Discover Top Posts Tagged with #valid?

max jagerman asked grace if he could carry her books and she immediately wanted to have butt sex with him. iconic.

#valid?#grace chasity #max jagerman #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #holy spirit #holy ghost

every time i see someone draw chop chop master onion i always get so excited and they always make him look so kissable fdbr aqbtrbtbervwv i love him sm

Woah.

Here's ccmo (chop chop master onion) giving you the yard long stare

#chop chop master onion #parappa the rapper #your obsession is absolutely #Valid?#guys look at me I'm simping over roblox characters were technically the same if you think about it

enbys and pansexuals will forever be more valid than you <3

What did they mean by this

#valid?#what does valid mean exactly

reblog if abrosexualiry is valid on your page/blog!!

#reblog this!#abrosexuality #valid?

#92 for fivan!

(you really said to come at you with the prompts, idk if you should have done that 😂)

92. “You make me happy.”

It's a freezing, snowy night in the absolute arse-end of winter, just a few days from the Fete, and out there in all the villages of weary, war-torn Ravka, little children are nonetheless praying for Ded Moroz to bring them presents just like he once did. Fedyor stands at the window, watching the heavy snow beat down on the gilded domes of the Little Palace and the distant crookbacked roofs of Os Alta. Even here, he can feel the chill, as the place is old and draughty and even possessing your own personal army of Durasts cannot quite patch all the cracks. He's glad to be inside.

Fedyor remains where he is for a moment longer, then turns away and kneels to stoke the fire, throwing on a few extra logs and jabbing it with the poker. Then he crosses the floor, pushes aside the heavy red bed curtains, and whisks the book on the great deeds of some dead man from Chernast directly out of his husband's grasp. "Pay attention to me, Vanya," he orders. "Or I'm putting my cold feet on you."

Ivan looks at him with an expression of mild horror. "You wouldn't."

"Would I?" Fedyor lunges, which is entirely a feint so he can stick his cold hands down Ivan's back instead, and the roar which he lets out will practically bring the oprichniki running in fear that the general's right-hand man has been scurrilously murdered in his bedchamber. Fedyor hisses at him to shut up, Ivan nips at him, Fedyor keeps his freezing paws glued to the hard, warm muscles of Ivan's torso until feeling starts to return, and Ivan's furious thrashing has subsided into a sort of resigned flopping. "Mmm," Fedyor says. "That's better."

"You are the worst, Fedya."

"That's too bad." Fedyor kisses him. "Because you make me happy."

The fearsome Ivan -- well, he's flat on his back, twisted up in the comforters, doing his best to look furious, and uttering occasional pitiable whimpers where Fedyor's warmer-but-still-chilly fingers creep up his spine, so he's not as fearsome as usual, but we're going by overall reputation here -- actually melts. Just a little. He sighs deeply, reaches up with one hand, and cups Fedyor's head in it, pulling him back down. "You make me happy too," he grumbles, low and deep in his chest. "And no, I still don't know how that happened."