Whitney Frost Stan Account

👒23👒Wannabe calendar girl👒likes/follows from sugarpoppss2🌸PLEASE talk to me about Hellraiser

[sugarpopss]

MASTERLIST

Look mom I'm a big girl with my own masterlist, like the real writers. I also have an AO3 with things are aren't quite smut but have several boobies.

Aegon Targaryen II (House of the Dragon)

Better Uses for Company Time 1 2

A Terribly Nasty Thing (Aeg with gout)

Lamb, Pig It's All The Same (Aeg with gout p2)

Chubby College Aegon Blurb

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All the Time)

Masturbation Blurb 1 2

Late Call

Vincent Sinclair (House of Wax 2005)

House of Wax Timeline

Chasing Frogs is a Dangerous Thing

Vincent is Beautiful Blurb

College Vincent Blurb

Timothy Klitz (The Girl Next Door)

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Gareth Emerson (Stranger Things)

Gareth x Pinup Reader

Showering Blurb

Yes, But Stop Laughing at Me

MISC

Running Sucks (Bucky Barnes)

November 30th, 1942 (Bucky Barnes)

Too Cute To Be A Killer (Kit Walker)

[darkcomedies]

sometimes the author’s barely disguised fetish is YOUR barely disguised fetish and has nothing to do with the author at all

[darkcomedies]

hey so a bunch of people have taken this post as an opportunity to decry interpreting media sexually/suggestively at all and it’s pissing me off. joining the war on eroticism on the side of eroticism. #ThatCigaretteIsAPenis

[filmphotofranz]

[dragonclawz2007]

did she mitosis like a bacteria to create him or something

[madxw0man]

charlie dalton headcanons

very random and maybe not exactly 1960s accurate. also i have a collection on ao3 with more explicit content (i'd much rather keep things sfw on tumblr) -> here

highkey wears a ring??? i’d feel like he’d love to wear a ring on his pinky. chunky, not too flashy;

speaking of jewelry, is absolutely obsessed with wristwatches. it runs in the family, really;

mama’s boy all the way. i already elaborated on that;

along those same lines, all the love he’s ever known came from his mom, and all the love he gives is only a product of that.

literally made for love, and not for hatred. charlie’s never ashamed to do something for the people he loves;

while his specific love language might be physical touch and gifts, he’ll happily sit through a movie he feels indifferent about, test you before an exam, get an opinion on every shade of lipstick you try on, make you a cheeky snack when you’re down and spend time with you as much as possible;

again, not ashamed of anything. he’ll wear a skirt if he feels like it, dye his hair a flashy color, put on makeup and pluck his eyebrows. No label can ever change the fact that he’s an extremely proud man and can literally show it in any way he pleases;

i know everybody says that he’s really repressed and i feel you. however, i think that, if he’s so willing to defy the societal norms of custom, he’d be a person extremely in touch with his feelings. his little diaries are very clear (NOT calligraphy wise). the problem lies in showing other people the emotions he’s feelings. it breaks the nonchalance with which he behaves and sort of ruins his ostentatious imperturbability;

an AMAZING caricature artist. do i have to elaborate further?

lowkey shops like a girl. it takes him hours to find something he really loves (his mom still buys clothes for him).

[bananonbinary]

weird take about fiction: sometimes, actions that would be abusive in real life, hit different in a story. and sometimes i see people react very very strongly to those actions, and i totally get it, because like, that can be extremely triggering and ymmv on whether its handled well or not, but it always makes me a bit. hm.

like, i think the most obvious one is slapping/hitting. in real life, there is basically no situation where that is acceptable, unless you're actively defending yourself/someone else. but fiction is inherently larger than life, its about how it feels, subjectively, over what actually happens, literally. sometimes a character who has never before been violent will hit someone, and it's intended as like, an indicator of how fucked up everything is. that shit is going down. or, a character will trash a room, throwing things and destroying everything in their path. and then its never mentioned again, everything just continues as if they HADNT destroyed their own and other people's property in a frankly terrifying display, because it was just a cathartic moment to represent the storm of emotions the person was feeling. and when i see people like 'this character is an abuser, the story needs to address this,' i think maybe its actually okay for fictional characters to do shitty things and not have it framed as shitty, by the story itself or even on any sort of meta level, with the intended audience reaction. sometimes the point is just to resonate with your emotions, not to dissect the literal sequence of events.

[bananonbinary]

like obviously ive been on the 'you can portray whatever you want in fiction, its all a pretend game' train forever. but i think the important thing to me here is that, you can also defend bad things in fiction. not just 'they did everything wrong and i love that,' but even 'they were 100% justified when they did [thing that would be extremely bad irl].' cause its like, ok, they did do that, but like it was the only way to tell the story well. dont worry about it.

