#its one of my safe drinks

[vorecommunitywoes]

mlems here!

i honestly could care less if you refuse to stop using my tag, i'm not gonna be all "hhrrggghhh how dare you keep using my tag, We'RE GoNnA dOx YoU NOWWW >:[[[[", because it's honestly immature lol.

stay safe n drink water (or gatorade, iz fruity). happy 2025.

thanks, and honestly i thought the tag was like all the other ones bc ppl use it in conjunction w the vore tags and ppl who post vore consistently interact w it (including adults ive noticed)

just want to note that vore also isnt like, an inherently dirty (or sexual) word either in all of this. im not going to assume why ur uncomfortable w the word but thats sth to probably work out on ur own. when ur an adult theres ppl who have made a whole nonsexual adult vore community whod be more than happy w talking to you too, but for now itd be significantly safer to stay in what i assume is a private discord w other ppl ur age tht u have and to only privately invite other peers who are ok w that type of stuff

[awakenthebeing]

SURPRISE piepoe art !!!!!‼️‼️‼️‼️

don't know if i ever showed piepoe chase form but it is here <:3

[tboom10]

i felt like drawing something with vibrant colours as did i feel like drawing humans, so i did both.

the humanizations (? is that the right word?) of gangle and zooble and pomni too /ref were made by SonaDrawzStuffYT. i dont think she has a Tumblr, so here's a link to her youtube channel:

(if she has a tumblr, let me know so i can credit her for the designs)

[presiding]

genuinely admire those who were optimistic for dishonored 3 but in this videogame industry climate and [insert a 4hr video essay about arkane's recent history here], honestly, not getting dh3 is good news

[inkykeiji]

helloo :)

can i get thirst + 1950s kei hehe

prompt: thirst series: 1950s au warnings: historically inaccurate 1950s au, reader is female, ur in keigo’s lap for pretty much this entire piece, a very spit-slicked kiss words: 1.3k

absolutely!!! thank you so much for requesting him hehe c:

“It’s another hot-hot-hot one out there, folks! Twenty-eight degrees, with temps climbing into the mid-thirties, and a humidex of thirty-six,” the voice on the radio cackles, stuffed with static. “Be sure to keep those bodies cool and those throats hydrated!” 

Gosh, when is this heat wave gonna end? you’re murmuring to yourself as you push past the swinging screen door, a glass pitcher of freshly made ice cold lemonade in your hands, droplets of condensation already beginning to stream down the curved sides. 

“Hopefully this can help quench your thirst,” you set the pitcher down on the rickety wooden table next to Keigo, holding a glass steady as you pour, sure to get a few ice cubes and a slice of lemon, just how he likes it. 

“Thank you, angel,” he takes the glass from your hands, grateful, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. 

“So?” you rock a little on the balls of your feet in anticipation, keen eyes watching his Adams apple bob as he swallows a mouthful. “How is it?” 

“Mm,” he hums as his hands encircle your waist, pulling you down into his lap, the plastic of his lawnchair squeaking beneath your combined weight. “Perfect, as always.”

He noses along the curve of your neck, inhaling slowly as he plants sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your damp flesh. The light summer breeze rustles the leaves of the old oak tree on your front lawn, twining through the full branches, caressing your saliva-slicked skin and leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation in its wake. Sighing, your body relaxes against Keigo’s as your head tips back, exposing more of your neck to him.

“That nice?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice smooth and thick like caramel. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “Feels good.” 

You feel him lean away for a moment, taking the heat of his mouth with him, ears pricking as teeth clink against glass, as ice clinks against teeth. Then he’s back, an ice cube cupped in his tongue, frosty and frigid as it drags across your feverish skin. 

The unexpected cold makes you jump, and Keigo chuckles—a deep, velvety sound that vibrates against your flesh—as he licks up the notches of your neck, ice gliding with his tongue, slow and purposeful.

Chills erupt across your body, back arching just a little and pressing further into his touch, powerless to stop the soft mewl that spills from your lips. 

He takes his time with it, unhurried in his ministrations, thorough in his work, each caress of his tongue meticulously thought out, sure to cover every inch of exposed skin he can easily reach—the nape of your neck and the blades of your shoulders and the column of your throat—until the cube has fully melted, leaving a mess of watery saliva painted across your skin in large, wide strokes.

The icy tip traces your jugular vein one last time for good measure, up, up, up, traveling along the edge of your jaw to the lobe of your ear, and shivers skitter up your spine, sending a wave rippling through your flesh. 

“All done,” he purrs in your ear, breath still chilled from the ice. 

And you just can’t help yourself, suddenly parched for him, twisting in his grasp and capturing his lips. Hands splayed wide on either of his cheeks, you tug him closer, fingertips hooking behind the hinges of his jaw, nails sinking into his skin, leaving behind shallow crescents. 

He tastes sticky-sweet, a syrupy film of vanilla cola still clinging to his tongue and lacing his spit, complemented by the slight sour tang of the lemonade. Your tongue curls around his own, sucks it into your mouth and scrapes your teeth across the surface, desperate to swallow down whatever you can of him, to steal just a stringy piece of him and hold him in your tummy, close to your heart. 

A keepsake, while he’s away. 

Finally, you part, with glimmering lips and spit-slicked chins, chests heaving together with ragged little breaths.

“Wow,” Keigo chuckles, the word wispy, eyes shining bright like two starbursts of topaz. “What was that for?”

