#tied to the radiator

[priest-iuput]

Joli Coeur

[misscammiedawn]

Pure gender euphoria from this photo.

[blackcathjp]

self-arrogant and pathetic top draco begging to fuck harry... he jokingly flirts but secretly really wants harry. a loser top who doesn't know what to do with his attraction so he channels his inner douchery, saying stuff like "where's my hug at?", "OOOH you sooo want me ;)" boldly asks when they'll fuck every 2 weeks, only to go WOAH... WAIT A MINUTE?!? 😳 when harry finally agrees. lives in a state of horny confused denial. all bark, no bite. talks up a big game but can't deliver.

feisty hot and cold harry who sometimes indulges the teasing, but dreads seeing draco since he always yaps nonsense. usually rolls his eyes or ignores him. would angrily yell, "as if i'd let you fuck me, you wanker!" yet, he goes home and thinks about it. a lot. like putting draco on his knees, making him suck his cock or eat his arse. imagines teaching draco how to fuck him best. draco is annoying, yet harry craves his presence and his flirtatious touches - curse his stupid stupid heart and stupid stupid cock!!

so... mean (kinda dom) bottom harry and service top draco... MMMHH

** short blurb below **

draco obediently sits on the floor, confused and horny, staring up at harry while his hands clutch his arse. despite the supposed obedience, he still mouths off smugly, "come on potter, let me show you how good malfoy cock is-"

only for harry to shove a thumb into his mouth, sinking down on his cock. draco groans loudly, overwhelmed by the tight heat but even more by the glorious, powerful vision of harry potter above him, looking down at him with disdain, indifference, annoyance, and most of all, arousal. he shouldn't be that turned on by harry looking at him like a pathetic toy that he's going to use. it feels so wrong... yet so good.

harry leans down, nipping at his jaw. "this is the only way to shut you up, hmm?" he tugs draco's mouth open, slipping in two fingers next to his thumb, then licking his stretched mouth. draco whimpers, shuddering when harry whispers across his lips, "fuck me as good as you say you can."

[star-ar512]

[oddsconvert]

I've fallen down the YouTube rabbit hole of watching kidnappings for ransom in British TV shows/soaps......I must write something on this now......has occupied all my brain space

[zoyo14]

my food in the microwave

[constantvariations]

Remembering how someone once brushed off the criticism of v5 being mostly in a single room by saying "most sitcoms take place in a single room!" as if Remnant isn't an entirely new world with unique landscapes and cultures that should be explored

[shellxrls]

might have to start writing rpf for the first time in my life when queer comes out..

[gutsheapofrawiron]

"I have no problem following the rules as long as I understand the reason for it" ok we get it Ti-dom lookin ass

[strongfuck]

so i went with a lightning scar type “tattoo”; the starting point on his spine is where his main eridium injector was, and because the power that manifested in him is electrokinesis, it created lightning scar-esque lines on him :)

[aphantimes]

What if the Master Emerald did originally belong to some early group of echidnas and the ancients unknowingly yoinked it from them....

[peglarpapers]

can you guys stop posting jared harris foundation desert wailing my dick can only get so hard

[jewishrizahawkeye]

i’m thinking about the parallels of invisible string//willow music video//labyrinth and how taylor was kinda stuck in her own mind and world and couldn’t really see a way out so she just kept going and then she found ariadne’s golden thread and followed that out but even then she didn’t know if it was real and kept thinking it wouldn’t lead her out but then it did and now im crying for some reason and i don’t know why but just the thought of her relating to the labyrinth myth cause the labyrinth can be a metaphor for personal growth and journeys from inside yourself and back out and

[filthystill]

[ AID ] for one muse to find the other in shock,  hiding from something or someone.  (From holly for Jimmy )

jimmy gets a lobotomy.

Normally, he loved it when he makes the evening news. This time was different. There was nothing to love here. No glory. This was a defeat. This was the end of days.

Out the corner of his eye, traitor. Betrayer. Did it all mean nothing to you?