[fatartappreciation]

Chicago area artist Judith Roth (1935-2019)

[deadonyouraccount]

fem Princess Valarr making Daeron cock drunk???

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 - 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐫 𝐱 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

Rating: Explicit

WC: 2.2K

A/N: SOOOOO I kinda dicked up the prompt but I have more coming but he does get emotional and weepy???? Sorry hope you like though🥺

Tags: pwp, that kinda has plot?, pnv sex, fem!valarr, plus sized val, they’re down bad for eachother, Baelor best dad ever moment, titty sucking, lowk body worship, short n sweet, yeah they’ll get married and it will be catastrophic but it’s fine for now, half ass beta

Valarr Targaryen was the jewel of the Red Keep. She knew that much. Coddled and kept since she was born. Baelor Breakspear’s beloved daughter. A trueborn princess of the realm, full of grace and poise. Never raised her voice, always composed and careful. Her uncle Rhaegel compared her to a marble statue of the maiden, fond in his own strange way.

 

She didn’t misbehave. Not on purpose. Attended her lessons and grew skilled in matters of courtly conduct and, if need be, politicking. The right word, a quote, a smile— she’d paid attention cup bearing in small council.

 

Visits to Summerhall allowed her to let the colder mask down. Maekar’s offspring were wild and wanton compared to the obedient nature of Valarr and Matarys. Aemon might have been the only exception, nose in a book much like their uncle Aerys.

 

She drifted towards her cousin Daeron during these trips. He was quietly witty, relaxed, and all matters of unrestrained she secretly desired. The sot had slipped into her thoughts back at the keep, imagining his large hands on her thighs. She pondered how it would feel to kiss his smirking lips. She was enamored enough to think the blonde was comely even in a wine-stained silk tunic, periwinkle eyes glossy with drink.

 

They lingered more as she had kissed him on the last visit. Clumsy, her nose pressing against his. Daeron returned the kiss before pulling away, sending her on. Valarr had been stubborn, asking why not.

 

"You needn't waste your affections on me, my lovely Val," he murmured, long fingers brushing a stray hair from her soft cheek.

 

She didn't heed instructions for once. Valarr had pushed him into an alcove and huffed, "I don't wish to hear your whining." Daeron crumpled and cupped her face as he kissed her.

 

Now here she was, months later, a trip to Summerhall on the horizon.

 

Marriage and betrothal talks made her head throb, it seemed to be all anyone wanted to speak to her about. She didn't care what the Tyroshi archon's son had with his oiled pink beard and gold tooth. Neither did Valarr enjoy the pompous advances of the Grey Lion's son.

 

Messy blonde hair and a half smile lingered in her mind.

 

The princess had expressed her displeasure at the constant suitors during a walk in the upper gardens of the Red Keep. Baelor had stopped her with a firm hand on the shoulder, his kindly smile and matching eyes meeting her surprised expression.

 

Her father leaned down and plucked a flower, tucking it behind Valarr's ear before cupping her cheek with a calloused hand. She leaned into his soothing touch, her brow softening.

 

"My sweet, what do you wish for?"

 

She shifted, eyes flicking back to him. Valarr didn't want to disappoint him. Yet she knew her father would expect honesty. The princess's ringed hands settled into plum brocade as she nodded.

 

"I wish to make my own decision. A lord, or…a prince."

 

"A prince?" Baelor asked, head tilting slightly.

 

"Yes," she squeaked, adding softly, "I can always take tours of the kingdoms too. I'll do what is right, my apologies, Father."

 

He pulled her into a hug, the hand of the King holding her close, a hand on her neck as he murmured, "I had a feeling as such. Your heart desires, I know the pain. The Gods will have the final say."

 

They spoke no more of the matter, yet Valarr felt somewhat soothed on her father's lack of a firm no. Some tours were brought up in small council. After the trip to Summerhall. Valarr's chest was tight. The Gods did not smile upon unions of dragonblood. Yet her father's smile and warm expression in the cold room kept her from growing too distressed.

She was antsy in the wheelhouse heading south.

 

By nightfall, two bodies met in Valarr's chambers offered within the castle. Ser Crakehall had no clue of certain princes who could poorly scale a tree and get in through a window. Valarr nuzzled at Daeron’s jaw, her full lips pressing against the stubbled skin.

 

He was bare save his dark breeches. Valarr was in her nightgown— soft loose linen that Daeron could slide his greedy hands up. He grabbed at her rounded arse, sliding up to squeeze her plush waist when she shifted just right.

