#my throat is so sore. not as bad as it was then. not as bad as when i had strep

[dahlibae]

your blog is sooo 🫠🥵 so good!!!!

Jealous sugar mommy Wanda has been so on my brain!! Every event you go to she makes sure you look stunning but it’s always an excuse to make sure people stare and flirt so that she can haul your ass out to the car and punish you. Just to take you back in with your head hanging blushing and sore as you try to socialize now. Just. Yes.

warning(s) — drabble: mommy wanda, brat!reader, kissing, punishment, spanking, choking (18+)

AHHH THANK UUUU SWEETIE :P

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

i won’t lie i’ve been thinking about mommy wanda and how she wouldn’t tolerate brattiness. or back chat. or any kind of attitude towards her. like at all. 100%… but pushing buttons would be soo much fun, especially when you know all you’d have to do is bat your lashes at someone in front of mommy, and she’ll have you spread over her lap in no time lmaoo.

at first, i think she wouldn’t go so hard on you though just bc you like to “bat your slutty eyes at anyone with cleavage” as she would put it. but it would be the fact you don’t cave into submission after she’s already told you off for your behaviour.

it would drive her mental.

you would say something simple like: “well at least she’d treat me like her gf and not a show pony” or even worse, “bet she’d probably fuck me better too” bc let’s face it, at these events wanda has to be all serious and more than often if she doesn’t need you to win her favours she leaves you to your own devices. it’s not rlly your fault you’ve managed to find someone else to keep you company.

but that is exactly what would do it for the older woman.

and the fact that she’s already spanked your ass red and yet you still have an attitude.

she’d push you off her lap and head for the drivers seat, not saying a word to you and not waiting for you to climb into the passenger seat. she’d just drive home as fast as she could without care if you were in the back or the front or even the roof of the vehicle.

even after you arrived home, she wouldn’t say anything, immediately heading to the kitchen to pour another drink. the silence would kill you, and you knew you were in deeper shit than you wanted. it was supposed to be just a little fun, something to rile her up. not exactly hurt her… so to make it up to mommy, you’d go upstairs and undress before kneeling on the bed waiting for her to join.

when she finally arrived upstairs, you could tell she had began unzipping her dress. her eyes were cold and drifted over your bare frame before heading towards the wardrobe where she watched herself in the mirror as she slid the dress off her frame.

“you know… i got all dolled up just for you baby.” she’d caress at her sides as you took in the sight of the red lace against her alabaster skin,“wanted to take you home after tonight and show you how much i love it when you’re a good girl for me.”

okay so… not upset. but maybe homicidal?

she looked like she wanted to eat you alive.

the dress left in a pile on the floor, she’d now stand in front of you, delicate fingers trailing over your sensitive nipples, licking her lips as she watched your skin shiver underneath her. absentmindedly, you’d raise your hands to grab onto her hips, fingers immediately reaching for the protruding bones of her pelvis you just love to kiss and bite and suck…and that snaps her out of her trance as she steps away from you.

that look of adoration she usually has on her face now replaced with the cold one from before. she’d step back into you, this time crowding your space, as her hand wraps around your throat, and she tips your head back to meet hers. you’d look so adorable, flustered with a little pout on your lips that she’d have no choice but to press few kisses, demanding entrance so she could suck on your tongue, before refocusing on the task at hand.

you had been such a bad girl for her.

and wanda doesn’t like when her girl misbehaves.

“oh baby,” she’d release your lips with a loud smack, “it’s too bad mommy now has to beat the brat out of you, huh?”

[bunnis-monsters]

Lil update on how I’m feeling!

Warning: mentions of vomit, IVs, diarrhea, sick stuff

After two IVs, I’m feeling better. Still nauseous and got diarrhea, but I haven’t thrown up in around 24 hours.

One of the worst things is how dizzy and sore I feel. I’m weak and can only barely make it to the bathroom.

Having an IV is so scary, because you have to keep the bag above you at all times. It was hard carrying it with me to the bathroom but I handled it and I’m doing alright.

I’ve got some terrible aches in my belly from throwing up so much.

A tip from your local monster smut writer, take anti acid pills(or tums, whatever) if you’re having super bad diarrhea and you’re vomiting. It takes away the acid a bit. Helps your butt and throat from getting sore from the acidic stuff coming out.

I’m not afraid to admit I cried a lot yesterday. The pain was overwhelming, it’s been a long time since I’ve been this sick. My poor parents were having to get up all throughout the night to take care of me because I was sick as a dog

Sorry this is TMI, but when you get this sick you just wanna tell someone. Warn them, even.

