my neck. “so fuckin’ eager to please, aren’t you? are you actually gonna cum just from this?”

something snaps above me. I don’t need to look up to know I broke the headboard; I felt the tension holding my hands loosen. but before I can move to touch her, a nimble hand pins my wrists above my head.

“ah-ah. no, darling. you look so good and pretty right now. I’m not done usin’ you yet. you just stay still and let me—oh, awww. are you crying? need to cum that badly, do you? fuck, babe. you’re so, so desperate to be good for me, aren’t you?”

I nod instantly; squirming against the euphoric precipice she had me balanced on.

“please,” I sob. “please, fuck, please.”

“well go on then.” she rolls her hips and the sound makes me moan. “be my good desperate slut. cum for me.”

there’s something missing, and she knows it too. she’s just waiting to drag the answer free and I’m too whiny to hold out. her smirk turns wicked and she gives my hands a little shove into the bed.

“but that’s right. you can’t, can you? you need to watch me fuck myself on you again, babe?”

even as she says it, her hips slide back into motion. up, down, languid, just how I like. I’m a horse in the gates, a pulse in the veins, raring to go. all I need is one last push. she pauses when she sinks to the bottom to roll her swollen clit under her fingertips and her head tilts back as her eyebrows furrow.

“mhmm. fuck, you fill me up so fucking much. I could sit right here for hours. c’mon, babe. I know I nearly have you. close those pretty eyes and give me what I want.” she starts into motion again, and this time it’s rough. chasing release. her hips slamming down into mine with slick, wet sounds. she lowers her mouth to my straining neck. “fucking give it to me. cum for me. cum for me.”

her words push me to breaking point, but it’s her low moan in my ear and the resulting wetness dripping into my boxers that sets me off like it always does. I finally hit that sunlit peak and I arch into the golden heat of it as everything in my body freezes in adoration of her. offering up my orgasm to the goddess above me. she can take it, I have no need for it. it’s all for her, every ounce of me. I come down from it slowly, twitching as I pant and whine underneath her. a hand slips over my cheek and her careful thumb strokes my cheekbone.

“there. hey, shhh. there we go. so good. oh, you just couldn’t hold on, could you? my poor girl. yeah, I got you. I’ve got you.”

I squirm again, trying to steal another orgasm while I’m still hazy from the first, but she tightens her grip and holds me steady.

“ah. where’re you goin’? that’s just one. I told you, I’m not done with you yet. I wanna see exactly how much I can make you cum without even touching you.”

[inkskinned]

you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

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[puppybong]

i will never forgive social media influencers for making little girls believe they need to buy expensive makeup and retinols and wear revealing clothing in order to be liked. you don’t need lash extensions you need to play warrior cats at recess

[fexjam]

Магічна дівчинка#1

[tyamuffins]

Fma doodles because I'm currently having fmab brainrot :D

[inamindfarfaraway]

Stephanie Lauter is initially defined by her archetype as the popular girl in high school, but she must have been so lonely before Pete. Her mother is dead. Her father hates her and makes no attempt to hide it except to protect his reputation, constantly insulting, belittling and exerting authority over her when he isn’t busy with politics. She talks back to him, but doesn’t deny his descriptions of her. Miss Tessburger is the same. Her apparent friendships with the other cool kids, the kind of people who openly state the belief that looks are everything (not so different a paradigm to the one her father lives by), seem to be shallow and distant. Max rules the main popular clique with an iron fist to the point that they all stop bullying immediately and the school’s rigid social hierarchy crumbles once his influence is gone; and yet despite him having enough respect for her to try to protect her from what he believed were the undead during the prank, she was unaware of how big a problem his bullying was until she saw what he did to Pete, so she can’t have ever been that enmeshed in his circle. She dismisses her kindness to the losers as “the bare minimum” rather than lean into the potential for real friendships with them or leverage it to have power in this new group. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to mislead them into thinking that she’s worth their time.

She’s cool because she acts like she doesn’t care about anything, and why would she? Life has never given her anything to care about. In fact, it’s punished her for caring. No matter what she does, her dad tells her that she’s worthless and stupid, so she stops trying to do well in school and starts sneaking out to parties full of alcohol and following through on flirting with the football players. She might as well make her body feel alive, as she can’t fix the fuck-up in her skull. Her phone is legitimately what she cherishes most in life. It can’t love her back or hug her or make the real world better, but at least it gives her an escape. It’s her space to control. Her pictures that she likes to look at, her music that drives her dad’s words out of her head. Her private conversations with people she chooses. At least it’s hers. (It isn’t. Her dad has been bugging it since she was twelve.)

Then Pete is nice to her, and in two weeks he becomes what she cherishes most.

Then she has to kill him. And shouldn’t she have seen this coming? Shouldn’t she have learned her lesson by now? Caring just means you have something to lose. That’s why she never wanted to love him like she does.

She pulls the trigger.