👁👁

Me trying to summon a demon so I can finally get fucked like I deserve ;)

my 6yo piano student: did you KNOW that girls can marry girls and BOYS can marry boys? But they can’t do that romantic dance together when one has a rose in their mouth, because only boys can play the guitar :(

me: 👁️👄👁️well actually, girls can definitely play guitar??

6yo: WAIT REALLY?? :O

Give me more! Now! Hmph.

Thinking horny thoughts about Minotaurs so here’s a lazy Drabble

Cw: m/f, breeding kink

Male!minotaur god of agricultural x Female!human offering

your villages crops are failing. If it continues there won’t be enough to store for winter. In the face of a grueling winter and the real possibility of starvation, the villagers turn to the god of agriculture. They choose you as the offering. They lathering you in sweet smelling oils and dress you in the finest scarlet dress the village possesses. Gold necklaces are clasped around your neck, silver bracelets slipped onto your wrists. A crown of wildflowers rested on your brow.

You’re paraded through the village while neighbors, family, and friends gather on the streets chanting prayers and singing hymns to catch the God’s attention.

You’re left standing alone in a barren field One of the many your village had tried and failed to cultivate. The light of the full moon bathing you in its silvery light.

It doesn’t take long before He’s towering over you. He was magnificent.

“Do you know what this ritual entails?”

What do you say to a God? How do you say it? So you don’t answer. At least, not with words. Without looking away from the God before you, you lower yourself to the ground. Dress pooled around your waist, you spread your thighs and bear your sex to His hungry eyes.

He spends hours between your legs. Alternating between opening you up on his thick fingers and dragging his large, hot tongue along the seam of your cunt. He pushes you to the edge of ecstasy, only to reel you back in.

Your thighs are slick with the proof of your need. You feel wetness steadily leak from your cunt onto your ass. He slides his hips in between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock teasing your slick entrance.

“You’re ready. Know that if we do this I will spill inside. My seed will take and you will become pregnant. Do you understand?”

You nod. God, you understood. You wanted it more than you wanted anything else.

“Say it.”

“I want it, please. I-I need it. I need it so bad,” you sobbed, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks. He had spent so long teasing you, you’d absolutely die without release. You nearly screamed in relief when He began slowly fucking into you. He was so thick. Even with all the preparation you felt every inch of Him splitting you open.

“Such a greedy cunt you have,” He grunted, “taking me so well. Begging for my cock so prettily. I’ll give it to you. Give you anything. Everything.”

It doesn’t take long before you felt an orgasm rip it’s way through you. Your vision blacks out as a wrecked scream tore from your throat. You felt his cock pulse, spilling hot seed into your starved cunt.

When you finally came back to your body you noticed that the once barren field was now filled with healthy vegetation.

“Your village will one day be the capital of a mighty and prosperous kingdom. Our children’s children will sit at it’s head and one day pass their crown to the heads of their children. But that is a conversation for later,” he pulled you close, enveloping you in a strong embrace, “now, we rest.”

The Glory of Confessions

You sat in the opposite booth, waiting for Father to tell you to confess your sins. Your oh-so-nasty sins.

The thoughts of the Father spanking you with a wooden cross, making you recite verses in The Bible, making you restart every time your pathetic voice waivered or you cried out begging him to stop.

"Begin your confession, the Holy Lord is with you child."

"Yes God. I mean Father." You begin to reach the hem of your best Sunday dress, a pastel pink with baby's breath on it, your pussy's heat making it unbearable. "I've been having very sinful thoughts, Father." You sigh, dipping your fingers into your heat, "About us. How it'd feel to be yours." You move two digits in and out of you, making sure The Father can hear just how wet you are for him.

"The Lord forgives you. I forgive you, my dear child." The Father puffs out, if you listened hard enough you can hear the subtle movement of pants being unzipped. "Tell me, what these thoughts are like, my child." He asks dearingly.

"I touch myself to the thoughts of you touching me and taking me like God says only married folk do. I dream of your cocks taste. I get soaked just being in congregation with you, I love how you have me in a chokehold. You're like my own personal God." You pause, allowing your clit to relax from a pending orgasm. You can hear The Father breathing heavily, "Father, let me help you." You plead. "Yes child, you will help your God." he responds.