Please, when you’re sick, make sure you try to eat a little something about an hour after you vomit. Banana, crackers, something easy on your belly. Chew thoroughly, the more mushy the less your belly has to work on digesting.

Drink lots of Gatorade, and if possible get an IV. My dad is certified and able to give them, so you’ll probably have to go to the hospital to get yours.

Anyways I’m exhausted. I won’t post anything for a few days, and I’m sorry to any of my commissioners that are waiting. As soon as I’m better I’ll be working again.

Here’s a picture of my second IV. They were giving me that JUICE lmao

[fairytsuk1]

I love your works! Just imagine, giving Quackity a blowjob while he streams! Have a good day! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧ (Sorry if there are any errors, I'm using Google translate :c)

giving alex a blowjob during stream<3

alex always looked so, so hot when he was getting ready to stream. you'd been watching eagerly from the couch, alex grabbing his props and accessories as you sat behind the scenes. he always looked so focused, so sexy with his bulging biceps and muscled back on full display in his black cotton shirt.

you watch carefully with your knees tucked up to your chest. alex covers his messy dark locks with his signature grey and black beanie, and he´s ready to go. he catches you staring and openly winks at you, coming to stand before your seated form.

"what's up? you're looking at me all, intensely. something wrong?"

you're smiling and shaking your head. "there's nothing wrong."

and there really had been nothing wrong. in fact, things had gone so right, you were now pleasantly seated on your knees with his cock in your mouth. "hey guys!! hi, hi, h-hi!"

you try to keep yourself quiet as you laved your tongue from the base to the tip, heavy balls full as you licked all over his dick. alex's leg twitches and his hand reaches farther under the desk to hold onto yours for support.

"'why do you look like that,' why do i look like what, huh?! you guys are bullies, you're bullying me and—ngh!"

he freezes, and this was such a bad idea based on how your soft, plush lips drag themselves up his length to suck on the lip and lick the slit. you're drooling, getting messy with it, and alex is sorely under prepared as you suck him within an inch of his life.

he claims it was a stubbed toe to the chat, but you know better as you trace the vein that leads up to his leaking, flushed head. he’s throbbing in your wet and warm mouth, hips popping up and driving his dick into the column of your throat. a soft gag escapes you, and his hand squeezes yours in a wordless apology.

“i-i’m having issues with my display, i’m gonna turn my camera off for a bit!”

he’s nearly there, balls churning and breath growing increasingly more ragged. alex slams his fingers down on the mute button, a loud groan escaping him as he grips onto the arms of the chair. you bob your head, nose brushing against the dark curls around his base. he´s so close that you can feel his dick twitch between your hot lips.

you sink down eagerly and alex lets out a pathetic cry. his hands fly to your hair and you can feel the underlying strength in his arms as he pushes you just the slightest—a gag escaping you as he flooded your throat with his cum.

it makes your heart pound in satisfaction as alex uses your mouth, he comes down from his high with shuddering breaths and hands that smooth your hair away from your face. "fuck, i-i'm still live and can barely move..."

you grin and lick your lips. "you should probably get back to them."

you're about to stand and move away, but alex is quick to whine and grab onto your wrist. "stay under the desk, i like having you so close to me."

so you sat prettily between your boyfriend's legs, satisfied and knowing he was going to absolutely ravish you on his desk post-stream. you lean your head on his knee and sigh quietly. what a life.

[pixiemage]

My Fate Is In Your Hands - Entry 10

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[A/N: This is a story entirely guided by you guys, by the readers. Be sure to vote at the end of each entry! ALSO, if you'd like to be added the tag list, please let me know and I'll be sure to add you next time!]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

➤ [He asks] to go downstairs. Food is a good idea, but he can’t stay cooped up in this room.

“Mind if I come downstairs with you?” Tango asks, his voice just a little bit raspy, and Jimmy pauses in the open doorway to look back over his shoulder. He looks pleasantly surprised, the feathers around his ears flaring, and Tango carries on: “I, uh…I wanna get out of this room.”

“Oh–! Yeah, ‘course!” Jimmy smiles brightly, and his eyes dart down toward the floor at Tango’s feet. “D’you need help walkin’ down there?”

…ah. Right. His ankle. Tango looks down too. He rotates his foot experimentally, and he decides it hurts decently less than before thanks to the potion Jimmy had given him, though it’s still a bit sore. He might have to wait to go look for his ship until he knows he can stand on his own, as much as it pains him to admit it.

“Probably smart, yeah,” he smiles weakly. “If you don’t mind?”

