#she felt guilty

[egophiliac]

like mother, like son, but less wholesome this time?

(I couldn't decide whether or not to put them together, so have them in all the different ways!)

[twinstxrs]

so much happened in this whole episode but i’m still on fig infiltrating ruben’s dream, making it look like the place where his friend was murdered, and then disguising herself as kipperlilly & repeatedly saying different variants of “somebody needs to take the fall for this, and it’s not going to be me. it’s going to be you.” while adaine as the elven oracle shows up next to her. can you imagine waking up from that, the idea of a horrible truth being pinned on you by your friend to save her own skin while the personification of fate and destiny stands there, almost as a promise that this is GOING to happen to you. we don’t even know if this kid is guilty. my god.

[flowerbloom-arts]

Change is a two-way street.

(Is my favoritism towards the Damsel obvious enough, or?)

note: TLQ [aka my sona Bloombird] is a butch sapphic and this is yuri

[powderseas]

eye of the storm

[divyasoup]

broken mirror

[feelingtheaster99]

Heartbreaking to see Kristen witness her younger brother being bullied by their parents and just having to acknowledge that she was her brothers’ shield and and she LEFT them

[konohamaru-sensei]

ah. it hurts

[artdcnaldson]

ok i am coming in hot with my last thought on patricks sister au for the day, because it is bedtime lol. but here it is. (also gonna start signing these off as an emojicon, because i lowkey need validation and credit for this au actually lol)

i feel like at first he would be lowkey confused why youre getting turned on when youre being called pathetic??? but you really are just depraved and so desperate for him. anything he says to you is music to your ears. so you keep rubbing yourself in his bed. he tells you that you can think about him all you want, but you can never have him. it cant happen. you can never have his cock. patrick is too important to him, he would kill the both of you.

he gets kind of lost in it, forgets to keep that distance, he ends up sitting at the opposite edge of the bed. looking right at you. but never touching you. god you're so pretty like this. he asks you how often you do this, touch yourself to the thought of him. he really shouldnt be indulging you like this. he shouldnt be playing into your hand. he just cant help it, your sounds are so sweet, moaning his name so lightly. he really cant help it when his hand falls to his lap. its totally out of his control when his hand starts palming himself. how could he not be hard? youre as good as naked in his bed, touching yourself, moaning his name and begging, pleading him to touch you, to fuck you, to do anything at all.

and when his hand slip into his boxers? he tries to convince himself not to, to put an end to this. it really isnt right. but on the other hand... its not like hes touching you. is it really that wrong if hes not even touching you at all? surely not. he lets himself indulge, just a little. but to outweigh, he tells you to stop touching yourself. maybe its a punishment for you, maybe it just for his own pleasure. he watches you as you pull your hand back up, eyes fixed on his own hand stroking himself under his boxers. he sees the excitement flicker in your eyes, you think youre getting what you want. you think hes finally going to fuck you. youre wrong.

he tells you to get off the bed, sit on the floor, between his legs. kneeling right in front of him, big puppy eyes, desperately flickering between his face and his hand moving slowly beneath the fabric. he cant help but laugh to himself when he sees youre grinding yourself on your heel, anything to get some friction. he swears he sees drool spill out of your mouth as you stare at him.

maybe he just makes you sit there for a while, staring at him, begging him. maybe it just ends with that, he keeps you there long enough to ensure he'll be able to picture it later when hes alone. maybe thats all, he tells you to go to sleep, you whine and almost cry, until he threatens to send you back to your own room.

or maybe.... just maybe.... and hear me out on this... maybe he makes you sit on your hands to make sure you wont touch him, because that would be breaking the rules. and maybe he tells you to beg him to let you see his cock, beg him to take it out, tell him just how bad you want to see it, need to see it. maybe he is so intoxicated on the feeling of being so desired that you would do anything he asked. maybe he pulls it out, he lets you watch as he stroke himself. ugh maybe he makes you spit in his hand so he can jerk off with your spit :(((( maybe he tells you to move closer, still no touching, but he wants your face all up close. you're not letting this opportunity slip away, you follow his every word, every movement. maybe he makes you thank him, thank him for letting you watch him get off. maybe he even lets you lick his cum off his hand when hes done.

or maybe not, maybe he just tells you to shut up and go to sleep. :)))

-🐞 (if it's not taken by anyone)

GODDDDDD you deserve all the definition credit acclaim bc this is some good fucking food

It’s unfair how good you look in his bed. It’s unfair that you’re laid out like a fucking meal for him, rubbing your sensitive clit and moaning like a pornstar while he’s saying shit that should be making you run away.

He sits down on the bed— his bed— and he can feel how you’re moving through the mattress. It makes him think of those commercials where they jump on the bed and the wineglass doesn’t move, except his shitty dorm bed is the opposite.

You’re panting, mouth open so he can see the pink of your tongue. A constant stream of moans and whines and gasps of Art and Please falling from your lips.

He shouldn’t ask. Patrick would fucking crucify him. Would flay him alive for even thinking it. But he does. “How often do you think of me when you’re fucking yourself?”

You meet his gaze, only briefly before your eyes flutter shut and you’re bucking against your fingers. “Every time. Just need you so bad, Art.”

“You don’t need me, you want me. And you’re so fucking spoiled by your rich parents that you think you’re entitled to it.”

His cock aches in the confines of his boxers, the hard line of it clearly visible through the plaid fabric. Your eyes are trained on it, hungry and wanting. You’re practically drooling for it. He just looks so big, you want to feel.

He has to muffle a groan when he goes to adjust himself, feels the heel of his palm press against his cock just right. It was your fault he didn’t get to bring anyone back to the dorm to fuck, your fault he didn’t have a nice, warm mouth wrapped around his dick.

God, you’re just so fucking selfish. Why should you get to get off twice when he can’t even do anything? So he slips his hand beneath his sweats, beneath the waistband of his boxers. He groans, eyes squeezing shut as he wraps a hand around himself.

And then you moan, all pretty and needy. He opens his eyes to see your hand working faster between your thighs. He narrows his eyes, pins you in place like a bug with just a look. “Stop touching yourself or I’ll call Patrick.”

It’s easy to bring Patrick into it. You straighten up, pout, and obey. But for Art it’s almost a reminder of why he really fucking can’t.

Your hand stills, but he doesn’t move until they’re both above the blanket, slick and wet and sticky. A smug smile spreads across your lips as you slip your fingers between your lips, cleaning them off. And god, you’re so brazen. You’re just like Patrick, and it’s going to fucking kill him.

“Sit on the floor. Right in front of me.” You’re practically scrambling to obey— peeling off the blankets and settling between his legs. And you are pretty, honestly. Even prettier when you want him this bad, when you’re on your knees and peering up at him with wide, eager eyes.

Your mouth is parted, just slightly as you look at him. He watches as you dart your tongue out to wet your lips, eyes darting between his hand moving beneath his boxers and his eyes.

“Art, please, I just want to touch you,” you practically beg. Your eyes are all watery, in the fake way he’d seen you play at when you wanted something to go your way.

Your parents had fucking ruined you— spoiled you, turned you into an entitled little brat. And now look at where you were— on your knees in front of Art, begging for cock. It made him wonder if your dad ever spent time with you, if he was ever involved in your life beyond clinical conversations over breakfast and dinner.

Honestly, Patrick should be lucky that you’re obsessing over Art and not some random asshole. Anyone other than Art would’ve snapped already, would’ve taken everything you offered. Would’ve had you face down on the mattress while they plunged into your soaked cunt again and again and again. Or worse. Art could had a vivid imagination, and could think of a lot of things that he— no, not him, someone else— could do with willing pussy.

“You’re not going to touch me,” he said, as firmly as he could manage. “I’m gonna get my dick out, and you can fucking watch so you can see exactly what you can’t have.”

You whine, mutter something about him being mean. He needs to be mean, he needs to drill the fact that it’s never going to happen into your brain so you fucking get it.

He pushes down his boxers and his cock slaps against his stomach. He’s so hard, flushed pink and pretty. Your eyes widen and you lick your lips, leaning forward, closer unconsciously. You want to suck his pink tip into your mouth, taste the pre that dribbles from his slit.

You’re already drooling from the sight, he might as well put it to good use. He holds his hand out, tells you firmly to spit. You obey, letting drool pool in your mouth before you spit it into his palm.

Your cunt throbs as he wraps his slick hand around his cock, stroking slowly, so you have to watch every slow pass of his hand, the glide of skin. You are drooling— you feel it at the corner of your mouth, have to wipe at it shamefully.

You reach out, touch him wherever you can reach. A soft, delicate hand on the inside of his thigh. He groans, almost sounding pained as he rips your hand off and throws it back into your lap.

“I told you no touching.” His voice is weak, not as firm as he’d like to be. He wants to draw it out, make you watch him, get off on how desperate you are for him.

“Art, just let me—“

“Sit on your hands if it’s that fucking hard, or— I don’t know— walk back to your own dorm.”

You pout and tuck your hands beneath your thighs. It’s amazing, how well you listen to anything he says. He could probably tell you to bark like a dog and you fucking would. God, he’d hate to be Patrick. It must suck to have such a slutty sister.

