hello vonnie
RMH
Sade Olutola
Show & Tell
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
NASA
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
ojovivo
🪼
occasionally subtle
Discoholic 🪩
oozey mess
todays bird
One Nice Bug Per Day
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Not today Justin
DEAR READER
No title available
noise dept.
No title available
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from Belgium
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Korea
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
@laswells-ashtray
Uh...ignore this if it's weird but!
I painted orca...big ol' eyes captivated me👁👁 (the flowers are shitty cornflowers, a symbol of hope for the future)
Oh my fucking God. That's my baby and her silly eyes.
THE MARKINGS ON HER HEAD?! Actually damn near greetin at this.
big fan of this mischievous creature. she looks like a mob boss
have i ever shown what i call her Vito Corleone photo?
unamused by the heat. she isn't the only one.
Once, before Top Gun, before they were the infamous Slider and Iceman, Ron orders Tom to take a nap.
Sure, Tommy's an adult and can make his own decisions. But he's been an utter prick all day, no amount of water or snacking is helping and quite frankly, Ron has reached his limit for the other man's snide remarks for the day.
And that's saying something.
Truly, Ron doesn't know what's funnier, the fact that Tom does, in fact, go for a nap, or that he wakes up, then immediately voices his irritation that he feels better and the age old toddler trick worked on him.
Even when he's trying to be angry, Ron can see past it because the tension in his shoulders from pre-nap is gone.
Ron makes the conscious decision to ignore that it was a Mother Goose move, for his own sanity.
Waiting for an appointment, so doing my favourite appointment waiting task and catching up on your blog. Time to strap myself in for the emotional heartache. 🤍
It's half emotional heartbreak, half me taking the piss tbf
i walked in on my sister and her bf fucking like rabbits
I'm talking doggy, hair pulling, spanking, spitting
they didn't realize i was there till I left and slammed the door
traumatising. i'd kill myself.
John lives his life in periods.
Three weeks of relief before the rot overtakes him. Abdomen cramping like something curled inside of him and died as the grief of a body that doesn't feel his own festers.
His chest aches, he's angry, and his boxers are blood-soaked at the crotch. There's no painkiller effective enough, and no comfort worthy of soothing the betrayal he feels towards his reproductive organs.
Nikolai is kind. He's patient; he never utters a word about having to wash their bedsheets and doesn't flinch when John swats his hands away. But there's a blatant difference between them. Nikolai can walk out of their bathroom naked without thinking twice; John will hastily throw on boxers, even if the waistband ends up damp, just to ensure he's covered up, because some days he can't help but notice the difference in what they have below the belt.
John is a man. He has never once doubted that, and no one can rob him of that. Yet he seethes at the knowledge that many of the men he surrounds himself with will never share his predicament, seeking out sanitary products in the men's toilets in public and finding nothing, an increased libido and sensitive nipples that give him a few days' warning.
He loathes snapping at someone close to him for a slight that's small and meaningless, only to realise in the hours that follow that his irritation was irrational and hormonally driven.
He hates feeling like a prisoner to his own biology, as a man owned by no one.
Johnny grew up one of five kids. Sharing was to be expected, and brand items were a luxury among Lidl or Aldi rip-offs.
In no way does he resent his childhood; he never went without, and he's lived beyond measure. But adult money and a day with fuck all to do leads him to the fanciest place he can think of in search of dessert, and that's how he ends up in M&S.
A cheesecake is not a breakfast for a grown man, but Johnny eats healthy as is, attends the gym regularly, and is entitled to make his own mistakes. That's the excuse he has prepared for his Mammy when he tells her about the endeavour later.
Simon takes little convincing; all Johnny has to utter is "triple chocolate" before the man is up, off his arse to grab cutlery.
It takes demolishing half of a cheesecake each to realise that it's a bad idea and utterly sickening. Simon's downing a bottle of water, and Johnny's lying over the couch with his feet in the Englishman's lap.
"Same time next week?"
"Aye, if you're the wan payin."
Kyle handles the heat like a man.
By lying on his living room floor with an ice pack tucked under his lower back, ice cubes resting in the centre of his chest, rapidly melting and an empty box of cheap ice lollies beside him.
He's burnt from his shoulders to his wrists, his knees to his ankles and across the bridge of his nose.
He's too warm to utilise what little time he has away from the job to go out and get laid, and too lazy for a half-hearted wank.
Kyle has never been one to believe in Hell, but he's positive that it caught up to him in the form of British summer.
temperature in the car. kill me now.
it was so hot, they had trouble getting my fillings to set properly.
dentist. i will try not to bite her this time.
John hates stereotypical omega clothing.
Soft, gentle fabrics. Trousers that emphasise the hips and waist, while hugging the arse. Shirts that are flowy and show a hint of collarbone, meant to be tantalising without bordering on inappropriate.
John hates clothing designed for your designation in general; it feels demeaning. The expectation that one should advertise what they are to the masses for the sake of societal tact.
He's grown used to being an omega; he's a captain who earned his spot despite the leering of alphas around him, declaring him incompetent for the job or expecting a fuck for tolerating his rank. He'll risk his back for his country, but he won't bear his neck in submission.
With great reluctance, he allowed himself the vulnerability of sharing his heat with Nikolai, and the alpha handled him with a care John struggled to comprehend. He never pushed John, even as their relationship, to hand over something unwillingly. And never once has he complained when his t-shirts are handed back to him, covered in John's scent because they're far more favourable than fitted shirts marketed towards omegas.
It nauseates John to look at the clothes in the shop; he's sickened by his reality and the dainty pieces thrown his way for the crime of having a secondary gender deemed maternal. But Nikolai wants their pup so badly that it makes his bones ache, and John will eventually outgrow his clothes without voicing his dislike of renting out his body to an infant he can't think of cradling in his arms.
How are you still alive /hj
you are far from the first person to ask me this and truly my answer is i am not as foolish as the masses would believe
burnt my lip yesterday because apparently you are not supposed to eat off of a fork that has just been in frying oil my bad
shit still hurts
Graves has absolutely interrupted someone mid-sentence like this and taken a punch for it:
"Surely not everybody-"
"Was Kung Fu fighting?"
Getting his face stitched up is not how Soap intends to spend his night. In fact, his drunken mind could think of at least sixteen different options that all involves lube.
But the nurse seems to get a kick out of Kyle's laughter.
"Mate, why did we think that'd be a good idea?"
Several shots of tequila is the answer. Kyle's a lucky bastard, he walked away from the tumble with nothing but a bruised elbow.
"It couldae worked, in principle."
The next time they try the Dirty Dancing lift, they'll try it somewhere carpeted and not by a curb. They already have the sexual tension on their side, all they need is gravity to be willing.
sat down the wrong way and almost got split open like a fortune cookie except my fortune is a fractured clitoris