1001 Nights (1998) Art: Yoshitaka Amano

please no one disturb me I am doing important research on wikipedia dot com today

25-35 is such a weird fucking age because you’re 100% a bread-and-butter Standard Edition Millennial but the cool teens are like “ok boomer” because you have a Real Job but the actual Boomers at your job are like “I’m not going to listen to a literal fucking child” as they download 16 self-replicating viruses and meanwhile the Gen Xers are telling you to refinance a mortgage for a house you don’t have and you’re sitting there at the Adults Table with the pretty tasty casserole you cooked because you’ve finally figured out how to do that now but everyone is eating the Boomer’s store-bought macaroni instead and admittedly they do sort of taste similar so it probably wasn’t worth all the trouble of cooking from scratch and you’re trying to comfort the freshly-graduated sobbing 22-year-old next to you because she just woke up here and doesn’t know where she is but you have like maybe 5k dollars in a savings account labelled RETIREMENT that grows approx. twelve cents a year and you keep eating dry macaroni while smiling incomprehensibly and periodically blacking out like ??????????

think again motherfucker

how i feel whenever someone leaves something dumb as hell in the notes/ask box of my mutual

JENNIFER COOLIDGE Wins Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series for The White Lotus | 75th Primetime Emmy Awards

A trope that gets to me: 'guard dog' character and their partner who are both fully aware of it and honestly don't care/kind of like it. Someone says "call your guard dog off" and their partner does call them off. That person, their 'guard dog', is someone who is unreservedly, irrefutably loyal to them. Someone undoubtedly dangerous who is willing to kill, to maim, to obey, simply because of their love for one another. There's no manipulation involved— it is loyalty, brutal, dogged loyalty. And it goes both ways.

@lgbtqcreators creator bingo - favourite genre & rainbow

musical (noun) a play or film in which singing and dancing play an essential part.

I haven't finished it yet but I love you cowboy bebop for actually committing to making the world so very visibly racially diverse. An episode of cowboy bebop has more black characters in it than entire arcs of some long running anime

(id in alt)

atom eve -- for a user on ig, ty again!!

science fiction as a genre was invented specifically to show lesbians some greasy sweaty women in tank tops fixing machinery

Bucky with an oral fixation due to his anxiety so you let him suck your big tits (smut)

Bucky’s heart may fail him in so many horrors—both in waking, from his nerves, and in sleep, from his nightmares, because the punishment of his disordered mind is its own disorder. A disorder nobody else has. There is no cure, but he is trying to master it, he is learning to live with it—just as he has learned to live with other storms of his mind. The impossibility of love? He has you now. The past can't be annihilated, it is a part of him. Regret, denial, sadness—it leads to anxiety and his habit of always chewing on something—gum, sweets. He holds his breath, a desperate attempt to slow down his heartbeat, a desperate attempt to get away. One second. Two seconds. The moment he chews on the pencil you gifted him for that purpose, he is feeling better. No amount of him trying to explain himself is doing any good, he doesn’t even know what is going on inside of him—but your observation is the first step of the inner unfolding, of finding a solution to every problem he has. You create so much love, compassion, equanimity and joy in his mind that he doesn’t feel ashamed or judged. But seeing him biting down on that pencil—once you've seen how broken he is, it's like seeing him naked. How can you help now? “Bucky, why don't you suck on my tits instead?”

His gaze, though almost improper, is the most sensual thing he could have done at the moment, and it jolts your heart into a strange rhythm, leaving you unable to speak. There is lust and then there is love. They are related, but still very different things—you surge forward, crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing your lips to his. It is desperate and frantic, but the feel of his mouth against yours sends a bolt of electricity straight down your spine. Bucky grips your waist and lifts you off the ground with ease, dropping you softly on the luxurious white linen bed. He gets on top and the gentle, erotic pressure of his mouth on yours, the compelling pleasure of his kiss—the world stops and all the silence, but for your hearts, trying to synchronize your crashing. It is all the thrill of these kisses, of your new naughty suggestion. It is the impatience of the way he tears your shirt from your body, that really turns you on—lust getting the better of him, Bucky is a gentle lover, but not today which makes a jolt of some foreign but not unwelcome sensation pierce you. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he mutters out: “I already love that idea, baby”

You let out an involuntary airy moan as he grabs them in his palms, his huge hands palming your tits, kneading gently at first before he rubs his palms in circles. He rolls one nipple between his fingers, humming in satisfaction as it hardens under his touch before he begins to suck on it while massaging your other tit. He's drooling, swirling his tongue over it before biting gently the nipple and he is thankful that your head is thrown back so you don't look how desperate he is. How fucked up he is. He fully embraces the deliciousness of this sin, the calmness that it brings to his mind and all you want to drown his worries. You want him to do something totally unlike himself and it is working—but this lust is something close to anguish, because he needs to stop eventually and he doesn't want to. He leans back a bit, searching for your eyes as he struggles to breathe, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take deep breaths, to soothe with oxygen—the vast ocean of blue that is his eyes, remarkably focused and soft at the same time. “I love it, I love how big they are” he says thickly and completely without shame. He bites down on the curve of your breast, breathing softly on top of the skin “Can’t stop,” he says, the words coming out like a caress. He says it again, over and over. A litany. As your clothed cunt contracts at the friction against his pelvis, his words, you can feel him, hips bucking slowly up into you. He latches his mouth directly on your other nipple, making you cry out as he envelops a part of your breast into his mouth, a hand coming up to play with the other one. “Bucky—enough”  Your hands go to his hair as he sucks sharply on the breast, but you can’t pull him away. You can’t help the whimpers that escape you, the long drawn out sobs that punch out of your throat whenever he bites a little harder, giving your other nipple a harsher tug as a punishment every time you try to push him back. Sucking removes any daily existence from his mind, any anxiety, grounding Bucky firmly in the moment and dragging your body with it. Until he had enough. What a beautiful madness, he never felt so relaxed.

have you seen whats happening

leave my husband alone

he’s got that previously neglected shelter dog rizz. he looks like he wants to quietly sit next to you on the couch while you watch TV