Art doesn’t realize how loud he’s being— he’s so stuck up in his head. But you hear everything— the way he pants and moans. You watch his balls bounce as he fucks his fist, moan pathetically. Your pussy is just drooling at this point, swollen and aching with the need to be filled.

“Say thank you,” he says, meeting your gaze. His eyes are half-lidded, hazy. He looks so pretty, you just want him so bad. “Thank me for letting you watch.”

You whine softly. “Thank you, Art.”

He finishes with a desperate moan, coating his hand in thick white cum. The sheer volume of it surprises you— makes you long for it inside of your mouth, inside of your cunt. Art wipes his hand off on his ruined shirt, peels it off and tosses it across the room.

And then it’s quiet. You’re still on your knees, he’s adjusting his boxers again. You’re overwhelmed with the need to just press a kiss to his skin— anywhere, really. His ankle, his knee, his thigh, his hand. Anywhere he’d let you.

“Go the fuck to sleep. You get the floor tonight.”

“I never get the floor,” you say weakly. You want back in his bed so you can just bunch his blankets up and grind against them until you cum or fall asleep. He gives you a pointed look and you sigh, settling onto the little nest of blankets and pillows he has prepared for himself.

You fall asleep pretty quickly— exhausted as the adrenaline of seeing Art jerk off in front of you wears off. He thinks you actually look really sweet, curled up at his feet like that. Like you belong there.

[frailgun]

i put on another fancy dress fighting game tournament last weekend, called it Guilty Gala. here's my ramlethal-inspired fit with my doubles partner (we got third!)

70 people for this event, a new personal record. when I did this format in the spring for tekken we had a similar if slightly smaller turnout and just under half of attendees dressed up according to the theme. for the strive players it was 95%. i knew I could count on the game who's playerbase is all gay kids and grunglers

new england strive moves different. a girl couldn't ask for a better community

[skywalkr-nberrie]

I honestly disagree with the idea that Padmé “chose” Anakin because she’s just as unhinged as him or even the take that they’re both “toxic” and that’s why they work, which isn’t at all true.

Like of course, I know she is as unhinged and impulsive as him, and it’s true that’s part of what makes them “compatible” but that’s not why she fell in love with him. It’s not their flaws within themselves that drew themselves to each other, it was actually their good traits, such as: compassion, passion, deep love, sympathy, understanding, free spirit, joy, kindness, and much more that led to them both falling in love. They saw the “goodness” they both so strongly harboured, and held such strength within their characters. That’s what initially attracted the other to them.

So I think it’s kind of a downer to see some of us make up the excuse that Padmé was just “crazy” to have chosen Anakin. Padmé doesn’t have to be “mentally insane” to want and desire Anakin, when in reality, she simply loves the person he is, admires him for the man he has become, and she’s 100% valid to do so. We as a fandom, don’t need to make up excuses or justifications for her loving him. The narrative already sets it up to simply be that way, without painting the ‘made up’ subtext that Padmé is ‘crazy’ for doing so. And we can simply understand why. Anakin is an amazing person despite what happens in the end, and Padmé herself says she loves him for all he is even WITH those flaws.

[yardsards]

i personally think marcille is bisexual but in the "i am attracted the Occasional anime twink and also every woman who has ever walked the earth" way. like a solid 5 on the kinsey scale, y'know?

[almea]

[zarnzarn]

after the events of three in the morning, safe inside Athena just kinda tucked ody under her wings.

Idk why I think that but anyway it's cannon now that after ody gets thoroughly fucked Athena pulls him close and wraps her wings around him like a cocoon

yessss she sort of chirrups and coos down at him with the owl head tilting, nuzzling at him as she cleans up. she'd do it to penelope too but homegirl is practically steaming from how overheated all the exercise made her so she just goes and usually falls asleep face down on the bed until she's cool enough that athena can drag her closer as well.

in general i think athena would be there for the aftercare because I don't see post canon odypen knowing when to call it quits, which leads to both of them being absolutely exhausted and useless after the last round. she usually just rolls her eyes shakes her head and handles it all; but they both know she's awake for hours just trilling down at them and staring happily.

[flaminghotjareau]

are you normal or do you often think about how the only time emily got sick at a crime scene was when she saw tsia's dead body

[moeblob]

Honestly? Good anime imo! I really enjoyed Aileen. I enjoyed Claude. I enjoyed Isaac and Keith and Rachel and Almond and Ribbon. I enjoyed Belzebuth and the flock of ducks (Walt/Kyle/Auguste) and Jasper.

[nostalgicninjas]

sam definitely got war flashbacks in that moment ☹️