Jimmy just smiles and nods.

It takes a little effort to get downstairs, though not as much as Tango had been expecting. He can put more weight on his leg than he could before, and Jimmy is patient as they take it a step at a time. By the time they’re stepping down into a modest living space that’s a living room, dining area, and kitchen all in one, Tango is already casting an eye around for a chair so he doesn’t have to keep using his host as a crutch - and he does a double-take.

There’s a woman sitting at the table near the kitchen half of the room, a woman wearing moss-green overall shorts and a purple shirt with puffy-looking sleeves. There are a few flowers that look like they’re growing out of her dark hair, her colors and the greenery reminding Tango (rather painfully) of Bdubs. (He tries not to think about it.)

He blinks. She turns and blinks back. Then her eyes go wide.

“Oh!” she says brightly, jumping out of her chair and nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She gives off a bubbly vibe, eager and excited. “Hi! The Sheriff said you were awake, but I didn’t think you’d be up! Or - down. Here. Down here. Not that you can’t be down here, I’m just surprised, and - wow, your eyes are red–”

“Shelby,” Jimmy huffs, sounding fondly exasperated and just a little bit out of breath. He adjusts his hold on Tango, who grips Jimmy’s shoulder a little tighter to compensate. “Mind pullin’ out a chair? He’s got a bad leg.”

“A bad leg?” the woman - Shelby - repeats, taking a long moment to process the words. Then– “Oh - OH! Right, right! Chair. On it!”

Shelby spins on the spot and tugs her own chair away from the table, turning it a bit so Jimmy can more easily help Tango settle onto it. It, like the rest of the furniture, is wooden and looks handmade, the tied-on cushion that pads the seat feeling just a little uneven and adding to the homespun feel of the entire house.

It’s…cozy. Pleasant. Homely and warm. Tango can’t deny that it’s comforting, after everything he’s been through as of late.

Shelby drops into another chair at the table with as much energy as everything else she’s done, trying and failing to hide the fact that she’s staring curiously at Tango. He sinks back in his seat and his ears flick back, nervous firelight rippling through his hair. Her eyes follow it, wide and intrigued, before Jimmy clears his throat and Shelby jolts.

“Sorry,” she says, yanking a cup of unfinished tea across the table that Tango hadn’t noticed yet, and pointedly focussing on it instead. Tango chuckles lightly.

She reminds him of someone, somehow, though he can’t be sure who.

(Gem, his mind supplies…though even as he thinks it, the name slips away before it can stick, memories blurring at the edges until he can’t remember why he felt melancholy in the first place.)

Jimmy had called her Shelby, right?

“You’re uh–” Tango shifts in his seat, his eyes darting to where Jimmy is now puttering around the kitchen. His ear feathers keep flicking in their direction. “You’re Shelby. You helped Jimmy save me last night?”

Shelby’s eyes are back on him again, still bright and curious, but he’s grateful that she seems to be trying to act less nosey.

“Mhm!” she hums, nodding. “Well, he did most of the saving. I just showed up afterwards with potions. I didn’t even see the crash…it’s kinda hard to see much of anything from inside the Evermoore.”

The what? Tango must look confused, because Shelby carries on:

“It’s my Empire! In the swamp. Lots of trees, lots of fog - and magic! Lots of magic!”

“And frogs,” Jimmy supplies from where he’s fussing with the furnace. “So many frogs.”

“That too!” Shelby says brightly. She twirls a finger in a circle above her cup and the tea inside begins to stir itself, drawing Tango’s attention. Magic. He’s not entirely unfamiliar with magic thanks to…thanks to Scar. (His chest aches at the thought. He tries to pretend it doesn’t.) But even if he’s seen it before, natural magic abilities are still rare. It’s enchanting to watch.

“Where are you from?”

Tango drags his focus back to Shelby.

“Uhhh–” He stumbles over her question in his mind. “I’m, uh…” He almost blurts out ‘from Hermitcraft’ by force of habit…but that’s not entirely true anymore, is it? He’s fairly certain there’s not a Hermitcraft to go home to anymore. True, ‘Hermitcraft’ is a name that was carried from place to place, and it had been for years, having less to do with location and more to do with the people who lived there…but…but Tango doesn’t even know where the Hermitheus is, where the other Hermits are. And there was a chance there wouldn’t be another Hermitcraft if they hadn’t managed to–

If Tango’s warning message hadn’t made it through to–

If the moon had–

“...Tango?”