In front of him, drool. Christmas fucking past. If he'd only stamped on his head once more, if he'd only finished the fucking job, he wouldn't be here. He'd be in Alaska, drinking himself to death in peace.

And after everything we've been through, he wanted to say, to the shape in the corner of his eye, you're just going to stand there and watch?

We're going to do to you, what you did to us. We're going to find your daughter. We're going to cut her arms off, and her legs, and leave you braindead. You have done this to yourself.

"Come on..." Shape in the corner of his eye, flicker, spark of the past.

There it is.

The needle is in through his eye, touches something serious, pupils vibrate, and in the shaking he sees green leaves, thrashing water, new to these emotions, don't know how to explain, holy shit, HOLY SHIT.

He grabbed the back of the chair, and thrashed it to the floor, needle slipped out Jimmy's eye, and he was free, for the first time in a month he was unbound, all that hate, it had to go somewhere. Back to back with his betrayer, he fought like a hungry dog. All snapping teeth and high-pitched yelling.

Fell out the elevator, went through the door in hail of woodchips, cheap plywood, he'd done this before. Carried by momentum only he crashes in, violently blows chunks. Kitchen. Kitchen first. Keep that momentum up. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't scan the place for bodies, nobody's home. Nobody lives here anymore. Thick layer of dust over the pad, but, if he wasn't in the state he currently was, he might've noticed the disturbed patches. The fingerprints. The smudges. He's over the sink, fighting with something, noise coming out of him, rumbling like thunder, like lightning he's through the cupboards, every single one tore open until he found bottle, and pills.

He jams two in his mouth, hard crack, he jams the bottle to his lips and fires his head back, the liquid hits the back of his throat, and for a second he's sure he's dead -- his heart explodes, his mind collapses in on itself, they dragged him out of the cold, the beat him, they nearly ended his whole fucking career, he was blind, asleep at the wheel, cocksure, but they beat him. They won. He could still feel the empty space where the needle was, jammed in his eyeball, he was one tap away from demented torture. Sick fucks. Evil fucks. And his body screamed, yelled, buckled under the weight of the poison hammering his stomach, hand grabbed his neck, hard, held his throat open. He's falling back, against the bottle, against the counter, wipes out the toaster, microwave hanging limply by the cable, clatter, hits the ground.

And it's all over. All that noise is fading into the background. And he remembers the rain, against his fur, in that place beyond the lobotomy. Microsleep on the kitchen counter.

Those pills were really fucking good. Really fucking potent, really fucking clean. No food, dragging him under already, he's so heavy, peels sticky face off the cold marble.

He sleeps in the shower for five hours.

It's dark when he wakes up, he feels like a new man, in the grips of morphine and whatever spirit was still swirling around his mind. Luckily he's in a towel when he comes out, now aware he's not alone, figure on his couch, small frame, he knew her. No, not Molly, the other one. The smaller one. Holly. That's it. Holly. He knew her shape, before he knew her name.

He didn't say nothing. Just moved to the end of the couch, perched himself there, started rolling a blunt. Press of a button, bathed in the light of the flat-screen. Normally, he loved it when he makes the evening news. This time was different. There was nothing to love here. No glory. This was a defeat. This was the end of days.

Armed and dangerous. He'd shot his way out of there. Stupid to still be in the city. Knew Dmitri would be out of here. Nobody knew about this place. It was safe.

"Just hope it wasn't all in vein," he says, before his tongue flicks out, "this is it man," blunt in his mouth, he had time to burn, to recover, even without a door. Pigs didn't know shit. He was sure of it. Certain. Still. Light in the lobby, only place illuminated. "It was nearly all for nothing, nearly slipped through my fingers," thick cloud huffed out, sweet burn, her arms wrap around him, shhh it's okay, in his ear, "you know a brain doctor?" He asked, bluntly, as the worry set in, "I was almost fucked, Holly, you get me," poked his eye, laughed, "they almost fucking had me."

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”