#omitted

[gettingsomedestielvibesfromthis]

Happy 4 years to one of the worst episodes of television I’ve ever seen

[monikamonik]

𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒅! 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕. 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆'𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔. 𝑰𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆.

M.

[prokopetz]

I fully understand why "character A is astounded at the sight of character B's penis" is a specific kink that gets tagged for, but the fact that some platforms choose to tag this kink as "penis awe" is unintentionally very funny. Now I'm picturing penis experience kink tags for all those other allegedly transcendent emotions in the glossary of your Philosophy 101 textbook. Penis faith. Penis Weltschmerz. Penis apprehension of the absurd.

[deliasamed]

The Preposition place in sentences

Where is the preposition place in sentences?

    In English grammar, prepositions typically come before nouns or pronouns to show the relationship between the noun or pronoun and other words in a sentence. The placement of the preposition depends on the structure of the sentence and the specific preposition being used.   Here are two common cases:   Preposition + Noun: In this case, the preposition comes before the noun to indicate a relationship or connection between the two.   Example: On the table In the car Under the chair         Preposition + Pronoun: Prepositions also come before pronouns to show their relationship with other words in a sentence.   Example: She is sitting beside me. He placed the book between us.       When a noun has an attributive adjective- (an adjective that describes or modifies the noun), the preposition usually comes before the attributive noun phrase, including the adjective and the noun.   Example: The book on the wooden table.   In this example, on is the preposition, and it comes before the attributive noun phrase the wooden table. The preposition on shows the relationship between the book and the wooden table.           In direct and indirect questions- prepositions can indeed come before the special words like which, who(m), and adverbs like where. The placement of the preposition depends on the type of question and the specific word being used.      Direct Questions: In direct questions, the preposition usually comes before the special word, such as which, who(m), or where.   Examples: To which university did she apply? (Preposition to before which)   From whom did you receive this information? (Preposition from before whom)   Where did they go to yesterday? (Preposition to after go and where)           Indirect Questions: In indirect questions, the word order can be different. The preposition often comes after the special word.   Examples: She asked me which university she should apply to. (Preposition to after which in the indirect question)   He wanted to know from whom I received the information. (Preposition from after whom in the indirect question)   I'm trying to find out where they went to yesterday. (Preposition to after where in the indirect question)           When the relative pronoun is omitted in a relative clause- the preposition typically stands after the verb in the relative clause. This is a common structure in English, known as a stranded preposition.     Example: Original sentence with a relative pronoun: This is the book that I was talking about.   In this sentence, that is the relative pronoun, and the preposition about comes immediately after it.     Now, let's omit the relative pronoun: This is the book I was talking about.   In this revised sentence, the relative pronoun that has been omitted, and the preposition about is placed after the verb was talking in the relative clause.   The meaning remains the same, but the relative pronoun is omitted for brevity.         In constructions with infinitives- that include an attributive action (also known as infinitive phrases or infinitive clauses), the preposition typically comes before the infinitive verb.   Example: I have no pen to write with.   In this sentence, with is the preposition, and it comes before the infinitive verb to write.                     The Preposition place in sentences The Types of Prepositions The Prepositions Relative Pronouns The Types of the English Pronouns What is a Noun? How to use it? Read the full article

[ritualvirtuality]

remaking this poll bc i saw one like it that had limited options and was also ended… hopefully i’ve covered all the bases

[hinamie]

*catboys ur shounen protag*

[ouroblorbos]

hc i like. idk the idea of trolls “purring” except it’s just fucked up bug noises is really funny to me actually.

[arcanejude]

All Of The Records in

ARCANE (2021 - 2024)

[nostalgicfun]

Feel free to share which is your favorite NOW in the tags, but this particular poll is about which you preferred as a child! ⭐ In a few days we'll do another one with more options!

[classycoffeecat]

Oh we really dusting off the spngate greatest hits tonight!

[venusmage]

Crop of a flyer illustration from work

[skunkes]

the restrained sniffer

[tenth-sentence]

Even though many scientists have gone on record against a dominance interpretation – thereby challenging the stronghold of this analytic framework – information that contradicts a dominance analysis is sometimes troublesomely discounted or omitted from studies.

"Biological Exuberance: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity" - Bruce Bagemihl

[molinaesque]

The Ghoul/Cooper Howard making pre-war references

[yeyinde]

i would give you my life for marriage counselor!reader x price part 3, pleaseeee im begging you 😮‍💨🙏😮‍💨🙏

He fucks you in your office, for sure.

18+. extremely dubious consent. unk. condescending Dom!Price.

Petty, combative. Authority figures make him itch. But there's a sick thrill that goes through him when he sinks down into your chair, fully dressed with just his trousers undone, cock freed, and pulls you, completely naked, onto his lap. Makes you ride him as he sprawls out over it, too; his hand tight around your neck to keep you up, the other dangling over the edge, drinking from the sneaky stash of booze he finds after rummaging around your desk (all the while, he had you sitting on top of it, one hand rifling through your belongings and the other buried between your thighs, making you answer his inane questions as he tuts about how you're getting his cuffs all wet, not such a smart little girl now are you? soakin' his hand like that. needy little thing, more like.)

