#it's very short

[numbbrainstrorm]

Early morning sketches be like :

I'm trying to post more regularly

But I also forgot how to draw 🫠

[rorichuu]

☆ MIDAS x TROPHY-WIFE!READER ☆

photo made my @cossmoluck! go check out and support their page! :)

trophy wife definition — a young, attractive woman who is the wife of a rich and successful older person and acts as a symbol of the person's social position.

┆rori's note: here is the long and awaited part 2 of my first midas fic !!! ( found here <3 ) . . . i appreciate everyone who reblogged, liked, and commented! i loved making that fic, and i apologize for not posting sooner. it's been a verrry hectic year and I'm trying to ease back into writing again. thank you so much for your patience! i hope you like this short smut fic i provide for yall :)

┆disclaimer/tags: ♯ smutty , more modern . . . part two of midas putting you back in your place as his wife. ୨୧ˊˊ

Midas’ hip was locked with yours, his unforgiving pace of skin against skin was enough to make you cry… tears falling down your blushed cheeks as your hands desperately tried to hide your own face.

               Midas no longer cared for the visitors just a floor below them, the idea that they could hear your screams of pleasure was intoxicating to him… risk, something he could take with little penalty. The ego that inflated his mind was simply a pawn to his advantage, and you—his dearest—being one of them.

               Your husband shook his head, a smirk playing at his face as his hand wrapped around your paired wrists, pinning them above you so he could see you writhe beneath him. As your thigh rested above his shoulder, he was dangerously close to you, testing your flexibility with each thrust. “Wanna see you,” he groaned beneath his breath, his cheeks dusted pink by the heat inescapable between you two. You shook your head, sobs leaving your throat as your pussy throbbed… the feeling of pain and erotic sensations stimulating you to exhaustion.

Feigned, Midas pouted and nodded, a chuckle leaving his throat as he slowed… sadistic and cruel, the love for the excruciation he put on his lover. The way tears prickled the corners of your eyes, the way you arched and tried, ever so desperately, to get away. Yet, his hold on your hips was stubborn, the plush of your skin against his calloused fingertips.

As he picked up his pace once more, he brought each of your legs to rest on either side of his shoulders. As he did so, he pushed farther on you. A cry left your throat as your hand flew up to his forearm, the muscle flexing as he gripped you. Midas shook his head. “You got it princess,” he whispered, kissing the side of your knee. Mesmerized, he locked eyes with you, gold and the ghostly white. “Takin’ me so well, you got a bit more in you, don’t ya’, doll?” With his praise contradicting his actions, you were always left guessing… from the way he bruised your cunt, to the soft kisses and whispers of praise… too pretty not to ruin.

Your husband’s pace began to quicken once he heard footsteps and chatter outside the door, assuredly, nearing the stairs. Fear clouded over you, your grip on his forearm now tightening as you silently begged him to stop… but to no avail, he kept his pace. “Wanted me to fuck you in front of ‘m, right?” He spoke, his hand slipping from your leg to hold your hand with his. “Couldn’t wait a fucking hour, so you’d rather them hear you?” Desperately trying to quit his movements, the mere idea of them eavesdropping was something to drive you mad, but your husband feasted off your fear; of their whispered controversy; of losing it all just so he could pound that attitude out of you. How you loved to add fuel to the fire, especially when Midas got primal like this.

Midas lifted your hand, kissing the inside of your wrists as he noticed the way you clenched around him, your walls suffocating his cock as he nearly begged to come inside. His eyes flickered to yours. “Can I fill my pretty wife up? Would she like that?” he asked, voice slicked in a pretty sweetness as you merely moaned in response. Unsatisfied, his hand dropped yours and cradled your face, hands forcing your cheeks to a pout. “Use your words.” he demanded, his tone making you nod crazily. You two have talked about kids before—the idea of your swollen stomach carrying his children, perked up tits… watching you care for your own—it drove him mad.

“Please, M…Midas,” you stumbled on your own words, cock-drunk and hazy with bliss… Midas groaned, lewd and satisfied with your response as he quickened his pace. His hands were quick to find your hips, one hand straying to hold the side of your thigh atop his shoulder. “Outside!” You whispered, voice filled with worry and a hurried breath… the man shook his head.

“Need them… to hear you,” he mumbled, brows furrowed with focus as his breath shook… the feeling of you around him, the plush warmth… it made him dizzy. His best fucking heaven, you. And with your known frightened state, his pace became brutal. Skin slapping against skin as he leaned his head against your thigh, pounding into your ruthlessly as you cried out. Your voice was broken and sobbing, your husband’s cock hitting that same spot every time… the throbbing of your cunt, your abused bud, it made you squirm and claw at his forearms.

