iklanklatenutara

[solbaby7]

I would like to order a Vodka Cranberry neat please, with a salt rim and add a lime if that’s allowed please 👀😏🫶🏼

if that’s allowed? honey we all know by now i will ride the angst train until the wheels fall off🫡

[ “why do you even care?” “because i do” + smut/angst + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

“Will you—will you just stop for a second and listen to me?”

“That’s all I ever do, Az.” The words wobble, a combination of anger and sadness ruining its stability. Tears stream down your face, staining the silk of your dress and smearing makeup that took you entirely too long to perfect. “Listen to you and all your bullshit promises that you never fucking keep.”

His stealth is frustrating but not more than the pure self-hatred that brews when you can’t fight the desire to glance over your shoulder; foolishly allowing your chest to bloom with heat when you realize he was following you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this anymore.

He promised to stay away.

Too dangerous, he said. Worried for your safety, he insisted.

Refused to be responsible for the guilt that would ensue if something horrid ever happened to you; a truth he can’t confess but you’re well versed in reading between the lines.

“I know, I’m sorry—just please hear me out. Put me out of my fucking misery because I can’t keep watching you go out with males who don’t even deserve to share your air.”

If you weren’t so hurt, maybe your mind would’ve latched onto the last part of his sentence rather than the first. “Put you out of your misery?” The harsh click of your heels on cobblestone halts so abruptly it makes Azriel bump into you a little. Bare arms brush against the sturdy material of his leathers as they cross over your chest, goosebumps staved off by the steady warmth he radiates and you pretend that’s why you don’t create more distance. “Why do you even care?”

You’re not sure to really even want the answer.

Certain, it won’t be good enough.

After everything Azriel had put you through, this never ending game of tug of war. Giving you an inch only for him to rear back and snatch a mile. Your expectations are unrealistic; a soldier hanging up his sword just for you.

“Because, I do.”

And yet, you still amuse the possibility.

Dusting off your hands and re-familiarizing yourself with the burn of rope in your grasp before taking a sharp, experimental tug.

Bodies gravitate closer like magnets, attempting to resist until the pull becomes too much.

Your heart hammers in your chest, silence filling the air for one, two, three whole seconds before the collision happens. Your lips against his own; a frenzy of a kiss where you can’t really tell if your hands are running through his hair or tracing down the strong line of his neck and shoulders just to feel him or just to remember.

All hard lines and harsh breaths as tongues grow reacquainted. The pathetic little whimper he lets out when nails scratch along the back of his neck, a bite that toes the line of too much. “Shouldn’t matter to you who I date.”

It only makes him hold you tighter, tugging your hips in closer. “I know it shouldn't.” His words muffle against your mouth, too stubborn or too selfish to pull away for even a second—not when he's finally gotten you close. “But, it still does." Shadows stretch forward, cloaking you in darkness; shielding you from the hopeless male you'd left back at the restaurant, as if they feared he'd come stumbling out in search of you.

They make it clear that you're already taken; trapped even, by a male too greedy to allow even a drop of you be spilled. Azriel's tongue trails down the length of your neck, nose nuzzling in the inviting scent of your body oils. Memorizing parts of you he’d thought long forgotten.

A mole here. Scars there. Soft pudge that warms him down to the marrow when pressed against his hardness. “You can’t just keep following me around.”

Following was a light way of putting it—stalking was more right.

His figure looming in your blind spots, lingering around corners and watching like a hawk that’s locked onto its prey. Your routine is committed to memory from the moment your fire tokes in the morning to the bakery you stop by in the middle of the week for a slice of fresh key lime pie. A reward for refraining from replying to his letters or pointedly ignoring the stunning floral display that arrives on your porch every week like clockwork. “Can’t stop even if I wanted to. Not when I know you’re out with someone who can’t even make you laugh.”

“At least they don’t make me cry.” Damn you for leaning in closer, basking in that familiar brood and the masculine musk that sends all five senses into a fritz. A defeated sigh escapes you when you melt to mush under his palms; too vulnerable to lie. “It’s easier with them.”