Tango jolts, a netherborn wheeze whistling at the back of his throat. There are eyes on him. Shelby looks concerned, almost apologetic, and Jimmy’s no longer in the kitchen. He’s standing at Shelby’s shoulder with a worried look on his face that Tango awkwardly avoids.

He barely knows these people. He doesn’t need to trouble them with his issues.

“Are you alright?” Jimmy asks, warm and concerned, and it’s so, so tempting to lean on his host for support like he’d already been doing this morning. It’s so, so tempting to let someone else help him shoulder the burden he suddenly woke up with less than an hour ago.

But he doesn’t know them. Smoke whisps past his lips and he swallows past the lump in his throat. It’s too much, too fast, and he needs…he needs time.

Jimmy steps around Shelby, standing between her and Tango, his wings spreading slightly to subtly block him from her view. It’s almost like he can tell Tango is getting a bit overwhelmed. He looks a bit uncertain, almost awkward, but he seems like he wants to help.

“Tango…?”

[A/N: Ohhh, three options this time! :D This'll be fun, folks! And rest assured, all answers lead to Tango eating some food, so even though it hasn't happened yet in THIS entry he will still be fed! I saw you all worrying in the tags and comments last entry. I wonder I wonder, how will this go...?

ALSO! Question! Would you like shorter poll deadlines? I've noticed that, since starting this series, a 3 Day poll option has been added...so I COULD make it shorter in future entries if you so wish. What do y'all think?]

[Tag List] @firefly124 @mellioops @beaversuenightly @aris-has-a-paracosm @sincerely-nines @changeling-ash @therain-lover @nilethecat @technicality-the-nonexistant @bbt-yjtt @sparklesif @aeonicho @thedruidqueen89 @reflingthefox

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[cultivating-wildflowers]

ladies, I need to wander despondently across a foggy moor asap

[kelin-is-writing]

I can’t breathe… I can’t do this…

[writingphoenix]

Illiterate whumpee with a sore throat so bad they can’t speak vs a caretaker who is absolute garbage at charades and figuring out body language.

[figofswords]

wow I didn’t think reblogging that tea post and then seeing people’s tags would deal me such strong psychic damage. come over I can fix you I can find a tea you will like. “I don’t like tea” how can you say that as a blanket statement when there are so many vastly different kinds of tea. head in hands

[naomiknight-17]

When I was 12 or 13, I got chicken pox.

It was truly terrible, a very severe case. I had a persistent fever, and the itchy sores were cropping up in places I'd never imagined they could. I was coated in calamine and still itching and in pain. The sores were even in my throat, which was excruciating.

I didn't eat for 2 days.

My mom was extremely worried about me. She'd never seen me refuse to eat. So on the third day, I awoke to a huge pancake breakfast. Bacon, real maple syrup, the works. Mom was so desperate for me to eat that she slaved over a big fancy (and critically - SOFT) breakfast for me

Jon has been sick for almost a week. I am now sick with a sore throat and congestion and fatigue

We're making French toast

[gooopy]

How the hell are you meant to write poetry about love. Itd feel like using a fire hose to fill a teacup

[set-phasers-to-whump]

bulletproof vest, my only clothing

prompt: friendly fire (alt no.5)

whumpee: sakari nurmi

fandom: karppi/deadwind

heya! this fic is a follow up to the last episode of the series. i did something vaguely similar a while ago but fucked up in re: actual canon and also i wanted to focus more on the emotional fallout of everything with this one. so here's that. hope you like! (title from alcatraz by oliver riot)

Sofia shoots him and it hurts. She shoots him once and he hits the ground, “don’t,” and then she stands over him, expressionless, and shoots him again. 

The pain is horrible. Even with the vest on, getting shot at such close range is awful. The first bullet steals his breath, and the second his consciousness. 

--

Sofia keeps shooting him, in his dreams, night after night. She shoots him and he isn’t wearing a vest. He stares up at her as blood pools beneath him, and she delivers the second, fatal bullet. Or she shoots him and he is wearing a vest, but the second bullet is aimed at his head and the vest can do nothing to protect him. 

Sometimes she kisses him before she shoots him. Sometimes it’s his parents she shoots, and he is rendered an unwillingly silent observer. Once, the gun is in his hand but he can’t shoot, and then she takes it from him, places the barrel between his eyes, and pulls the trigger. 

It’s been over a month since that day, and multiple times a week, he wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, the image of Sofia Karppi pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger frozen in his mind. 

He understands. Why she’d done what she’d done. Why she’d shot him, left him there. He does. 

But he’d seen the bruising across his chest. Those two especially dark points, where the bullets would have entered his body. 