It's not his preferred position, but he likes the sight of you glaring down at him as he fills you with his cock. Unable to to do anything at all even when you're on top, in the dominant role. Reduced to a mess of a once smart, haughty girl. Biting your lip as he bucks into you. Trying to smother the scream, the plea—slow down, slow down, please, it's too deep—that trembles on your lip. Pride and this fickle, paperthin ideal of agency is the only thing keeping it all in.

You think you can take him. Handle him.

So, John gives you the reigns and leans back on your smart little chair in your smart little office. Accolades hung on the wall. Polished and mature. It's all so—

Adorable.

The contrast of it all feeds the monster in his chest that's been prowling around ever since you tried to boss him around. The mouth that once said you're not trying hard enough, Mr Price you need to do better now all slack-jawed and drool slick as he spears inside to the deepest part of you he can reach; the doleful glare swallowed by the shiver of your lids as your eyes roll back into your pretty little head.

Struggling to take him. Hesitating to slide down the thickest part of his cock, whimpering when he shifts his hips and makes you take him down to the root. Tears flood your lashline, gleaming iridescent like sunshine hitting an oil spill. Lips trembling as you jolt at the realness of it all—of trying to handle him like you said you could but quickly realising you can't when the heart of yourself starts to feel like a raw, open wound.

Yeah, he thinks, and brings the bottle to his lips. You look so much better just like this.

And that's what it's about, really. Control. Something you stripped him of when he marched into your office and you—younger, less experienced, less established—just looked at him, and said, sit down right there, Mr Price.

Well. You didn't say it, did you? No, you commanded. And Price doesn't take orders from idiots in office who think they're his superior, so why the hell should he listen to you, mm?

But he did. And now he's savouring it because this is quid pro quo. Something for something. His compliance (ephemeral as it was) for you.

Because the problem is that you riled him up. With your neat, clean office. Your smart suits. The unbidden air of authority—this condescending, sophisticated cloud that clung to the haughty tip of your chin when you talked to him. It all itched under his skin. Made his heart thunder with the urge to break—

(Claim, maim—sometimes he gets the two mixed up, the word eliding together under the malformed snarl in his throat. But you're tough, aren't you? He's sure you can handle whichever one ends up spilling out.)

He bites down on the little sliver of skin beneath your jaw—that small patch where his hand, still spread over the thick of your throat, doesn't cover—and groans, feeling you clench tight around him. Tight little hole barely stretched enough to take him without it aching each time he moves, tugging on thin, sensitive skin until he has to snuff the whimpers he can feel crawling up your throat with a squeeze of his hand.

It has the after making his head swim already. When he finally finished getting his due, breaking you in, he'll take you home. Let you rest. Court you good and proper until you're melting his hands, softened wax for him to play with and mould however he likes. And he will.

He saw the potential in you the moment he leaned in close—too close, his ex-wife will accuse him of later; you never get that close to me anymore, John—and saw the shift of your throat when you swallowed. The flex of your thighs as you squeezed them tight together. The little flutter of your lashes, eyes listing treacherously downward, so achingly close to submission that it punched the air from his lungs. Kept him winded even as you pulled yourself back together. Meeting his stare with a glare of your own. All fire, all teeth. But he'll enjoy filing your canines down until they're pretty and soft and round—

"mm, not so arrogant now, are you?" He pulls you closer, nips at the thrill of your pulse until he feels it thudding against his enamel. Rabbit-quick. Ferocious lioness purring at his feet. "S'all you needed was my cock, mm, to make you this sweet?"

He doesn't expect an answer, and can really only groan when you eke out a liquid, breathless, fuck you, John, content to let you lash out as much as you want, holding you tighter in the cup of his palm. Pussy clenching tight, tears dripping down your cheeks—he basks in it even as you claw at him, pawing at his chest with your teeth bared as you pretend this is your choice. That you're taking from him with each unsteady, furious roll of your hips. Pulling him in deeper. Letting the part inside of you that rages against this hew fantasy into reality; cobwebs of delusion thickening in the whites of your eyes as you shatter over him, on his lap, stuffed full with the thick of his cock, and play pretend in your head that he's just your throne—

Even as he kicks his heels against the legs of your own, planting his feet on your carpet, in this space you build yourself, driving inside of you until the webs shake, starting to come loose.

You—this free, willful bird—have been left in the wild for too long. And he'll spend the next two months building your cage, and when he's finally finished, you'll beg him to throw away the key.

"Told you, didn't I?" he growls, hand tightening around your throat. "You were in over your head, little girl. You should have listened."

(Freshly divorced—ink still wet on the paper—and he's already engaged. How about that.)

[blamemma]

daniel ricciardo and max verstappen arrive in singapore together | 📸