 

"Father didn't say no," she whispered as her lips slyly curled up. She watched as he huffed weakly, "I have warned you plenty of times by raven, you are foolish. The whole realm will wonder if their perfect princess has gone mad."

 

Daeron groaned softly, mouth falling open as she rolled her hips across his aching prick. He added, strained at that, "Baelor did not say yes either, nor have I, you know."

 

Valarr pulled back to stare at him, her jaw twitching. She didn't move. Daeron rolled his eyes, hands sliding up to rub at her back. He grumbled, "Don't give me that look. You know I am right, Valarr."

 

"Yet you're fine sullying my virtue," she said lowly, her expression placid despite the manner of their bodies. Valarr's jaw twitched again and she went to roll off. Daeron yanked her back, his pale eyes sharp, "Don't you dare, of course I would marry you Valarr."

 

She narrowed her eyes, skeptical. Daeron's palms still rubbed soothing circles on her back. The prince exhaled as if he was deeply inconvenienced before his perpetually tired eyes met Valarr's.

 

"You're one of the few things in my unremarkable life that bring me joy."

 

He blinked and nuzzled into her neck, his lips moving across her skin, "I only fear I would drag you down into my depths of despair."

 

"Daeron," Valarr spoke, all earlier annoyance gone. She gently stroked his arm, easing him back down onto the bed. She cupped his sharp jaw, a thumb brushing over his cheek. The blonde settled some, an uncomfortable vulnerability in his expression.

 

"We needn't worry about that now. Forgive me for my impatience?"

 

Daeron sighed once more. Eventually, his curved lips spread into a small smile. He scoffed playfully, "Ah, yes, there's Baelor's girl— all pleasant and sweet once you get me to bare my throat. You're good at that, you know."

 

Valarr hummed nonchalantly, lifting her nightgown over her head, exposing her supple, freckled flesh. Daeron groaned again, eyes drifting to her tits and the swell of her hips— how her round thighs were soft and snug around his lean hips.

Gods, she was warm.

 

Valarr's finger slid under his chin, tilting his head so she could kiss him properly. As their lips and tongues met, the princess eased him within her weeping cunt. They both gasped, Daeron's chest heaving as his dark lashes fluttered.

 

Daeron's hands returned to her ass as she eased up and down— Valarr's slick, warm core pulling along his cock in the best way. The princess urged him to sit, Daeron closer now. His lean frame against her plush one.

 

"Val- ah- s’tight," he moaned, slack jawed and panting. He planted his feet, big hands helping her along as she rolled her hips, eyes closing as subtle friction increased. She huffed against Daeron's lips, one of her hands tangling into the back of his sandy hair.

 

"Would be a shame if I couldn't have this all the time," she teased, nipping Daeron's lower lip.

 

Daeron's hips jerked as she whined, "You're terrible, horrible, gods— a shame indeed."

 

He nosed down to her throat, leaving lush little kisses. Daeron was careful, didn't leave marks. He'd been in his cups and said he didn't wish to mar her lovely skin. Valarr sighed at the memory, baring her throat as Daeron inhaled deeply, his fingers sinking into the flesh of her arse.

 

Valarr arched more, little jerks of her hips that pressed her sensitive bundle against Daeron. Her head fell back further, dark hair sticking to her shoulders and brow. The princess couldn't help but whine softly at the prince's indulgent attention, his lips trailing down to the tender, abundant swells of her breasts.

 

Daeron moaned as he shifted them some, his lips greedily sealing around a pert nipple. Valarr moved faster with every flick of his tongue. She whimpered in excitement, a little breath of his name in the dark. One of his hands pushed at the small of her back, the other relocating to massage and knead her other breast.

 

"Ah, Daeron, yes, feels- mm, yes, that's it," she urged, shivering at the touch.

 

Her bundle was throbbing despite the stimulation. Every little grind of her hips was sloppy and wet. Daeron's full cock nestled deep within, grinding against tender ridged walls. He moved to her other nipple, eyes hazy as he glanced up at Valarr for a moment, pretty lips busy.

 

She felt her chest swell with warmth meeting Daeron's adoration. She breathed, "You look lovely like that, my prince, lovely."

 

His wanton whimper increased the pressure in her belly, her slick cunt. Valarr wanted Daeron all the time. Her pretty, messy, utterly real prince. She told him so to earn another needy noise. He suckled harder, jerked his hips, moved her along as his cock swelled and twitched within.

 

Valarr pulled him away, kissing his reddened lips, her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging in just-so.

 

She was close. Her low moans had turned into muffled cries of pleasure. Daeron lapped into her mouth, lashes wet with tears as he pushed her closer, closer, closer. Skin to skin, connected in the most natural way.