“I, um,” you turn away from him, suddenly shy, settling back against his body and tucking your face into your shoulder. “I just—I really don’t want you to go tomorrow,” you admit softly, a slight pout in your voice. “I know it isn’t fair, but...” 

But I want you all to myself. But I miss you like crazy when you’re gone. But it’s true. 

“I understand, baby,” he leans his cheek against yours, short stubble scratching your sensitive skin, and squeezes you to his chest, tight and secure. “You know, you could always come with me...”

“Keigo, please, don’t start—”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” you pull back to look at him, shifting a little in his lap. 

Holding his stare, your eyes search his, shimmering topaz ever-changing in the late afternoon sun, flickering with the sunbeams streaming through the fluttering leaves, casting shadows and shapes on his face. He gazes back just as steadily, nothing but sincerity brimming in his eyes, and your lips tug down. 

Fingers brush back the golden curls saturated in sweat sticking to his forehead, carding through the unruly strands in a rhythmic motion, eyes following their movement.

He catches your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your palm. 

Keigo’s been attempting to persuade you to quit your job for a while now, to abandon the life you worked so hard to build, painstakingly from the ground up and with your own two hands, to throw caution to the wind and come jet-setting with him around the world despite the fact that you know next to nothing about his work—nothing about his elusive and mysterious job that requires freshly pressed and finely tailored tuxedos, that pays six figures, that allows him to have a two-storey house and a 1957 cherry red Chevy Bel Air and a collection of glittering Rolex watches—despite the fact that, technically, you aren’t allowed to. 

“You know I’d love to, but my job at the diner—”

“Isn’t necessary anymore.”

“Is important to me,” you continue, voice firm with conviction. 

You know he doesn’t exactly get it, why you’d want to keep working a broke-down job at a shitty little mom & pop malt shop when he can now provide for all of your needs, and more, but this job holds a certain type of sentimentality.

Because it’s something that’s yours, something you earned all on your own, accomplished through your own volition and hard work, something that enabled you to claw your way to freedom.

You love the grease, the way the scent of fresh-cut fries and sizzling cheeseburgers twines through your hair and carries home with you. 

You love the sticky milkshakes and melty sundaes and ostentatious banana splits, the way they always seem to perpetually stain the tips of your fingers, tinging everything with sugar. 

You love the speckled white tables and the glittery red booths and the checkerboard floor, the way your regular customers’ eyes light up when they spot you.

You love it all, so dearly. 

“I can’t just leave.” Not now, not yet, not until you’re ready to let go. 

He doesn’t exactly get it, but he doesn’t need to. 

It being important to you is already enough reason for him.

He glances up at you through thick gold lashes, thumb pausing in its quest to pick off a chip of peeling white paint from the table, holding your eyes for a moment before giving a resigned nod, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly in another defeat. 

“Ah well,” he sighs with a shrug, pulling you back to his chest and cradling you in his arms, chin resting on the crown of your head. “It was worth a shot. One of these days you’ll finally say yes to me, and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, arms curling around his own and hugging them to your torso. “Maybe one day.”

It isn’t the first time he’s suggested it. It won’t be the last; not until you finally say yes.

But you think you’re alright with that. 

[lupismaris]

Happy Baltimore Pride, the parade starts in 3 and a half hours and I'm already exhausted

[jamboreeartsupplies]

watched Fantasia with Edamame tonight ⭐🩷🎄

[spoopy-cactus]

When you got tummy issues and really bad emetephobia

[pixlmonkeys]

NO FOOD IS GOOD THERE’S NOTHING GOOD THERE’S NOTHING ACCEPTABLE ALL FOODS BAD AND EVIL

FUCK

[the0ther-side0f-dawn]

ok yknow whats oddly intimate? having a friend do your makeup.

like im v weird abt being touched not bc i hate the idea but bc its not natural to me, or something im used to, and sometimes i rly do forget how touch starved i am.

[marsixm]

emo things my 38 manager has said:

-i dont crave joy, i crave death

-my whole family is dead (authors note: no theyre not????)

-i hate rainbows, they bring people happiness

-[in response to me saying we had to take care of him while the other manager was gone, like an elderly dog] so youre saying i need to be put down?

[ninnihh]

This is a vent post feel free to ignore but i'm just so pissed and honestly so fucking done

[beauleifu]

Chapters: 26/? Fandom: LEGO Monkie Kid Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary:

Today you should've had your mind on one thing and one thing only- the heist. Terrifying to think about, exhilarating to imagine. You know your comrades feel the same way. Yet today, you have no such luxury. You're tortured with lovely dreams, the smell of Syntax's perfume, and his smile as he watches you babysit Diva's two kids. You get to see a side of him he rarely ever exhibits, and for that, you're grateful.

[gorillaxyz]

i hope hes ok

[todayisafridaynight]

ADMITTEDLY it’s a very “teenagers first alcohol” kind of vibe so I prommy it’s not popular with any demographic that’s older than 25 gdgdgd

I’m only just recently leaving my baby tastebuds please bare with me (and give me drink recs so I can leave candy hell)

(Also sidenote but I genuinely didn’t expect so much uproar over GRAPE FLAVOURING because I’ve never heard anyone hate it so much so once again I’m convinced this is an American problem and not a problem with my beloved grape flavour 🙏)

passport you are GROWN im fucking crying looking at all of this. this is the equivalent of whiteclaw.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

my favourite part of having a viral infection for the better part of a month is when i accidentally lose 8% of my body weight and achieve one of the goals the doctors managing my idiopathic intracranial hypertension set by accident.