#straight to you

[jt1674]

[mitjalovse]

That Neil Young's producer? His name was – he died a long time ago – David Briggs. He was actually more than a production sideman of Neil Young, he also collaborated with many others thanks to his status there. However, do not mention his name in front of Nick Cave. Their project, Henry's Dream, was apparently a communication disaster, though you cannot tell that from the songs there who are incredible and I think the production serves them well. Then again, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds were in one of their better phrases, so one is allowed to think anyone could've produced them at that point and make the similar sounding album. You see, I somehow wish Nick Cave would've called Brian Eno then, what would've happened there …

[hellkitepriest]

[badolmen]

WARNING 18+

19

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.

[frosthetix]

some dudebros: tom hardy must be held at gunpoint to still be doing these sony venom movies

tom hardy: WRITES the movie, PRODUCES the movies, repeatedly states how much venom and eddie means to him, reads all the comics, #1 veddie shipper

[toyogamii]

“yuuji stop that,” sukuna growls at the toddler, swatting his chubby hands away from trying to rip open the candy bag, laying on the bottom rack in the sweets aisle.

the little boy pouts and kicks his older brother in the leg sharply.

“you little-“

“excuse me, sir? i think your son dropped this.”

sukuna looks up, ready to snap about being bothered in the middle of his grocery trip when he sees you, holding yuuji’s little tiger plushy. every word is knocked from his head and his mouth drops open a little. you looked like an angel come to life.

“uh… thanks,” he mumbles after a slightly awkward pause, he grabs the toy from your hand and gives it to yuuji who squeals with delight.

“there you go brat… he’s not my kid by the way, just my little brother,” he’s not sure why he feels the need to clarify.

“aw,” you say, “he looks just like you, so adorable.”

you squat down and wave to yuuji who grins and waves back.

sukuna can feel his cheeks heat up slightly and he curses to himself.

“what was that?” you ask as you stand up. shit, you’re so fucking pretty. he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

“nothin’ can i uh, get your number or something?” he grumbles. you cock your head and laugh softly.

“you sound like you feel obligated to ask for my number.”

“yeah, yeah, just to find some way to thank you for finding it. if ya hadn’t I’m sure this brat woulda been hollerin’ the whole way home.”

you laugh and pull out your phone.

“here, i’m y/n, by the way.”

“sukuna,” he mumbles as he types his information in, then hands you his phone to do the same.

when you finally walk off he’s left staring at the little contact in his phone.

y/n :)

yeah… he’ll definitely be giving you a call.

pt. 2

[sennamaticart]

Dress Code

[queerstudiesnatural]

funny how celebrities will raise $26M for a fashion institute but can't be bothered to mobilise even a fraction of that energy and money to help the people being tortured and killed in an unapologetic genocide as we speak. love that for society. what a moment for The Culture.

[dreamyintersexouppy]

"man, every trans woman i meet has a shitty bed and small apartment and no money let's make fun of them for that, let's get self congratulatory assfaces in the reblogs saying they'll buy her a blanket, let's all point and laugh at the poor girl who is systemically discriminated against and therefore more likely to end up poor, unemployed, and homeless, isn't that so funny?????"

you guys talk about our poverty the way conservatives talk about iq

[chloesimaginationthings]

The moment FNAF movie Vanessa knew she fucked up

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[trans-androgyne]

Reminder that "cis woman lesbians" that end up as straight trans men aren't any less queer than they were before. They aren't less in need/deserving of support, advocacy, research, and resources. They may be straight, but dominant systems don't necessarily view them that way, and still see their sexuality as queer in addition to seeing their gender identity as queer. Sending some love to straight trans guys who got the "ugh another straight man" response when they came out. Jokes with close friends are one thing, but let's be real: your identity isn't any less feminist, less radical, less queer than when you thought you were cis.

[mossycakes]

think about louis telling daniel about having sex with lestat for the first time in s1 ep1 and ending it with "at the time i did not consider myself a homosexual". that is the funniest fucking mental image because it essentially went like this;

louis: yeah so after i sucked his thumb i couldnt hold myself back from him anymore and we had gay sex. now daniel lemme tell you this was no ordinary gay sex, this was HEROIN gay sex. i had his dick in my ass like god damn it feels like im floating. it turned out we actually were, we had sex so good we were actually levitating in the middle of the room. it wasnt gay tho

daniel: