#give my that body Sir

[rk-x-yz]

huh that was weird my laptop died :////

anyway idk what we want to call it?? bc "early mornin legality issues" is probably not a name that fits this one

"Two Chances, and You Lost Both." < - thats something I can see him saying. Cool thats the name now, nicknamed "early mornin legality issues"

[cry-ptidd]

God I love being a lesbian when you make art of girls so good.

More women for you lesbianon

[peppermint-whiskers]

Guess who's playing with God designs??

[dragons-in-spaceee]

Saw this post and IMMEDIATELY had to draw this!!!!!! they’re so silly!!!!!!

[laniidae-passerine]

there is something so entirely fucked about Louis’ psyche… look at it all! the physical beatings to an obscene degree, the damaging affairs, the psychological warfare, the public humiliation, the participation in the murder of their only beloved daughter. Lestat does this all to him, or a significant amount even if memory is playing its wicked games. Lestat is a vicious horrible thing with his teeth marks on every part of Louis and yet even with decades of freedom, a new partner, the ability to recognise and condemn cruelty and abusive actions, Louis still wants him back. Knowing what he is, what he can do, Louis wants him back. It never mattered if vampires can dream, for Lestat haunts his waking days, a torturous vision of the only living one Louis really loves.

[moonlight-prose]

my fellow horndogs i have a thought so filthy it will make you sick:

logan cuddling you to sleep.

[the--highlanders]

honestly I feel like I should apologise to the writer of the phantom piper. sorry king your audio rewired my brain & now I'm trying to rewrite it ✌️

[serendertothesquad]

Facebook mentality spotted on the OSUK Instagram post, ooh-de-lally-wally what a magical day

[pinkyjulien]

@roarmoreau's Vincent and Jackie pic reminded me of the same meme I did back when I gave Mitch his custom body and I--

hHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HGFHGFHHGFH

[im-so-tethered]

Hi puppy, I have a task for you tomorrow.

Edge yourself on all fours, with your tail plug in, twice. The second time, ruin your orgasm. (Your angel had a very good idea today - I was inspired!)

No other touching tomorrow, and no cumming. Good girl.

😖 yes sir! i live to serve 🛐 i'm so lucky to have ppl who want to use me 🥰🥰🥰 i'm gonna be so pathetic edging like that 😵

[slverblood]

It's also like . . . Erlona was entrustedwith Aylin's upbringing, so of course she saw herself in more the teacher sort of role. Like she was a headmistress at a boarding school Aylin was sent to. It wasn't entirely wrong; it just wasn't entirely right either. What that approach failed to take into account is that "school" was never out for Aylin; she was never going "home" to her mother. Not for a long time, anyway. The only family she could have possibly had would've been those entrusted with her upbringing: Erlona, Meadowlin, and the Moonhaven community.

Meadowlin understood that, likely due to his background. Erlona was raised in a monastery, and Moonhaven was a famously Selûnite town that grew up around the temple. Meadowlin, however, wasn't always a paladin, wasn't especially religious before the werebear experience, and wasn't really raised religious either. (His family undoubtedly favored the halfling pantheon anyway.) So he was able to look at the matter from a different perspective. He instead approached Aylin's upbringing like they were fostering her — which is honestly the more accurate take on the situation. He not only felt more comfortable slipping into a paternal role but felt like he should, like that's what he signed up for in taking responsibility for Aylin. He trained her, yes, but also tried to generally guide and impart life wisdom to her as a father might.

[leatherbookmark]

god i’m so glad i took pics of her on my film camera. this is stupid because i have tons of them on my phone but. yea

[candycryptids]

Fat Chuusday is top quality

[moonssugar]

my body thrawts any attempts at anyone else instructing me how to lose weight no matter if it's regimented exercise or diets or food suggestions in such a funny way theyre just like "no <3" and stays the same size and shape every single time. it doesnt matter who cries over me or who harasses me or bullies me or dehumanizes me or makes weird comments about it my body just does not give two fucks and i love it for that. and like i suspect my weight might change once i move out and im able to have a garden and try out new recipes but theres not a point in time of my life i will ever be thin or that it will dramtically change but other people cant accept that like i can. stop trying to put fat bitches on ozempic you cowards

[rayveneyed]

nanami kento is the kind of man that makes people swoon without even realising it.

he's the kind of man to walk into a luxury store after work, suit jacket folded over one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other -- his blonde hair still mostly perfect from the high-end pomade he uses. he scours the shelves, frowning to himself, while the attendants whisper and giggle amongst themselves near the tills -- an argument over who will be the one to talk to him, because he's intimidatingly pretty.

("just look at him," one whispers. "he's definitely buying something for a girlfriend."

"a wife," another disagrees. "c'mon. he's giving husband vibes."

someone hums. "but i can't see a wedding band."

"his mother, maybe?" says one other. "oh, i love when guys come in shopping for their mother."

"nobody's mother is getting a bouquet of a hundred red roses--")

eventually, one of them is volunteered as a sacrifice -- smiling and sweet as all attendants should be, she clears her throat. the others, crowded around the till, watch the exchange closely. "excuse me, sir. is there anything we could help you with today?"

her mouth is dry and her hands are clammy -- and when he fixes her with those narrow, burning eyes, her throat bobs.

"ah, yes." and his voice is deep and gravelly and drawling, and her stomach turns. she can only imagine what her coworkers are thinking -- hell, she can only imagine what she's thinking. her mind has stopped short. "my girlfriend likes this brand quite a bit. i thought i'd pick her up something..."

disappointment brews in her stomach -- and it's stupid, she knows it's stupid, because obviously a guy like that is taken. and -- she glances down at the roses -- obviously he treats her super fucking well. of course he does, because why wouldn't he? "oh, perfect! do you have anything in mind?"

"well, actually..."

he ends up buying one of the priciest gift boxes available -- fancy body care and perfume laid out in their signature boxes, decorated with ribbon and dried lavender -- no argument, no fight. he doesn't look for something cheaper, doesn't try to haggle or remove something to decrease the price. he adds, and adds, and adds -- and when she mentions a special offer at the till, a little add on for an extra 2000 yen, he accepts it readily. he inserts a black card into the card machine (of course, a black card), takes the beautifully wrapped bag, and thanks the girls for their services -- and just as he's leaving, his phone rings.

of course he answers the phone with hello, darling. of course he begins to ask his girlfriend about her day, the girls think with some amount of annoyance -- of course. maybe the curse of retail isn't entitled assholes expecting you to wait on hand and foot for them -- maybe it's the handsome men coming in to splurge on their girlfriends while you're painfully single and working for pennies.

[yeyinde]

winter soldier au with John Price who was held in a gulag for three years and comes home wrong. comes back snarling and furious and threatening to rip apart the goddamn world if they don't give him what belongs to him, what's rightfully his, if they don't give him back his fucking wife, right this second—

the only problem is: John's ex-wife remarried. she's halfway around the world, and Laswell knows John enough to immediately squash that idea right away. but if not her, then who?

and then you walk into the room—a newly hired secretary that John has met less than a handful of times; a pencil pusher barely even a blip on the radar—but he pounces. snatches you up before any of them can react, tucking your bemused face into his chest, cradling you tight; possessively clutching at you as Kyle tries, and fails, to calm him down.

"you don't know her, sir. just let the girl go—"

it's met with a nasty snarl. all gleaming, bloodied teeth. a stranger in a familiar shape as John drags you further away from them. "this is my goddamn wife."

his declaration is met with shock. you're definitely not his wife. you barely know him much outside of a several, threadbare exchanges where he breathed down your neck about filing the wrong reports, and the cluttered mess of your desk ("a goddamn eyesore—"). you're not even friends. and in all honesty, you didn't even think he liked you that much. so. wife?

but he's beyond reason. his head a mangled, trenched mess of artillery fire and Makarov's torture. three years, Kate breathes. three whole years.

you can tell, almost immediately, by the look on her face that this—that you—will become a necessary loss in the grand scheme of things. and when John lets her close enough to whisper into your ear (having somehow convinced him that he can just walk out of here with you, his fucking wife, leaving for the marital home (and bed) that he demands from them for this brief stalemate)—she hurriedly tells you about their plot. this high risk, no reward scenario of playing along. not that you have much of a choice.

keeping John Price as close to them as possible was worth more than something as flimsy, as malleable as your agency, your autonomy. and if the way to do it was to let a brainwashed man play house with you, then so be it.

she, at the very least, offers a grim sort of smile even though you can see her working out the mechanics of it all as she makes promises on your behalf. things like, yes, John, you can leave with your wife. she missed you so much, John. she's so happy you're home.

"we kept your wife safe for you, John—" no one seems to react to the violent way Johnny has to be dragged out of the room by Ghost, kicking and screaming at the injustice of it all because th' captain wouldnae do this! don't do this t'him!

and John—if there's any part of that man still inside him, he doesn't let an inch of it show—just nods, lip pulling up into a snarl as he bullies you closer to his chest, and growls about finally getting you home.

"I'll keep you with me," he rasps, blunt fingers spreading wide over the fill of your body. a mad, twisted gleam of possessiveness, ownership, burning in bruised blue as he familiarises himself with this body he claimed as his. "right where you belong, wife."

(the word comes out in a bite. snaps around you and sounds just like mine.)