               Midas smiled at the way your nails made marks into his skin, the trail of red following from the way your body responded to his unrelenting pace. Your back arched and writhed, adoring the way you tried to free yourself from his hold despite your thighs holding his face.

               Your husband cursed under his breath, nails digging into your thighs as he pounded his release into your sweet cunt… sliding and painting your heat as he rode you into your orgasm. You screamed, hands flying to your face to mute your noises, but Midas wouldn’t have it. His hand flung to your wrists and captured them, bringing them to his chest as you sobbed. His gaze darkened; eyebrows furrowed as he focused on you. He watched your every movement, focused on how your nose scrunched, tears escaping from the corners of your eyes with desperation as he began to slow.

               Drunk of lust in your shared limbo, your body began to relax under his… thighs slack on his shoulders as Midas eased himself to cradle your body with his. Your husband gently kissed your chest and up to your collarbone, focusing completely on you alone. “I love you so much, angel,” he whispered, low and hardly above a whisper. Your hand limply combed through his black hair, giving it a small tug as you felt him smile against your glistening skin. “Mhm, so perfect.” Midas would drown you in praise… you were his trophy, his love, his everything. If anyone deserved it most, it was you.

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.

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rorichuu!

MENTIONS ! : @reneofthevalley

[ivy-saurs]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright

Characters: Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth

Additional Tags: Post-Gyakuten Saiban 3 | Trials & Tribulations, Pre-Relationship, Mentioned Maya Fey, Mentioned Pearl Fey, Mentioned Mia Fey, Mentioned Larry Butz, Mentioned Dick Gumshoe, Mentioned Franziska von Karma, Mentioned Manfred von Karma, Mentioned Ema Skye, phoenix and miles are kinda sorta trying to flirt in their own weird way, but they suck at it and that's okay

Summary:

In an unexpected gesture of goodwill, Edgeworth offers Phoenix a ride home from court, giving the two a chance to talk about topics other than the law.

[therisingdarkness]

