Coby Whitmore - Girl by a Lagoon
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Andulka
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Janaina Medeiros
No title available
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Cosmic Funnies
Show & Tell
No title available

@theartofmadeline

No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Discoholic 🪩

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
noise dept.
Not today Justin
DEAR READER
wallacepolsom

#extradirty

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from Sweden

seen from Netherlands

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Netherlands
seen from Ukraine
@darkparablesthorst
Coby Whitmore - Girl by a Lagoon
bluebell
decorative dividers
credit not needed. recoloring welcomed. feel free to edit as you need!
TMI: writing anxiety and all that jazz. feel free to skip
okay so i've made it known here that i have terrible issues with writing because of crippling insecurity and perfectionism, but i really do want to overcome this because, i kid you not, i am at my happiest and most fulfilled when i get to write and finish something. i feel like none of what I've achieved in the years i stopped writing have ever compared to the times I managed to write anything, even if i never get to finish them. i'm slowly chiseling my fic by giving myself an hour or two everyday to type in even 100 words now that i'm in the editing process. it's less than a SNAIL'S pace but by god this is the most i've written in the last few years. i've rewritten that snow piece three times over those two years, and that's when i was brave enough to open a blank document and tried to write, because I kept getting stuck. after taking some courses about copywriting and substantive editing, i realized that some (not all) actual published writers just send word barfs and leave the logical structure, polish, and even writing the THESIS STATEMENTS to the editors. Editing is literally half if not more of the writing process. making mistakes is allowed. getting it on the page is one step and making sense of it can be another step altogether. it doesn't have to be done at the same time. truly revolutionary. and all this realization crystallized because of sesbian lex and stab-caesar day. pussy is the panacaea. stabbing power-hungry oligarchs is the way to the truth. let's fucking go
SNOW CRUMBS PLEAS E PLEAQE PELASE PLEASE PLEASE
This was sent two years ago I am so sorry kahdlfad
For you, my friend. Part 1/2.
content: dirty talk, banter, a lot of kissing, f!reader
divider: rmstitanics
She melts into your lips, her moans and tongue spilling into yours. Your body shakes off the surprise in a second and meet her just as desperately. Tongues tangle and moans mingle until lungs burn for air.
She pulls away, her dark eyes like hot coal on your skin, catching embers on places where they linger. But where her gaze is pure sin, her skin glows softly under the candlelight like a blushing peach. Poetry and praise rise to your throat, but your tongue has other plans.
"Not so icy now, are we, Ice Queen?" The words light your shared breaths like a fuse, and she ignites with amusement, slow and molten across her face.
She laughs—nothing short of music—and the sound settles around your heart and somewhere further down between your legs. "You're the only one who dares to call me that these days."
"I've always been the daring sort. I wouldn't be kissing you right now if I weren't." Your hands find her hips and squeeze through the sheer (good lord) fabric of her nightdress. She yelps, holding onto your shoulders, as you pull her close and press your hips flush together.
"Well." She huffs, and her arms slither over your shoulders and around your neck, meeting your stare with desire dressed as defiance. "You're not kissing me enough if you can still tease around like this."
Even when dishevelled and kiss-bruised, she commands attention. And like a loyal subject, you obey.
"Then I shall apply myself as you desire, my queen."
She meets you halfway, kissing you with a devastating softness. What remains of you commit her taste, moans, and smell into memory like a scribe hearing her death knell. The seconds pass with increasing desperation in a flurry of groping hands and backward steps until the back of your knees hit the side of the bed.
You fall onto the sheets together without breaking apart. Even when surrounded by premium silk and linen, they are all sandpaper compared to the softness of her skin. Neither can the filigrees on the ceiling compare to the panting beauty perched on your hips as she stares down at you.
