CANT FIGHT MY OWN NATURE

Im not like any other Dutch fans because the difference I see is I'm not ashamed of what I'm doing nor what I am and i ain't afraid to expose myself 😌

I can see my 10yr old self back in 2010 would be mortified because it ain't John Marston 😆 I did pay the price of wishing to be like him tho 🥲 (full of scars, doubt and I still can't swim) if only my younger self would understand who John really was before I wish to be this "cool badass hot ass cowboy" when I grow up 😩😆

(I know my tv stand needs cleaning, I will get to it when I'm not playing red dead 😆)

I just KNOW I'd give it my all if I made out with someone tnight

i refuse to believe that boycotting is hard. my favourite thing in the world is ordering maccies after a late night at work/a concert/getting drunk. yes i do miss it sometimes. but the other night i ordered from a small place near my house instead and it was the most orgasmic burger i've ever had in my life. i very rarely say this but fucking suck it up people are DEAD

jeph loeb MIGHT be a writing genius

proving elves (vampiric or not) can experience food coma too

don't worry about tav's blueish tint, he's a half-drow and that's just what he looks like- no shadowheart i SWEAR,

commissions \ ko-fi \ patreon

bonus:

Bruce Wayne, drunk and full on Brucie mood in the middle of a gala: You know, that accent doesn’t really fit in around here. It’s cute. Where are you from?

Clark, internally debating every life choice that led him to this moment: I’m from Smallville. Kansas.

Bruce, leaning closer to Clark with a flirty smile: Oh you’re cute and funny. You know, I like that in a man.

Clark, very confused but trying to just go along with it: Thank you??

Bruce: I mean, everyone knows that Kansas isn’t real but I do always enjoy a good laugh.

Clark: What.

Bruce: What? Everyone knows that Kansas was made up for Wizard of Oz.

Clark, unsure if Bruce is fucking with him or if he’s just really deep into this dumb act: Bruce, Kansas is a real place. It’s one of the 50 states that make up America.

Bruce, tilting his head a little confused: There’s 50 states? Since when?

This isn't aimed at anyone but it's such a bummer that butches/studs/mascs are expected to bc aggressive and tops. What if I'm soft and subby? Then what? What if I just want to worship my femme at the altar and defy God to please her? What if I want to be used by her? Live to please her? Cook her favorite meals and hold her close to show her she's loved? What if I'm tender and look the most handsome on my knees? If I just want to follow my femmes commands? What if i want us to find home in each other? What if I want to be her stay at home husbutch always ready to please? What if i want to look up at her and see all the love ive always wanted and never thought i was worthy of? What then?

honestly abed was so real for not even caring about free drinks and just having someone's attention to talk about his interests. even if the other person had ulterior motives, at least they were listening.

but on an even realer note he should've gone and talked to troy about them. and also had gay sex with him.

Trouble:)

It is telling that when Katniss is supposedly trying to be distant from Peeta in the first half of CF, there are two specific instances where she notes she’s in a state where her inhibitions are lowered and she worries about things she might say or do around Peeta. First, is under the influence of sleep syrup when she hurts herself and the second is after she gets drunk with Haymitch when the QQ is announced.

“A side effect of sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go.”

“My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to?”

These aren’t instances that tell us that Peeta is a danger to her in some way while she’s in these states - because there’s absolutely no world in which Peeta takes advantage of her like that. But it reveals to us a lot about where she herself is in regards to Peeta. For all her talk of choosing Gale and the rebellion, she knows she’s harbouring feelings for Peeta, feelings she can’t even fully say to us the readers. She knows that with her inhibitions lowered around him, she’s emotionally vulnerable to him. She knows she has to restrict herself from saying/doing certain things, or even seeing him altogether because seeing him in that state? She’s a goner.

It’s that whole notion of “drunken words are sober thoughts.” In the first encounter, she’s the most physically affectionate and essentially needy (!) with him that she’s been since the victory tour and since her conflict over the rebellion/Gale’s whipping. All the restraint she’s been trying to have, the flimsy wall she’s tried to build comes crumbling down. She asks him to stay repeatedly, she holds his hand to her face and takes in his scent. And that’s her while she’s trying to be in control. So it’s a good thing she doesn’t at all go to see him the second time because she’s fully drunk then. And considering that when they meet the next morning, she’s disappointed that he’s not comforting her with hugs and kisses, I can imagine how a meet up between those two that fateful night would’ve been.

Vincent Price and Peter Lorre

The Comedy of Terrors (1964) // dir. Jacques Tourneur

wearing fae könig and ghosts clothes cause it’s cold? Would they be possessive? Do they scent mark and just the sight of their loves in their clothes cause their instincts to go wild? Or do they just want to snuggle the hell out of their loves because the oversize clothes just looks so cute on them?

anyway have a lovely day!