I read this really introspective piece by @eclec-tech that was based on some amazing art by @cloned-eyes and I was inspired to write a lil angsty blurb. It's not long and it's not much, but I needed to get it out there. I hope it's a short, sweet read for everyone who gives it a shot. I wish I could have written more but the brain worms won't let me work in peace.

~~~

Echo stared at his hand.

Ugly, black stitching attached fingers to palm and wrist to arm, the skin discolored and mismatched from the chemicals pumping through his veins to keep him ‘alive’. Or unalive. He didn’t know what to call this state of existence any longer. It wasn’t living, not in any way it was meant to be.

Surviving, maybe. Every breath drawn labored in his lungs before finally escaping. Every beat of his heart felt like the stutter of a torn drum. His stomach growled and ached from pangs of hunger, his lips dry and chapped, cracking at the corners. His eyes ached because he did not often allow himself to sleep. It was too dangerous and he did not want to be caught unawares. 

His existence, if he could call it such, was made up of a never ending stream of aches and pains and discomfort. He didn’t know anything else, had forgotten the time before when he had felt anything other….

Except….

His friend.

Could he refer to them as such? Was it allowed? Would they look at him with the same warmth and understanding that came before? Would they touch his cheek as tenderly if they knew that he thought of them, often, and dreamed of their face when he finally succumbed to exhaustion?

Today he had initiated the first touch. The tears in their eyes and the waver in their voice…reaching for their hand in a show of support had seemed like the natural thing to do, though he couldn’t exactly recall why. He…he wasn’t sure of much when it came to the fragmented memories of his past, but he was sure there hadn’t been much opportunity for candid touches. Not like that, anyway.

But his friend…they hadn’t flinched at the chill of his skin against theirs. His dry, stiff skin, mismatched fingers—(How many of them were his? How many more belonged to the brothers he had lost? How many of his kin had Wat Tambor butchered to piece him back together?)—closed around their smaller hand and squeezed with a gentility he had to force, but they hadn’t shied away from his touch.

Their expression and reciprocation had inspired a warmth flickering to life within, but now he couldn’t help but lose himself to his thoughts.

Did they know?

Could they understand?

His hand…his arm…too much of him had needed replacing. Tambor had explained very little to him at the time, but his evil genius craved the satisfaction of recognition. 

“It took four of your brothers to make you whole again,” Tambor hummed as he inserted cable after cable into the ports implanted in his skull. It hurt—it hurt, but he had no voice, not yet, nothing with which to cry out. He opened his mouth anyway, a silent scream trapped in his lungs and arching his back as he strained against the heavy manacles trapping him on the examination table.

“Stop squirming. You’ll tear your stitches. Again. Perhaps I should have left you in stasis while I worked…ah, but to see the nerves come alive again, the muscles twitching…no, it’s better this way.”

Four of his brothers…he couldn’t remember their names. He saw their faces in his, but sometimes it didn’t feel right. He hated his likeness and avoided it at all costs. The last time he had accidentally caught a glimpse of himself was in the distorted reflection from a stream he had stopped to drink from, nearly a year ago. 

Thick sutures ran diagonally across his face and from the corners of his mouth down beneath his chin. He could feel them wrapping around his temples and the back of his head, intersecting and branching off, like spiderweb cracks spreading across a sheet of glass. He didn’t want to think about whose jaw was attached to his face, didn’t want to think about the way the circle of flesh surrounding his left eye was a slightly different shade. 

He didn’t know how much of him was…him.

And he didn’t want his friend to question it, though he suspected they soon would. They had asked him so many questions…and he had answered all of them, as truthfully as he knew how because the kindness they had shown him deserved no less than his honesty in return.

But…if they asked him about this….

He curled his fingers toward his palm, squeezing his hand into a fist so tight his nails dug into the worn flesh of his palm. He didn’t bleed, but he felt the biting pain that came from cutting so deep into his skin and breathed a sigh of relief, quickly followed by crushing guilt.

The hand was not his own, nor were the fingers. He felt it deep in his bones, though he couldn’t articulate why. Hurting himself always felt like…a disservice to his brothers, the parts they had sacrificed, perhaps unknowingly—of course, they were dead, stupid, they had to be—shouldn’t be abused further than they already were.

He had already lost his other arm to the mobs that came before his escape into the deeper woods. Deep scars wound up the stump of his bicep from where he had hacked away at his arm with the sharp edge of a rock, pulling and twisting like an animal caught in a trap until the stitching tore free and the muscle pulled back to reveal the glistening white of bone. It had broken easily after that and he had fled, abandoning the remains of his limb in the shackle that had held him.

He could not afford to injure his body further—there was no one else who could fix him. 

…and he couldn’t stomach the guilt that came with every fresh wound, suspecting what he did. 

Echo glanced over at the basket his friend had left with him. In addition to the usual selection of dried meats, fruits, and cheese, there was also a still warm loaf of freshly baked bread and a thin, folded blanket—not much in the way of protection against the harsh winter months, but for the impending cool of autumn, it was more than enough. His stomach growled, louder this time as he looked over the generous selection of food, and he knew it was pointless to put off eating for longer than he already had.

Guilt did not fill an empty stomach.

[todayintokyo]

Zen – Grogu and Dust Bunnies, a hand-drawn animated short by Studio Ghibli, available on Disney+

[topazshadowwolf]

WOOOO! Soriel Week! Enjoy day 1!

[acebender]

don’t want to close my eyes

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Laudna/Imogen Temult Characters: Imogen Temult, Laudna (Critical Role), Fearne Calloway Additional Tags: One Shot, Short One Shot, Ficlet, Angst, Canon Compliant, set in c3e52, Bells Hells, Imodna, no beta we die like Molly, might read like slight Fearne x Imogen but I wasn't aiming for that Summary:

“Hm.” Laudna hummed. Imogen felt a kiss on her head. “Sleep, darling.” She repeated.

Imogen adored moments like this. Just the two of them, nothing more in the world to worry about. No intrusive thoughts from others, no bothersome townfolk calling them witches, no solstices…

--

Imogen has a moment of respite.

[blueberyboy]

Sadness. I needed it sorry.

Summary: Ponyboy goes to Johnny’s gravestone.

[cork-run]

the names of certain mob-involved trans women have been changed

[ardri-na-bpiteog]

Also increasingly aware that a LOT of people "manage" getting through the 40+ hour work week by sleeping less than is healthy and relying on stimulants like coffee and energy drinks to keep them going.

For people who are unwilling or unable to do this...work really does just dominate your life. Like we really should not have to rely on unhealthy practices just to have a social life or keep on top of housework or whatever.

I know I post about this a lot but I'm so TIRED all the time and it's just so depressing that this is how we're expected to spend the one life we have.

[aparticularbandit]

Have not done much the writing because have been the busy.

Am taking a nap and hoping that prevents the current minor headache from getting worse.

(But this one is also a yearly thing. We have a mission team come up and help with the city festival; I help with the festival, and after the first full day - headache. Today was not a festival day, but a fun day which was spent mainly outside. So I think it's pollen or sun sickness or Bandit gets used to being outside idk. Allergies maybe. But hopefully if I rest enough it will not be too bad.)

[canisalbus]

✦ I've been saving all my summers for you ✦

[katsinspats]

Thematically appropriate comic for Make a Terrible Comic Day!!

I saw the original post this morning and it made me get out of bed to make something, so thank u Pseudonym Jones mission accomplished

[spitblaze]

I guess Chilchuck has brought us right back to 'adults who are short are child-coded and if you like them you're a pedophile' discourse huh