“Easy’s overrated.” He’s kneading at the swell of your hips until bravery grows or restraint snaps and he’s pawing at handfuls of your ass. Guiding you back until you can feel rough brick catching on strands of your hair. “Boring too—bet he wouldn’t have been able to make you cum. Even if he actually tried.”

Takes everything in you not to bite back. Especially because Azriel’s sort of right but admitting that out loud is more humiliating than your body just giving it away. By now, he has to feel the frantic pulse of your jugular under his tongue. “Maybe I should go back and find out.”

If his warning growl doesn’t send shivers down your spine, the nip of his teeth on such sensitive flesh does. “I dare you to try.”

A challenge that comes with stipulations.

Skillful hands work their way under your dress, teasing at soft thighs until his knuckles are bumping against lace—it locks you in place. Azriel lets out a mean chuckle when you hike one leg up on his hip, spreading yourself wide; presenting yourself instead of running away like you should.

It just feels so good.

Lower lips are spread wide, dripping with slick as two thick fingers glide through with ease. Azriel knows his way around, just barely dipping into a greedy hole before retreating only to tap at an achy bundle of nerves so he can see the desperate jolt of your hips. “No,” He speaks more so for himself than you, too occupied with prying you open and feeling your arousal pool in his palm. “You wouldn’t do that. Probably haven’t had a cock in this cunt since that last time I filled it—feels just as tight as I left it.”

If the nights chill wasn’t nipping at bared skin, you know your blush would’ve burned all the way down your chest. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying.”

You shouldn’t have said that. Probably wouldn’t have if Azriel’s thumb wasn’t working perfectly against your clit, calloused fingers rubbing against slick inner walls, abusing nooks and cranny’s that leave your knees buckling. “Don’t you know that you can’t give away a pussy that doesn’t belong to you?” Salacious sounds squelch between your thighs, head thrown back and eyes rolling in your skull as Az takes and takes; unlocking the doors to your sex and greeting it with a warm welcome. “Not if I still own it.”

[cvrnelians]

nightmare

dark!frank x reader: Frank is sorry he has to do this to you, he really is. At least, that’s what he tells himself…and you.

content warnings: kidnapping. this blog is 18+ only, minors do not interact

hi everyone. if you think you've seen this story before, you just might've. this is a reupload. i deleted my account and all my fics. i was becoming really overwhelmed by all my WIPs and had a lot of unfinished stories and projects on hiatus. i'm going to be slowly reuploading my finished stories, and will only be uploading multichapter fics if i have them completed in advance. thank you for reading. 🖤 -rina

��

It’s dark when you wake up, so dark that you question whether you have truly opened your eyes. You are not awake yet, surely not. You are merely in a dream. A pleasant dream, a quiet dream. A dream where only you can go, in a place where no one else can follow.

Not even him.

You entertain the delusion for a while, but ultimately you know it’s hopeless. The arms wrapped around your torso—tightening and loosening over and over again, as if he wants to make sure you are real, too—tether you to the present moment.

The darkness of the room no longer serves as a warm blanket. It is as if you are trapped underwater, stuck in a sinkhole, floating aimlessly throughout the cosmos. Or trapped in a basement.

You are fully conscious, alright.

If only you were alone.

In the moments after you wake, you try to take deep breaths. But as the weight on your chest builds—as you are increasingly aware of just how completely your captor is surrounding you, with your back flush up against his chest—your breathing becomes shallow, rapid. So rapid that he notices.

He notices everything.

He also seems to notice that you are crying. His grip on you tightens as he shushes you, lightly rocking you back and forth.

You feel pathetic.

“Hey. Breathe. Breathe with me, alright?”

Time passes. You’re not sure how long. But eventually, the pain in your chest dissipates. He leans over you so that he is propped up on his elbow, still spooning you but he’s…hovering.

He’s always hovering.

“Nightmare?”

