#theeeeeem

[you-insolent-fool]

UH BELATED CHRISTMAS + HAPPY NEW YEAR !!! as compensation have these two idiots going to get themselves a Christmas tree >:)

I was severely blindsided with up keeping 4 accounts so prepare for ART. That aside, this was a secret santa gift for an Argenthill secret santa over on twitter!

[lindonwald]

someone you’d like to do laundry and taxes with

(commission for @rukkilill!)

[stevienick]

OH SHIT

[bonnibelette]

um..helloooo

[emilykaldwen]

(@queen--kenobi) 👀 Abrogon sea/sea side

"No!" Abby screamed, her legs kicking and her hands scrabbling against his lower back. Aegon had her thrown over his shoulder, a strong arm banded across her thighs. He laughed at her protests, smacking the curve of her ass playfully as he marched towards the foaming shore of the island. Sunfyre was off a distance away, sunning himself languidly.

"I thought you said you wanted to swim?" He asked her innocently, sloshing his way into the waves licking against the sandy shore. His laughter cut abruptly in a yell as a larger wave broke over them, sending them both crashing into the water.

Send me a pairing meme

[kingofthepitt]

- The truth is...i like you.

- Is that God’s will, too?

- No. It’s mine.

[capmangacap]

[wolfclad]

[ lips ] in the midst of an intimate exchange, sender smooths their thumb back and forth over receiver's lips

When her thumb pressed against his lower lip, dragging a slow arc across the cleft of his mouth, the world narrowed to that soft, deliberate gesture.

It was not the first time Farkas had bared his teeth in someone’s presence, but rarely had he done so without violence behind it. Without thought, his lips now parted. His eyes, grey as forge-steel, did not leave Serana’s face. Still her thumb moved back and forth in a rhythm as old as war, as old as winter.

His lips were dry, then not. His tongue caught the pad of her thumb, the salt and the impossible coolness of her. A kiss of sorts, enamel-tipped and greedy. He drew her digit gently between his lips and sucked.

He thought of wolves.

Of the old stories, before Ysgramor, before the Companions had names. Wolves who mated for life. Wolves who mourned until madness. He had never mourned, not properly. Not with tears, nor with words. Only with blades and silence. Serana, who had slept through centuries, seemed made of mourning, of things no word in Nord tongue could name.

Her thumb rested, spit-damp, just beneath his lower lip. He, beast that he was, pressed his mouth to it again. The want in him was not only for flesh – though his body burned, crying out for that – but for the kind of intimacy that did not vanish with dawn, nor rot in the ground.

“I’ve hungered before, but never like this.”