If he hadn’t been wearing that vest, he’d have died. 

And she hadn’t known he’d been wearing it. 

He doesn’t blame her. It had been Emil’s life on the line, her own child. He knows she’d done what she had to. 

He can’t stop himself from reliving it, though. From looking at Sofia from across the room and seeing the gun in her hands as he lies there powerless on the ground with her standing over him, nothing at all on her face. 

Besides this, strangely, their relationship is good, stronger even, than it had been before. Sofia seems to have all but forgotten the events of that day, and he’s trying to, too. 

Trying being the operative word there. It’s hard to forget when his subconscious is intent on making him relive everything in new and inventive ways almost every night.

Things come to a head on a frigid November night. Sakari hadn’t wanted to spend the night on Sofia’s couch, but it had been late and they’d been drinking and Sofia had insisted. Neither one of them had, he thinks, quite been ready to share a bed—they’ve been taking it slow, still dancing around each other romantically. And so he’d ended up on the couch, buried in blankets and just hoping that tonight would be a rare quiet, dreamless night. 

Of course, he couldn’t be so lucky. 

Sofia shoots him and he hits the ground, whispers, “don’t,” and she stands over him as he lies there with the breath knocked out of his lungs and terror in his throat and he knows that he is going to die, that Sofia is going to kill him. 

She aims for his head and pulls the trigger. 

He wakes with a sharp inhale. He’s drenched in sweat and trembling and his breaths come in quick and painful pants. For a second, he’s all the more affected by his surroundings—he’s not in his own bed, so it takes him longer than normal to realize that it had only been a dream. 

He doesn’t notice that Sofia is standing nearby until she speaks. He doesn’t really hear what she says, because he’s too busy flinching in surprise at the unexpected presence of his partner, his killer. 

She’s standing next to him now, arm on his shoulder. The point of contact is warm. He isn’t afraid of her, never is, in his waking life. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, and he thinks it should sound pitying, as though he is a child who cannot even manage to sleep through the night. 

It doesn’t, though. It just sounds like her. 

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. He can’t stop shaking. 

“Move over,” Sofia says, and he shifts his body, scarcely even conscious of doing so. She sits beside him, steady and warm, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

He leans into her automatically. She rubs a hand up and down his arm. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, after what feels like a very long time, when he finally trusts his own voice again. “I’m okay.”

Sofia tugs him somehow closer, presses a long kiss to his temple. “You’re okay,” she whispers back. 

It should be odd. He feels so completely safe in her embrace, so comforted by her presence, yet it’s her that’s made him like this. It’s her that had been willing to kill him. 

Except she’s saved him, too, more times than he’s capable of numbering at the moment, and in more ways than one. He trusts her, even now. He wants to be around her. It’s just that there’s some animal, fearful part of his brain that is protesting their continued closeness. 

He thinks, maybe, that they need to talk about this. They haven’t really, not properly. They’re not ones to talk about things, usually. They’ve become more willing over the past few months, but it’s still a bit odd, still unnatural. 

He thinks that this might need to be overcome. Thinks that, perhaps, if he could talk to Sofia, explain the nightmares and the memories that keep pushing themselves to the front of his mind even though he doesn’t want them there, things would begin to get better. 

But this is a job for later. Right now, it is just the two of them and the silence and Sofia’s arms still wrapped around him. She’s falling asleep, leaned against his shoulder, and he feels himself being dragged back into sleep, too. He fights it for a bit, afraid of having another nightmare, of making everything worse, but then Sofia exhales softly, whispers, “sleep,” and he finds himself doing exactly as she says. 

He sleeps soundly through the rest of the night, and when he wakes in the morning, he asks Sofia if they can have a conversation, before he can talk himself out of it. She agrees easily, presses a steaming mug of coffee into his hands. 

He accepts it, breathes in deeply. Things are going to be alright, he finds himself thinking, for the first time since that fateful night. They’re going to be alright.

thanks for reading!! i hope you liked it <3333

[thevioletcaptain]

if you as a fic reader ever become possessed by the urge to do a popularity bracket with the fics other people wrote and shared for fun and for free, consider:

don't ❤️ 

[hearts401]

thinking abt my universe's school system and deciding to draw them working on an essay

[witchysniffles]

so i'm pretty sure at this point that my roommate gave me the cold she's had for the last few days and honestly the worst part about me personally being sick is how quickly it shuts down my enjoyment of any kind of kink stuff. like come on, i'm supposed to be into this!! this is not fair!!!

[hythlodaes]

i think i’m coming down with another cold pls i can’t do this again 😭😭😭