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#j@ck
snergle · 10 months
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Summer Kawakami by J@ck
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comfortfoodcontent · 1 year
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Sabrina from Pokemon by j@ck
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ceilidho · 6 months
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@bunnyreaper was talking about Price becoming an accidental OnlyFans star with his girlfriend/wife after featuring in some of her videos but now i can't stop thinking about OF creator!reader who does solo videos in addition to her regular coffee shop job or something regular because she's not a top 5% creator or anything - she really only makes enough to help cover rent and live alone. it's really just a second job for her.
(dubcon/noncon sorta)
and John who's a regular at her work (as well as an avid fan of her OF videos) and has no clue about her double life until he recognizes a particular mole on her wrist one day when she hands him his coffee. the same one that he usually stares at when he watches her dip those pretty fingers into her pussy while he's got his own hand wrapped around himself. and he just stares at it for a couple of seconds before his brain comes back online when he notices her frowning and holding his coffee out farther, waiting for him to take it.
(this could either be very sweet where he just lightly teases her about liking yesterday's video or something a bit more dubcon where he coerces her into letting him star in one of her videos and then just never leaves, and ill be honest im leaning towards the latter)
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cowboylikejesper · 1 month
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you might like the same character/ship as i do but i like them in a far more deeper, more intellectual way than you ever could
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kolaicendionysos · 1 year
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family.
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alexwlwesker · 11 months
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Tbh I can almost understand Wesker's rage at Chris cause that little shit called a 38 y/o senile
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theghostwrites · 12 days
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masked-artist-xp · 7 months
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*proceeds to simp*
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Avarice(human ver.) belongs to @a-v-j
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Timothy: I think you're gaslighting me. Jack: So you're just making up words now?
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dickwheelie · 1 year
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here have the first few paragraphs of my retired holmes/watson fic that is currently at 13k and counting. hoping putting some of it out there will force me to finish it in a timely manner lol.
this is sort of a combo of canon and granada holmes, based on whatever vibes were necessary in the moment. enjoyyyy if ya nasty
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It was I who came to him, a few months before the end.
He had written me several times from his lodgings in the Sussex Downs, and so I had his address on hand for a visit I took in late June of that year. It was, I admit, a bit of a whim on my part, otherwise I would have sent a letter ahead, but then again I did not expect to be turned away and had only intended to stay for a few days, perhaps a week at the most. The fact of the matter was that year the summertime ennui had struck me with more strength than I could ever before recall, and with my practice closed for the season and my bachelor's apartments lonelier than ever, I felt I had no choice but to pay a visit to my old friend and colleague.
Holmes had retired to a rather modest cottage in the countryside, with a sizable bee farm, as he had so often spoken about in our younger days. I knew of this from his letters, of course--apparently the honey business was doing remarkably well--but it was another thing entirely to wander up the long drive and hear the incessant buzzing and humming crescendo as one approached the lines of wooden hives that dotted the back yard of the house.
I knocked at the front door with the head of my cane, which by then I was using full-time, but when no staff nor retired detectives arrived to greet me, I wandered round to the side of the house and through the back gate, which was latched but not locked. It was then that I caught sight of him, sitting smartly upon a metal bench at the apex of a small flower garden, a thin silhouette with a proud posture overlooking the lines of the beehives. His back was to the house and thereby also to me, but the bench sat a little off to the right from the gate so that I could see the outline of his profile. That proud, hooked nose, that pointed brow, the thin lips; in silhouette against the late afternoon sky he looked just as he might have back in our rooms at 221b, staring down at Baker Street from that upper window which at one time or another saw the entire world passing by underneath.
It was not my intention to surprise the man any further than my unexpected visit would undoubtedly do already, but taking a few steps across the grass towards him I realized that my footfalls were entirely silent, hidden beneath the unending buzzing of the bees. I might have called out to him, or made my presence known in some less startling way, but I did neither of these as I approached, silent as an Indian tiger in the underbrush.
At least, I had thought so. I was not a meter behind him when a sharp, clear voice cut through the breezy afternoon air.
"My dear Dr. Watson, you might have phoned ahead. I believe that is what the younger set call courtesy these days."
I could not help the bark of incredulous laughter that emerged from my throat as Holmes turned on the bench to face me, his eyes shining with mirth. Up close, with the full light upon him, I could see that he had changed considerably since our last farewell; his face, lined as mine now was, was even more angular than it had been, and indeed it was only those keen, grey eyes that had remained untouched in our decade apart. His hair was entirely silver, a quite distinguished look for his brunette, in my opinion, than the pale grey I had been left with.
He held a cane now, too, which rested now between his knees as he sat. His fashion, I observed, had not changed an iota; not in style, nor in color, nor in cut.
An almost unbearable fondness rose in my throat then, looking upon him in that moment, so familiar and yet so strikingly new. Perhaps if I had more of my wits about me I could have put all that he had taught me to some use and gleaned some clue as to his recent dealings, where he had been that day, what he had eaten . . . but I confess all my faculties faded away in the face of that wry smile, identical to that I had seen countless times across the breakfast table, in the armchair by the fireplace, facing me in a train car, next to me in a cab or in a concert hall. I had not realized, until that very moment, what a drought I had been in.
"Holmes," I said before any hellos, for they could hardly be of any use between us now, "you must tell me how you knew."
Read the rest on ao3!
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dormarunt · 2 months
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Berlin season 2 confirmed - aka once more with feeling
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lesbianspeedy · 1 month
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went from liking someones undercut mia tweet to blocking them in 2 minutes flat when i clicked on their page
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arom-com · 11 days
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Feeling some type of way abt ttpd being 31 songs long but the only good song on the album is fortnight feat post malone. Like the punchline just writes itself
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cowboylikejesper · 2 months
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just thinking about how i wrote “You’re so bright, Wy. You’re the warmest shade of yellow and every time you look at me, you light me up all over again.”
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corvusternion · 3 months
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> it would be so fucking nice if my p^lmhusk connection didnt keep timing the fuck out
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