#inspo hit me

[kokoenjiandco]

something is brewing..... hehrhehrhee

[peachsayshi]

sukuna’s concubines serve him. they are there for his pleasure. they don’t get to ask, demand or request anything in return. he uses them for a good fuck, and they comply with obedience. but…things are different with you - his favorite, most precious little pet -

you’re the only one he gets on his knees for, who he worships from between your legs, with his tongue buried against your heat as he eats you out just to hear your pretty cries. you’re the one who earns orgasm after orgasm under the cruel ministrations of his fingers, just because he enjoys watching how far he can push you. you’re the one who sleeps by his side after he fucks you, who remains in the safe comfort of his embrace and who gets littered with sweet kisses just because you’ve earned his adoration

no one else gets this treatment, this reciprocation, other than his most favored~

[ramibow]

hey fish boy

[bizarre-paradox]

fake ass emo caught u smiling

[kabukiaku]

His eyes are enthralling....Omega but he's wearing the mask from Depth of Satan's Eyes.

this unintentionally became anniversary art for this amazing album.

bonus:

[insomnious-illustrations]

I did some Legend of Korra redraws of scenes I thought were neat :) 

[bruhstation]

[wingedog]

You know that feeling you get when you want to escape into a piece of media so bad its an ache in your chest?

[captaincanonly]

none of these make sense. send help. i’ve gone woke…..

[whump-queen]

good idea: whumper tying their whumpee up and forcing them to cuddle

whumper’s arms wrapped tight and possessive around whumpee’s injured form—too strong to be fought off, or perhaps whumpee is just too weak by this point.

a softly murmured "behave” into the crook of whumpee’s neck while spooning

whumper digging their nails into fresh cuts, getting a whine and hiss in response—but they stop struggling, and whumper leans in close to their ear with a growling murmer— “mmn. good boy.”

whumpee feeling slow kisses pressed into the side of their neck that make their skin crawl

maybe whumpee gets their hands bound in front of them this time, so they can fit in closer against whumper. and its more comfortable too. “shh, let yourself enjoy this.”

whumper cuddling with their hand around whumpee’s throat, not squeezing or anything, just… resting there.

knowing that if they tried to pull away, that hand would tighten instantly and squeeze until whumpee was dizzy and writhing back against them

and size difference… their throat, so small and soft and delicate under whumper’s rough fingertips

the way whumper’s hands would fit around their waist— the way they could press in under their ribs until whumpee is choking and their chest is spasming

whumpee shivering when they feel low whispers in their ear. just… so sticky and possessive

whumpee waking up with sore aching muscles from being kept in the same uncomfortable position all night. they sleepily try and flex their muscles and move around—then they’re hit fully awake with a jolt of cold panic when they realize where they are—and that they still can’t move at all.

waking up with whumper’s arms still tightly wrapped around them and trying desperately to squirm away, before they feel whumper’s hold tighten around them and hear a sleepy possessive growl in their ear, “mnn… no. you stay.”

just… any of the ‘tied up and kept like that’ tropes melt my fucjfen brain

(shoutout @unorganisedalienrubbish for helping inspire today’s episode of terrible sticky intimate whumper shit)

[robiinurheart33]

I’m SUCH a sucker for drunk calls/texts confessing their love and y’all know I gotta project it onto ghoap (buckle up guys its a long one I had to break it into two parts SORRY) pt. 2 (clicks for Palestine)

Soap’s blood is pumping. He can feel it heat up in his cheeks in the form of a blush, giggles bubbling up in his throat and his mind loose enough to just sew together a semblance of a bad idea.

Deployment had been boring at first. Stuck at home with unending nervous energy, fingers twitching and aching for the solid feel of a gun, the rough texture of his vest, the adrenaline clapping him on the shoulder before shooting through his veins like a drug. It was so unendingly dull. It’s not like he had anyone waiting for him at his apartment in Glasgow, and their break time was too short to visit his Ma.

So why not invite a few buddies out to drink? No harm, no foul.

Well, that’s what he initially thought. A couple hours later of wheezing and pounding of the table, shoes sticking to the ground and the smell of booze wafting though the air, Soap could confidently say that he was wasted. He’s leaning heavily on his buddy, chum, pal, that he for the life of him cannot remember right now. He’s swaying from side to side, feeling unusually breathless as he mumbles what could be the song that’s playing right now. He’s not sure. He combs his fingers through his hair, scratching a bit anxiously at the nape of his neck. Soap’s not sure if he wants to cry or laugh or vomit right about now. Pretty sure that’s a sign to fuck off, pass out on his bed and deal with the rest tomorrow.

Soap pushes off his… friend? Wait, did he even come with him? And heads towards the general direction where the toilet is. Might as well not look like a homeless person before heading home, wouldn’t wanna scare anyone. His head is spinning, pounding, loud, loud, loud, and nowhere near done with its madness. Soap slams his hand on the wall beside the toilet door, squinting and hoping the door he’s reaching for is the actual door, not it’s double. He does, in fact, get the right door (small miracles), and pushes it open.