You can just barely see the outline of his features. Since he left yesterday afternoon, it looks like he has acquired some new scrapes, cuts, and bruises. He always does. It disturbs you, so much so that you neglect to ask how he got them. Even with his seemingly constant stream of injuries, maybe you would have thought Frank was handsome, in some other life. You tell yourself that he’s a boxer, or a professional fighter or trainer or something.

Somehow, something in you knows better.

You can tell he wants you to say something. Terrified to disappoint—as you have before, and it certainly did not end well for you—you nod, peering up at him.

“Something like that,“ you mumble.

He reaches down and runs his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. His fingertips run along your temple, your cheek, your jawline. He nods, leaning his head to the side, as if admiring you. Maybe he is.

“I get them, too, you know.”

You’re unsure of what to say. You clear your throat, letting out an awkward and rather delayed “I’m sorry.”

He is silent for a few seconds. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all. You start to develop a pit in your stomach, but then he lies back down again, pulling you close against his chest. You can feel his chin pressed against the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, sighing. “For everything.”

You almost believe him.

Somehow, something in you knows better.

[madwickedawesome]

the pianist, valeira lakrisenko, 2017

[iliothermia]

It’s heartbreaking as a disabled artist to be reliant on always needing to make work and always needing to sell it. Always needing to sell everything you make to get by because there’s not other options for you. Not being able to plan bigger projects, not being able to hold onto anything. Not being able to take the time to work on things without feeling the timer ticking down because you need to finish something new to sell, so you don’t get the sleep you need.. And then when you do invest in future things you think are cool.. You will never be able to keep them. You can’t afford your own work, and owning art’s not a necessity and everyone around you is struggling, understandably.. most of them can’t either 

[ciaran]

narratives of american exceptionalism creep into every part of life

and there is just something extraordinary about seeing a bunch of people be so blissfully unaware of what it means, on a very fundamental level, to live in the heart of empire. it actually does not matter which way you vote, your government will commit and fund war crimes in other countries regardless. your voting blue makes not the least bit of difference to someone in another country who dies in the wreckage of american imperial projects. and your government works in the interests of american citizens. in the interest of the universal purchasing power of the dollar. in the way that the flow of global capital maneuvers to bring groceries to your supermarket shelves. and it doesn't matter what you feel about this, and it doesn't even matter how oppressed you are in the heart of empire, because you live in its centerfold and everyone always knows about your problems. i know exactly how complicated american life is, i know your movies and your cities and your music and even your laws, sometimes better than i can know my own, not because i wanted to see it but because i have to. because the narrative of America plays out everywhere, all the time. because there is a domination of civil and cultural life that america imposes on all the rest of the world, but somehow americans always think we know as little about them as they know about us. but i do know you. i have to know you. i am left with no choice. this is uncomfortable for me. i want you to feel uncomfortable about it too. a little discomfort is good for both of us.

[chilipepperconverse]

.

[elftwink]

been learning to play ironsworn (gritty fantasy ttrpg which you can play with a gm but is mostly suited for solo or small group co-op gmless play) after having the rulebook pdf for several years (stars finally aligned to remove invisible thing blocking me from reading it idk) because i'm on another solo ttrpg kick & i don't know what took me so long to get around to this game because it genuinely is exactly what i was looking for. years ago when i was playing through solo 5e modules i should have just been playing ironsworn (believe it or not, 5e isn't very suited to solo play and is extremely clunky when you try lol).

also though i have dabbled in some other solo ttrpgs, a considerable amount of them are journaling games which is fun but imo considerably more work (usually by the time i'm a quarter of the way through the journal entry, i know how to entire scene played out and i want to move on to the next gameplay thing, so i get frustrated and bored quickly. it feels like when you solve a level in a video game but don't have the coordination to pull off the necessary move so you have to spend 20 extra minutes doing something you already figured out), so i really appreciate like not needing to write something for the game to progress (ive been taking notes for my own record since im playing solo and thus am not really out loud roleplaying the way you do in a group, but i definitely could do that instead and not take notes and the game would still function perfectly)