Before you can speak, she makes quick work of your clothes. Her frenetic hands unlace and tug until you're in nothing but your sweat-coated skin, trembling from being wanted this thoroughly. When she starts fumbling with her own clothes, your hands still them by the wrists.
"Don't be so hasty. Allow me, your majesty."
Her face burns, but she allows you to do as you please. You unlace the drawstring on her chemise, and the ruffled collar parts to reveal her collar bones and the first hint of cleavage. Your hands seek out her thighs, and she gasps—a wonderful sound—as you trace up the sensitive curves of her hips and waist.
"Are you comfortable?" As if pulled from her reverie, she takes a second to nod.
"It's been a while," she whispers. Her eyes, unwilling to look at you, settle somewhere on your bare chest. The unspoken story in her confession weigh on her shoulders, dampening the desire that made her burn only moments ago. That won't do.
You lean up to kiss her again—a gentle assurance. "Then we'll take this slowly. Let's discover what makes you tick, hm?" Her eyelashes flutter in the dim light as she takes in a ragged breath.
"You're dangerous."
You laugh at that. "If only you know how many times I've thought too long of you and almost died."
Her mouth hangs open as she stares back in disbelief. "You're joking."
"Not in the slightest."
She bites her, mulling over her next words. "Will you tell me?"
"You seem awfully curious by my potential demise, my queen." You pinch at her hip, teasing.
"I'm involved so I deserve to know." She looks all mischief and delight as her previous fire rekindles.
"Very well."
You lean up, grasp her hips, and push her over in the next second. Now straddling her, you dip your head to her ear, breathing in her scent. "I can wax poetic the entire night about how your eyes have almost caused me to topple over from a ladder in the middle of painting a mural, or drink from a cup of paint water whe n I caught a whiff of lilies and remembered its fragrance from your wrist—but we only have one night where we can have each other fully, and heaven knows when another one might fall in our laps again."
Her gasp sparks a swell of satisfaction in you, kindling your lust into a fiery blaze. "But if you're still so curious," you continue, "allow me to write it on your body so that you may never forget."
Instead of diving headfirst between her legs, you create a trail of slow kisses down her neck and across her collar bones, drawing a necklace of plum-colored bruises there.
"That will considerably limit my wardrobe choices for the next few weeks."
"I'd rather have you completely naked if I could have it my way."
She slaps at your shoulder, but her peals of laughter show that she's more amused than offended.
"For your insolence, I could have your head."
"Oh, but I already plan on giving you that."
She gasps—more indignation that amusement this time—but the shock of red that colors her face means that your head will be off the chopping block and likely venture to more pleasurable parts in the foreseeable future.
"Now, let this humble servant work so that she can deliver on her promise."
To be continued.
(MILD SPOILER: SNOW IS GONNA GET WRECKED)
Note: Edited some redundant sentences and words
THEME: Space
made from resources found on pinterest
no credits needed, but reblogs are always welcomed!
House of Worth Gown
c. 1880
silk, metal, glass
New Canaan Museum & Historical Society
I have almost 2k words worth of Snow Queen smut. Now I just need to edit this motherfucker (Snow is the mother and I am the fucker)
A mauve shot-silk transition gown, French, circa 1800
✨source : pinterest ✨
@insufferablewhore
“Vivienne Westwood designed this corset-style hourglass-shaped red velvet evening dress with its outsized double bow and sheer moire faux-underlay while producing her ‘Dressed To Scale’ collection in 1998 with protégé Andreas Kronthaler.
This fresh interpretation of the classic Marilyn Monroe silhouette was dubbed the ‘MM Corset Dress’ for Westwood's semi-couture Gold Label, while it can still be made-to-measure as a bespoke dress (see photo of model wearing version as a white wedding gown).”
Mylène Farmer wearing Olivier Theyskens A/W98 in her “Je te rends ton amour” music video, 1999
i once saw someone say that belladonna would be the biggest xue yang kinnie and. so based.
god put them in two different universes because he knew theyd be too powerful together
lets go neglected children with death related abilities!!!