 

"Daeron-" she urged.

 

He gave her a wounded look, a whine, "No, come on- please love?"

 

She snickered deliriously, pulling off to his chagrin and her own. Valarr yearned for his seed to fill her womb…when the time was right. The brunette turned, ass up as she rested on her elbows. She shuddered at the feeling of the chilly air on her overheated core.

 

Daeron clumsily shifted, his long legs caging hers in close. He was panting, hands shaking as he eased into the vee between her thighs and soaked cunt. Valarr inhaled sharply at the sensation of her lover's rigid prick sliding through her mess, the tip nudging against her clit again.

 

Daeron pressed the length of his body against her damp back. Valarr shivered, bit her lip as greedy hands grabbed her belly and tits as he pumped his hips, chasing his pleasure. He mouthed at her shoulder, panting.

 

"S'that it princess? Good? Yeah? Is that it, my sweet?" He begged.

 

She nodded, voice thin, "Close."

 

They moved back and forth, push and pull. Soft smacks and gasped endearments. Valarr came apart when Daeron went rigid and painted her cunt and thighs with his seed. He gasped and whimpered through it, pressing his forehead to her freckled shoulder.

 

Darron's fingers dipped between her thighs, swirling that plush bundle of nerves. He babbled in a raspy voice, "That's it, come on Val, fuck- you're beautiful. I want you to be mine, mine to have, to hold, to take."

 

To love was felt, not spoken.

 

Valarr's soft thighs tightened up along with her belly as she gushed, vision fuzzy as the climax of pleasure wracked her body. Daeron worked her through it with nuzzles and kisses, his other hand stroking her flank.

 

Valarr flopped forward in a very un-princess manner. She rolled onto her side, stimulated body trying to regulate. A dazed little smirk remained on her face. Daeron smiled and flopped next to her, brushing her damp hair back. His periwinkle eyes roved her face— flushed cheeks, pretty lips, those beguiling eyes.

 

Daeron pulled her closer, rubbing her waist and hip, fingertips circling on her soft arm. Valarr enjoyed the moments of affection untainted by the drink or fear-induced desperation. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his reddened mouth pulling back with a rare toothy smile.

 

That smile was reserved for few.

 

Daeron gave an exasperated sigh despite his amused expression, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze. He pressed his forehead to hers, pausing as he breathed. Valarr reached for his cheek again, thumbing the thin skin under his eye, always darkened from his habits.

 

He murmured, "You know I won't be, ah, perfect? Not like you, not good for the keep. You know that Valarr."

 

He looked vulnerable again, periwinkle eyes filled with fear.

 

She stroked his cheek, eyes soft. Valarr knew of the dreams. He wrote to her about them. She remembered him screaming as a boy at night, echoing through the halls of desolate Summerhall— Lady Dyanna rushing to her boy.

 

"We wouldn't have to go to King's Landing, if you wish. I find it less…stifling here at Summerhall."

 

He tried to speak again only for her to press a thumb to his lips.

 

"You're more of what the Gods have cursed you with. I would be there, I would," she said.

 

Daeron looked hopeful for likely one of the first times in his wretched life. He tucked his head into her neck, wetness developing against her neck. The blonde's voice was muffled, "Then I cannot argue with that, my princess. Gods know you're stubborn and care too damn much."

She knew, but she stroked his hair anyways, heart warm.

[sugarpopss]

THEM

Daerons huge hands on beautiful plush princess, his tears, Valarr being daddy’s perfect trusted princess your MIND

[homoidiotic]

Photos from The second coming : A Leatherdyke Reader (1996)

[pizzazium-infinionite]

I feel like Jane Austen's novels are often minimized as "cozy" and "cutesy" when actually they are defining works of English language novels and insightful, often biting social commentary. and Im tired of people reducing her to like a "cozy author" or boiling her books down to a few bland romance tropes. she refined the novel form to an art. she defined genres of literature. she continues to influence creative works all over the world now. and idk im tired it is late and I dont have all the right words for this but it is just so frustrating

[ka4lina]

"How long do I have to wait?"

Modern AU. Men in suits are my weakness.

[queeranarchism]

Let me settle the 'is it fetishism and is it bad?' debate once and for all:

Being attracted to any kind of body is normal. Fat bodies. Trans bodies. Disabled bodies. All normal. Being extra attracted to a specific kind of body is normal too. Totally normal to have a type.

Not unlearning the societal stigma attached to those kinds of bodies, the people who inhabit those bodies, and the people who fuck them, to the point where you do any of the following:

Only want to date/fuck the person in secret.

Reduce the person to the feature that you desire and ignore the rest of who they are as a person.