His cock appears through a hidden hole, and to your surprise, his pale cock is pierced, 6 balls, A Jacob's ladder? You can see the precum leaking and the leftover saliva he left from listening to you.

You hum, you take his cock in your hand, has to be at least 7 1/2 inches, maybe bigger. You lick his tip and his cock bucks in your hand, you put his tip in your mouth and swirl your eager tongue around it; making him pant and moan.

"Yes, that feels amazing, my child." The Father rolls his hips, in turn, his cock in your hands. You decide to push your limits by taking his cock slowly down your throat, counting each piercing that passes your smeared lips. Your pussy was aching for touch but you wouldn't allow yourself to. Bobbing your head, you moan and gag around his cock, loving the salty taste.

The Father moans at your movements, loving how your pretty throat wrapped tightly around his cock. You've been so taunting lately, the cute dresses, not wearing bras, the way your pretty eyes watch his every move. That's right, He's your God. Your only God.

He cums at those thoughts, loving the way you gag to swallow every drop. You even suck till he's soft in your mouth taking every drop.

As he pulls away, you ask for a more fruitful time the next time you both are alone. All you get back as an answer is "Maybe, My pet."

Hell yea

You can only reblog this today.

Daily fucking reminder that Luigi Mangione is innocent, completely and fully. He has been convicted of no crime. He has had no fair trial. He is a SUSPECT. Luigi Mangione is entirely innocent and everyone needs to stop parroting this insidious propaganda that he “committed” the crime he is only SUSPECTED of. He is not a murderer. He is not a criminal. He is an innocent man.

"guys I do not condone any of this in real life" "this is fiction" "consent is key. this is only fiction" "murder is bad irl" — I wish fanfic authors didn't feel like they had to clarify this in author's notes or else they might be accused of being abusers or worse (I admit that such disclaimers are also something I personally use for my own stuff because I feel like I had to make it clear). like... people used to not care if an author wrote dead dove fics because people used to understand that ao3 fics are not a reflection of someone's in real life views or morality in any way. people used to understand that fanfics mean what they mean; fan fiction. none of it is real. maybe it's purity culture that normalizes witch hunt and censorship in the past couple years, and therefore authors feel like they have to clarify that just because they write about violence or noncon stuff doesn't mean they're murderers or sex offenders in real life. and I think it sucks that these things (purity and cancel culture?) have made authors feel like they have to apologize for the art they created instead of being proud of their hard work and all the dedication they put into creating these art. artists should not have to feel like they have to apologize for creating art that isn't all rainbow and sunshine. artists should not have to be made to feel ashamed of their own art if it's not all rainbow and sunshine.

I don’t agree with the “you can write noncon and dark fics as long as you make sure your readers get the message that these things are bad” or “you can write noncon and dark fics if it’s your way of coping with your trauma” take either. because writers do not owe you anything. the message writers want to send to their readers — whatever that message may be, if there’s any message or moral of the story for readers to take from the stories at all — is none of your business. why writers write what they write is none of your business. remember “don’t like don’t read”. no one forces you to read anything you don’t like. dark and noncon fics are a form of creative writing and creative writing is a form of art. you can’t pressure artists into creating art that “fit your moral compass” nor can you apply your own moral compass to artists to determine if they can create dark art or not, if their reasoning behind creating dark art passes your moral compass. like… what artists create and why artists create are none of your business. and you don’t get to shame artists for creating art that you hate / art that disgusts you. what you can do is ignore the art because it clearly was not made for you and that’s okay. what isn’t okay is you harassing artists because you don’t like the things they created.

writers, embrace and be proud of your works. as long as all the trigger warnings are tagged properly, you have nothing to apologize for.

As long as I'd be able to get Pickle Soup, I'd be content

it's cold out there, reblog to give a trans man a cup of soump

Spencer smiling down at his phone

Morgan: So, who's the lucky girl??

Spencer: ... Who said it was a girl?

Morgan: Pause, rewind, WHAT?