Pinned
flower sweatpants pt. 2 🌼
Reblogged peelmeslow
yeah yeah yeah misbehaving brat to obedient sub pipeline but what about the eager “yes yes i can do it” sub to the begging “no no more please i can’t” broken toy speedrun
Reblogged sourblues
Gym leaders and such often have names that match their type which raises the question: which type would you specialise in based only on your name?
Mature content
Reblogged
recently not-paid mercs taking slim pickings on some raiders who slipped too far down on the chain of has-not-been-paid-recently to be legally able to surface, to stave off being the same.
you're fingering some baroness fifty-klicks down the line of succession who evidently never had her ransom come in; pushed her face-down, pussy-up over a cold, metal-grid table in the mess hall while the rest of the company steps over corpses to loot whatever else is left. you slip a blindfold over her eyes, tell her to focus on the feeling not all the people she's knows are watching her get claimed and she wraps herself around those fingers like it's her first decent orgasm in years.
when some asshole asks when you're gonna share her you lay your claim with an obsessive, possessive grip placed subtly on one of her parts less bruised. tell him to fuck off and take advantage of the extra time he has to pilfer everything else.
when she's in your quarters, in your bed, in your arms, those that wrap around a half-swollen belly with a loose and miserable resignation to their presence, she starts to grind back needily. you're inside her again soon, "risked a lot to take you, you gotta--"
"make it worth it, i know," she sighs, as much from pleasure as brokenness. "i promise."
"uh -- yeah. sure, princess. just be good. you'll get through this, okay."
Mature content: Violence, Sexual themes
This post may contain content not suitable for all audiences.
Reblogged deergirliconoclast
Reblogged hormonecyborg
the sybil
Reblogged wormtoxin
Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia
There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. - Lewis Carroll, “The Lobster Quadrille,”
ONE.
There is a moment early in H.P. Lovecraft’s 1931 novella The Shadow over Innsmouth where the nameless narrator looks out from the rotting seaside hamlet where he has lucklessly ventured, to the so-called Devil Reef some ways out in the harbor, darkened by a cloud of evil rumor—and something curious happens: the narrator experiences two opposed sensations simultaneously. The “long, black line” of the reef conveys “a suggestion of odd latent malignancy,” but also, “a subtle, curious sense of beckoning seemed superadded to the grim repulsion.” This bit of foreshadowing—the reef both calling and repelling the narrator—only finds its denouement at the very end of the story, after our narrator has narrowly escaped Innsmouth, the fish-like monsters who swarm in off of Devil Reef and their part-human descendants who inhabit the town in an unconvincing and repellent simulacrum of humanity. After his escape, the narrator does some genealogical research into his own troubled family history, full of disappearances and suicides, and concludes that he himself is one such abyssal hybrid. As he ages, he finds himself changing to resemble them, and in his dreams he swims among them in undersea palaces and gardens. The call of the deep becomes impossible to ignore:
Reblogged hormonecyborg
The butterflies
Reblogged hormonecyborg
The butterflies