He fumbles with his zipper and exhales heavily as he relieves himself. The man beside him in the toilet exits with a sniffle and stumbles out, the music getting louder for a second before the door closes again. Soap leans heavily against the sink counter and washes his hands, placing his fingers together and splashing water onto his face. Soap drags his hands down before greyish-blue eyes look back at him with a piercing stare. He blinks, and re-evaluates again. His hair is flopping to one side, weighed down by sweat. His face is flushed and his skin glows slightly with a thin sheen of sweat, his freckles just shy of being seen under his rosy cheeks, eyebags evident through the haze. He looks down and- oh. It appears his attempt at splashing his face with water wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped, half of his shirt drenched in water. Soap tugs loosely at the corner of his sleeves, releasing the bundled up fabric at his pits. He frowns in discomfort as the sticky heat of his arms lay back down against his skin. He sighs once more, not really feeling like his lungs are filling with oxygen, turning around and laying his hip against the counter lazily before pulling out his phone. 0237. He swipes down on his home screen and pouts at the “no new notifications” tab. He unlocks his phone and swipes through his contacts, unsure of who to drunk text at this hour. Gaz is probably asleep by now, if anyone has a spotless sleeping schedule, it’d be him. Price would have his head on a platter if he texted him about anything non-military business. Laswell, no. Ghost?

Huh.

Ghost…could be someone he could text. Soap isn’t quite sure if he would be awake right now. Do ghosts even need sleep? He huffs at his little comment, tapping on their chat together. Do they have the kind of relationship where soap can dramatically drunk text Ghost at 2am right now? Soap lets out a little bemused huff when he sees that he reached a dead end to their chat after one swipe of his thumb. Of course. Right bastard doesn’t text anyone. He tilts his head up to meet the flickering white light of the bathroom ceiling, watching water damage and mold streak across the concrete. Ghost… how is he during deployment? Does he still wear that mask around the relative safety of his own apartment? Does he have any hobbies? Does he go to the gym as well? Does he long to be back on base? Does he long to be back in the chaos of the war zone, alongside soap? Does he think of soap? Does he ever think to- before Soap knows what he’s even doing, his fingers clumsily type out a greeting.

Hwlli

That’s not quite right.

Gellp

Nope.

Hellu

Oh my god.

Hello

There we go! Soap smiles giddily at his screen, bringing it closer to his face before very carefully writing a much more sophisticated and brilliant follow up.

U up?

He’s the smartest person in the entire world. He supposes a part of himself preens at the thought of even just being able to text someone like Ghost. Big, bad, Ghost. He decidedly does not giggle like a schoolgirl. Just as his mind starts to wander back to the world outside the sickly bathroom, his phone vibrates, and looks down in confusion.

Drunk?

Soap frowns.

Who

You.

Wanna try anf gues, Lt?

You are drunk.

He says it like it’s a fact, like he knows everything. It annoys Soap, much more than it should. He supposes that it could maybe be something to do with the massive amounts of alcohol thrumming through his bloodstream at the moment, but he knows for a fact that it slices through his brain, presses against his throat and contracts his chest.

Yiu think so?

I know so.

Soap thinks Ghost is being a real dick right now.

Ittle know iy all

You’re drunk, Johnny. What do you want me to do about it?

Johnny. Johnny. Johnny. His head spins. If he closes his eyes and imagines hard enough, he can hear the raspy gravel of Ghost’s solid, thick British accent murmuring commanders into his ear. Speaking of noises, his brain starts to register more of the music from outside, the start of a song that Soap can vaguely remember, but he can’t quite put his finger on it right now. The electric guitar, drums and bass all purr in his subconciousness, his lips parting over the words, moving silently as he tries to pinpoint exactly where in the song he is right now. There’s this tune… think of you.. repeat, until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee…do I wanna know? Soap whispers, his mind curling and his ribs creaking. He feels like he’s truly, deeply losing it now, fingers slowly loosening over his phone. His head feels too big and his cheeks are burning, his shirt too tight against his chest and arms and his toes too restricted under his shoes. Everything was funny and everything was too bright and shiny and yearning and blurring and he wishes Ghost was here and he wishes everything was different and he wishes life could just be a little bit easier and-

His phone is vibrating.

Crawling back to you.

[mrghostrat]

I saw someone on tiktok using a vintage napkin holder for a tablet stand and I immediately thought of aziraphale in your streamer au

omgh fghtdhjkgy es yep aziraphale uhuh, sure thing, totally for aziraphale, and not also for me *rapid clicking to find vintage stores in melbourne*

[murasakibonnet]

Some thumbnails for @kathaynesart Replica DTIYS comic cover contest

I’ve been wanting to create something based on Replica for the longest time so I’m pretty happy I’m finally getting to it. Not sure if it’ll be completed by the deadline, but I’ll def give it my all. Just trying to survive October for now, haha.

Best well wishes to the wonderful and talented Kathaynesart.

[damianyadesmond]

i just love the way damian sees anya so much

[kadextra]

Dapper left gifts at the satellite dish (where he lost his first life to the code attack) for Tallulah and Pomme, because he was too afraid to leave the house today and celebrate with everyone.

After delivering the gift to Tallulah, Bad afterwards took Pomme to the satellite to collect her present and read her note from Dapper:

Bad and Pomme then went back home to meet Dapper who was there working on machines, and they shared a hug and a heartfelt moment <3

[mossyflowers]

It's always the little things