& ive been playing by myself but also in the past ive played a lot of ttrpgs in very small groups which has been other games but is mostly dnd and like. we also should have been playing ironsworn so that having a gm was not necessary. have definitely played games where we had to adapt the rules soooo much to do something that is just base game included in ironsworn. plus it's rules-light enough to do pretty complex moves that pose difficulties in bulkier games (ever introduced someone to dnd and they tell you they want to do a sick backflip and catch something and then attack and you have to tell them that will require several different consecutive rolls and some creative liberties with how the rules are 'supposed' to let you move? you can just Do That in ironsworn. use the strike move and describe it. done!)

the one thing is that although it's rules-light enough to theoretically play any setting or genre (some with more difficulty than others), ive found so far that like... the grittiness and sense of threat is very built into the mechanics so that would be sort of difficult to work around or change (but i think it's great from a game design perspective). what i mean is like, okay: you start with 5 max hp. there isn't really a way to raise this max hp, you just slowly gain abilities (assets) that make you less likely to have to lose the hp in the first place, or that make it easier to recover. when you encounter foes, you rank them on a scale of 1 -5, and enemies on the lowest side of this scale do one harm to you, while enemies on the highest side do five harm to you. so even though encountering an epic enemy won't always be deadly due to the assets you have, they are ALWAYS capable of taking you down to 0 hp with one good hit. so the feeling of threat is much more present compared to games where your character starts to be able to just tank and push through a failure or huge threat.

admittedly also i'm playing solo, im still learning how to balance combat, and also i built a character who has NO combat talents and iron (the close quarters fighting stat) is one of my lowest stats so i personally am under much more threat than if you built a character who knew how to fight or who could do deadly harm. but also the other thing about combat is it's extremely difficult to maintain control of the fight; you have to score a strong hit to do it on basically all moves, and there's a really limited pool of moves available when you don't have the initiative, and obviously none of them really favour you. i don't know that this makes combat genuinely more difficult, but it does make you feel like the fight is always about to spiral out of your control. every second you let it drag without decisive action feels like it brings you closer to dying. like i said, this is a feature of the game design and not a problem in any way. just thinking about it because when i was initially learning i was going to try to supplant it into a homebrew fantasy world of my own but the tone just wouldn't be right. and that it is somewhat difficult to replicate the kind of worlds that i typically play or run for dnd, which tend to lean somewhat sillier and definitely much higher fantasy

but i like to try new things and tbh especially in dnd i find that i very rarely feel that sense of threat and when i do feel it, it has nothing at all to do with the actual mechanics and reality of the combat and everything to do with how well the dm sells it to me and makes it sound and feel scary and dangerous. which is a testament to what a good gm can do for you but i do appreciate the threat feeling more built-in and also being actually real.

[suffercerebral]

me having gone to bed at 6 am every day for the past week and generally spiraling mentally while rotting in bed waking up this morning: a 4 mile hike in the heat is a really good idea right now, and while we're at it let's start like 3 art projects

[imgonnagetyoubacktv]

so sad for absolutely no reason

[halfyearsqueen]

rhaenyra’s notion of freedom is basically ? the idea she isn’t wholly stuck in place, that she’s not trapped, and that she can leave whenever she wants to, that her destiny isn’t wholly fixed .

[pokemonruby]

my therapist telling me that i’m smart, i have immense potential, and that she genuinely believes that i can add something to this world is just… man. stuff you need to hear for real 😭

[aberooski]

I'm seriously hanging on by a thread right now I might just go drop dead 😭

[viscer-aa]

I really fucking hate that my personal experience being polyam is that my internalized hatred of it came primarily from other polyam people giving me irreparable trauma. I have so much shit going on I’m honestly too worn down to unpack this bullshit. Cat lady time.

[mishkakagehishka]

Me when i dream of lil Mika but it's another nightmare

[darkmothsy]

When you feel like you're just a job to people and they don't actually like you or like being around you cause you're brain damaged and constant work