*vibrating excitedly* thank you for the fluff prompt I'm gonna do fae!Ghost, but they both absolutely scent mark so if u want König I can do him too.

You steal Simon's shirt off the floor while he's in the shower. You spend a few minutes with your face pressed into it before you actually put it on, you don't think you could ever get enough of his scent. The shirt itself hits you mid thigh, and you take a very pleased moment to enjoy it before going to put a kettle on.

You're starting to get good at timing your mornings out, hearing the shower shut off as you stir a second sugar packet into Simon's mug. You grab the handle and make your way back to your bedroom just in time to see him coming out of the steamy en suite. Truly one of your favorite sights. You hum appreciatively as he scrubs his hair with one of your towels, letting your eyes trace over every well defined scar and muscle until they're resting on the low hang of the towel around his waist.

Every inch of him seems designed for power and skill, but the pink towels are yours. They speak to comfort and domesticity. You sometimes wonder if Simon ever had that before you. He takes to it like a starving man, grasping at every shred of comfort you offer him and devouring it no matter how small it may seem to you.

"I made you a cuppa," you tell him, dragging your eyes back to his face as he tugs the towel off his head. He glances at you as he tosses it onto the bed, then almost as quickly as the terrycloth hits the bed his eyes are on you again. They stick to his shirt, his gaze heavy on the oversized garment you're wearing.

Simon makes a noise you've never heard before. It's rough and throaty, but it rumbles pleasantly and hits something deep and affectionate in your chest. You hold out the tea you have for him and he wraps his fingers around your wrist to drag you close. His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest as he presses his nose to your pulse and inhales. You try to hold the hot mug out of the way as he makes that rumbly noise again.

"Smell like me," he mumbles. You feel his mouth open, tasting the scent of you as he breathes deeply. You give a questioning hum and he holds you tighter, forcing a high squeak from you at the squeeze. "My sweet girl, better than I could've imagined." The way he says it makes your heart melt a little, so quiet and sincere, you dont think he means just his scent. You'll wear his shirts every day if it makes him this happy.

He rubs his cheek against yours, the scratch of his stubble making you laugh and try to squirm away from him. Simon doesn't let up, and you're restricted by the tea in your hand. The rumbling is getting warmer, you are getting warmer. You duck your head to press your nose against his neck in retaliation. He smells like woodsmoke and bourbon, and your favorite body wash. And you get it when he lifts you up to take you back to bed.

here’s my rusame secret santa gift for amerus king @ironicorange!

I hope I did the funny christmas sweater concept justice (ivan totally knitted them both) and it was a huge honor to draw something for you! thank you for representing the amerus/rusame community as amazingly as you do, much love! xo

Hand in unloveable hand or whatever

I had a clear vision with this one.

I did NOT need to spend that much time on this BUT DAMN IT IT’S FUNNY-

Context: Peppino was annoying the fuck outta’ him and it got so bad he wanted to take him home.

He was done with his bullshit- 💀

fuck it friday

tagged by @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire

thank you lovelies! <3

haven't had really any time to work on anything besides secret fic (which is nearly done HUZZAH) but here's some sleepy silly drunk buck for yall from drunk confession fic

Eddie’s fingers brush across Buck’s eyebrow, feather light and timid.

Buck feels it all the way down to his toes.

“Alright. Get some rest. And try not to fall off the couch or strangle yourself with the blankets, okay?”

Buck cracks open one eye and growls. “Happened one time.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, amusement settling deep into his face and making him shine in the darkness. His fingers keep caressing over Buck’s skin, moving from his eyebrow down to his cheek and then finally tracing the line of his jaw.

Buck wants to open his mouth wide, let Eddie explore inside there too, take his fingers in deep and just keep them there, all warm and wet and safe.

But exhaustion is clawing too hard at him, so he silently vows to ask Eddie if he can suck on his fingers later.

Eddie is still looking at him pointedly, like he is waiting for something. Buck huffs and closes his eyes, turning his head to the side and mumbling into his pillow, “Fine. Happened three times. Whatev’r.”

An acknowledging and teasing hum travels through the air, light and rich and far prettier than a hum has any right to be, but of course it is because it’s Eddie’s.

tagging @spaceprincessem @elvensorceress @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @diazass @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @chronicowboy @housewifebuck @folk-fae @gayedmundodiaz @bvckandeddie @colonoscopys @eddiediaaz @zerokinkade @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @thewolvesof1998 @loserdiaz @rogerzsteven @buddierights @monsterrae1 @911onabc @lemonzestywrites @rewritetheending @giddyupbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @bucks118 @butchdiaz @callmenewbie @transboybuckley and anyone else who wants to share!