I Don't Even Know Anymore - Tumblr Posts

So most nights when I say goodnight to my family it's pretty early, like 8 o'clock, and every time without fail my mother is like "You're going to bed now?"

NO MOM I'M NOT I JUST DON'T PLAN ON SEEING YOU FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT AND I'M TRYING TO BE POLITE

Like this happens so often and I genuinely don't understand why she does this??? Like sleep? I don't know him! I just want to be all nice and cozy and alone in my locked bedroom!!!

I am saying "Good night" I am not saying "I'm going to bed"

I'M WISHING YOU A GOODNIGHT??? MAYBE WISH ME A GOODNIGHT IN RETURN IDK

Like I love you I want you to have a good night you deserve a good night I deserve a good night GOOD NIGHTS ALL AROUND

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess was the first game my parents let me play (Because my brother already had it). I like the Twili a lot :)

I heard there's been new controversy about Scott on Twitter besides the mcc thing??

Can someone please explain.

First and Last Words, Castiel 4x01 - 15x18

Unlucky underwear day [ x ]

Caught in a lie

This is canon right

My poor little meow meow🩷

My poor little meow meow🩷

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Imagine you’re dating Eddie before all of you know what happens and one day offhandedly he ask you “hey how come you never straighten your hair” just out of pure curiosity and you’re like “I’ll tell you what, I’ll straighten my hair when you with graduate or die” as a joke, but then the upside down and everything else happens and you wear your hair straightened to his funeral and you’re crying the entire time, but he’s not dead. He’s a vampire now, but he’s not dead and he’s watching all this go down from a distance and he’s just like oh shit she actually did it I didn’t want it under these circumstances but she did it on top of you know the regular feelings for their holding a funeral for me and my girlfriend is crying for me and did the thing that she said she would do for my funeral so yeah you can imagine he’s torn up as hell.

Just a stupid little thought that I just had while drawing that’s all.

Macho Original by 要: [here]

Does anyone else just…wanna die? Just wanna stab a knife in their chest or tie a rope round their neck or swallow one too many pills or something and just fucking die? To stop everything. Stop the hurt?

nathan and rotti are just doomed old man yaoi

Petah the horse is coming

[Spontaneous Erection and Masturbation in Equids]

McDonnell (1991)

H/T to an anonymous submitter for sending this in!

Sad because Dutch Van Der Linde (my dad) is moving us to Tahiti (Arizona) and forcing me onto a cattle ranch (scho ol)

📔

hmmm

Twisted Wonderland AU/fanfic where Kalim is suddenly a werewolf except he's not even feral he's just a floof ball and any night that isn't the full moon he looks like his Halloween outfit except it's whatever he's wearing and Jamil is gonna have to figure out who the fuck did this to him while covering up the fact that Jamil himself is a snake man. Meanwhile Rook has gone full hunter mode and Idia, MC, Ace, Deuce, and Grim were all dragged into the mess somehow.

I mean it lead to my Beastmaster MC AU that I haven't talked about yet I'm also proud of but like how tf is this a thing I came up with

Noots?

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・741 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes so mdni / author's note・inspired by our beautiful boy's bbl texts about the nylon shoot. he is so loved. i hope he knows it ♡

𝟬𝟵:𝟬𝟵 — Chan is nervous.

He doesn’t say so out loud. He doesn’t say anything out loud, actually, simply appearing in the kitchen to pluck a slice of toast off the counter. Damp curls dripping into the towel slung around his neck, brushing against your cheek when he leaves a good morning kiss there.

But there’s a squareness in his shoulders. A muted glaze over the brown of his eyes and a tightness in the smile he gives you as he pulls away. The images linger in your vision after he disappears back down the hallway, presumably to get ready for the big day ahead.

Words. There are times when they embrace Chan like orchestral musicians awaiting their conductor’s cue, like sunflowers swiveling eastward in the halcyon morning—but there are other times when they haunt him, like the faceless sea of spectators instead of the hopeful performers, like the shadows that comprise the fathomless night rather than the rays of sun that follow.

You rise out of your seat, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. Chan needs the sun, today.

Inside your bedroom, Chan’s towel sits atop your duvet, right beside the white material of the T-shirt he slept in. The bathroom door is ajar and spilling yellow light onto the hardwood. You nudge it open further.

Free to roam after the towel’s removal, transparent waterdrops pave silvery trails down the sides of Chan’s neck, over the gentle incline of his collarbones and the naked hills of his chest. His palms are pressed flat on either side of the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror before him, his jaw set as squarely in his reflection as it is on his person.

He jumps when your reflection joins his. Parts his lips, prepares to speak. But his whole vernacular evaporates when your hands find his waist, when your breath hits the nape of his neck. 

“Baby,” he breathes.

There’s a question embedded in the word. The only answer you give him is the quiet drag of your fingertips down the center of his back. He expels an involuntary shudder, and with it the muscles beneath your touch shift like fields of marigolds tousled by a kindred breeze.

You kiss the highest ridge of his spine, letting your lips linger against the smooth skin for a few moments before doing the same, just below his ear. 

“What—” He pauses, swallows. “What are you doing, angel?”

When your hands return to his hips, they request something this time. He complies, lets you turn him around, his lower back meeting the marble with a soft bump.

You bring yourself close to him. Close enough to gauge his blushing cheeks and trembling breath and brown, brown eyes, crossed from trying to look at you. Close enough that you only need slightly dip your head to mould your lips to the hollow right under his jaw.

He moans, the sound melodic and low and quickly muffled by the lower lip he bites down upon. You suck lightly, careful not to leave a mark yet entirely fine with the alternative, then graze your teeth over the tender skin, pull away. You don’t go far, though, as your next destination is his Adam’s apple, which you reach not by boat or by plane but by short, wet kisses that resound in the silent bathroom, that draw from Chan’s throat another gorgeous whine.

As you progress in this fashion, traipsing across the plane of his clavicle, the valley of his pectorals, you want to tell him that he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful when he laughs so hard that his smile turns boxy and his voice gets all squeaky. He’s beautiful when he’s trying not to cry and his eyes look like mirror pools because he’s failing. He’s beautiful in front of the cameras; he’s beautiful away from them. He’s beautiful always, your Chan, your Chris.

That is what you want to tell him.

But you don’t. Not even when his back hits the mattress moments later and he looks like your every wildest dream come to life underneath you: pupils blown so wide that they’ve swallowed his irises, lips glistening and quivering and inconceivably kissable as he sighs your name, chiseled upper body rippling when he props himself up on his elbows. Straining to look at you as you lower your mouth to his navel, undo the knot of his sweatpants with a gentle tug.

You’ll show him instead.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

when your brain says no but your heart says yes

This.