Expect the person to be a walking porn fantasy instead of a real person with their own sexual preferences and boundaries.

Would no longer love the person if the stigmatized aspect of their body changed.

Consider yourself superior to the person, think the person should be 'grateful' that you love their body, etc.

See the person as a temporary adventure while planning to eventually settle down with someone whose body isn't stigmatized.

Is bad and harmful and you shouldn't be dating anyone until you've worked on your shit, because this makes you a very terrible partner. This doesn't mean you are a bad person with bad-fetishist-desires who can only desire people badly, it means you need to unlearn societal stigma so you can be a better partner to the people you desire.

Thank you for coming to me ted talk.

[horsefigureoftheday]

Horse figure of the day: Breyer #711081 Priefert's Radar

[ordr]

Thanks for sexualizing peoples trauma fuckhead

anytime

[papirfecni]

rewatching now

[sugarplums-atnite]

Reporting for fat aegon!

Alright let’s do it I’m rusty😩bulletpointed!

Rating: SFW

Tags: Fat Aegon II, Mentions of stuffing, weight gain, body worship, servant reader, daydreams, open ending, belly rubs, belly worship, mention of MOOBS (woo!), very soft very sweet

You’re a mere servant. Pretty, horribly common, you try not to talk or be seen. Especially with the rumors about the prince- no, king. Aegon is king now.

He’s always been inclined to gluttony, but the weight of the crown has taken a toll. You’re bringing in roast pig at midnight, trays of lemon cakes mid morning before small council. It appears the king has grown insatiable.

It doesn’t take long for Aegon to gain weight, it seems your king only has eyes for food, wine, and doing the little duties he is required— the hand is a cold, controlling man you have learned.

Aegon finally notices you under your drab clothes and hidden hair. He’s usually out of it by the time you come to gather the leftovers with another servant, rubbing his stomach and yelling at the Kingsguard outside to get him some ‘entertainment’.

Tonight he’s more subdued, telling you to wait. You turn around, glancing at his swollen frame. Sometimes it felt that he was bigger by the week— cheeks red and chubby, his belly inching out over his lap, wide hips and soft thighs.

“Come here,” he beckons with a thick finger, violet eyes drawing down the length of you. You felt like another meal waiting to be devoured. The king shifts with a grunt, tugging at his doublet with a frown. He looks down, chin doubling. You feel heat on your cheeks— something about his excess made you feel…strange.

“I need out of this damned thing, it’s killing me,” he grunts, panting. You kneel between his round thighs, splayed for his belly. Your fingers work at the buttons— drawn tight from bloat. One pops off, the King laughs, remarking, “Can’t seem to stay on these days.”

He takes a deep breath once he’s free, bossing you around to get his tunic off his puffy arms, then assistance with his undershirt. It was just as tight. Aegon looks at you again, scrutinizing. You blink, caught staring at his pale belly, round and wide. Stretchmarks slither up his fatty lower stomach and his wide hips. You swallow, eyes flitting over his fleshy and swollen chest.

“You like what you see?” He asks with a grin, full cheeks dimpling. You get down on your knees again, unsure of what to do. He rubs his full belly, stifling a burp, thickly murmuring, “You’ve got good, strong hands, your king needs some help. And take off that bonnet.”

You murmur lowly, eyes glued to his plush, huge form, “Yes, your grace.”

Down comes your hair, Aegon reaching out to feel it. He hums, “Pretty. Now get your fill, I know you’re aching to touch it, pretty little thing.”

You nod, hands finally coming to rest on the warm, taut flesh. Yet he’d grown so much, his lower belly remained butter soft, even if his belly crested up top with all that food. You stifled a soft noise, listening to his groan as your hands roamed, pressing gently on his tender gut.

Aegon stretched out, untying his breeches, eyes heavy lidded as he watched you marvel over his fat. He laughed lowly, “I suppose it’s lovely to a little peasant like you, all this fat. You love it, don’t you? Something to hold onto at night.” He was enamored by your desperate whimper and nods, hands gripping at his hips. Gods- he felt heavy.

He can see you want to speak, giving permission. You plead, “Your grace, I’ll make sure you are comfortable every meal, I can massage you and oil your marks, they must itch.”

Aegon likes the cute little furrow between your brows. You’d look more adorable in his lap, smothered by his excess, massaging his bloated frame. The king decides you’ll be his favorite, sighing as you soothe where the buttons were sticking in.

He’s lazy and you’re more than willing to do every little thing. He can see it now, belly up in his comfortable bed, you tending to his needs. Ah, how good it is to be king. He pets your hair, smirking.

[orteil42]

given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that