#idk where this came from man...

[deyageka]

.

.

No srsly I can’t believe they’ve actually done this:

(+)

[moonxpalace]

Yeah, I agree! Iris is the WORST!!!

How dare she risk her own life to save Ash whenever he is in gave danger

How dare she cheer him on and support him during their journey across Unova?

How dare she cheer for him during his gym match against Roxie, and go so far to play instruments, dress up, put on make up AND make Cilan cheer for him as well?

How dare she help Ash figure out his troubles with his pokemon (Oshawott and Scraggy)?

How dare she cheer him up when Ash was sad about his loss against Trip?

How dare Iris treat Ash and Pikachu ice cream during their date in Nimbasa City?

Speaking of Trip, how dare she be mad at the blond trainer whenever he was rude to Ash or his pokemon?

How dare Iris to tell Ash she loved travelling with him to his face?

How dare Iris call Ash out on his bs?

How dare Iris bond with Ash by eating food, play around in the forest, talk or geek out about pokemon?

How dare Iris tell Ash she was super excited and couldn't wait to meet him again in Journeys, MULTIPLE times during her cameos?

How dare Iris breathe around Ash? How dare she use up his oxygen!!!

Yeah, Iris is the WORST I hate her ughhhh

[mikichko]

Ghoap/bluetooth anon. The reader has a list of names she wants for her future kids and number 1 for a boy was Zachary and the reader added a note next to it that basically says “I got my perfect Zachary already” or something like that and the boys find it and are trying to fight back both their horny knee jerk reactions to the reader with more kids and their tears because she really was meant to come into their family from the start, huh?

hi cariño!! this has been sitting in my inbox and got drowned by everything else!

i'm writing this with a focus on johnny cause I can't hone in on simon's pov at the moment. now dont glare at me too much since i haven't written in a while but here i go...

Fatum part of chao mi niño cw: female reader, suggestive language (nothing explicit), all lowercase

johnny finds the list on accident.

he's rifling through the papers on your desk in search of the nursery details when he finds something else.

the sheet's color captures his attention at first. it's white, but dulled in comparison to the other papers on the desk. his fingertips graze the sheet, the material smooth and sturdy under his skin. your strokes affirm the feeling, carbon staining the sheet without a stray line. fluid and cohesive throughout the paper, safeguarding your words.

his eyes trace the words and he suddenly understands why you'd been meticulous in choosing your materials.

it's your list of baby names.

the names are printed neatly on blank campus paper. everything is written in pencil, no trace of pen ink. each name is accompanied with it's meaning and small drawings that you've brightly colored.

there are creases across the sheet from where it's been folded. and if johnny stares at it long enough he can start to gather what you've folded it into countless times.

he can't help but wonder how often you'd unfolded the paper. had you known all these names would be yours from the beginning? did you start with only one and build your way up? how long had you been ruminating over the idea of your own babe?

johnny tries to move past that last thought but a warmth spreads across his lower belly. he thinks of you, alone in your own flat, the list held in your hands as you wonder when you'll have the chance to use a name.

his hand grips the edge of the desk as he breaths deeply, trying to calm the sudden urge that arises in him. to have you on your back, give you a child for each of the names on your list. make this goal of yours a reality.

he closes his eyes, breathing deeply to settle himself, before he opens them again.

this time he catches something new. lead ink, more saturated and darker than the rest, right next to the first name on the list.

Zachariah - God remembers got my zachy. he'll always be reminded he's loved

johnny's breath stills. his chest tightens and he swallows.

he remembers the nights he'd spent in the desert. skin chafed by sweat and aggravated by the sand. staring up at a sky that Glasgow hadn't let him see. eyes tracing the stars that had watched so many before him. he'd asked the stars then what the hell he was doing. asked them for guidance in his life because he had no idea what he was marching towards.

at the time he'd thought it was certain death.

but now here, in this house, with this list, and an empty nursery underway he understands.

he'd been making his way to you. to simon. to zach. to the family that had been waiting for him.

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[triglycercule]

sleep deprived dust can't recognize what's dream and what's real when he goes in and out of consciousness so i think dust is allowed to be incredibly reckless when he's awake but thinks he's in a dream. he will kill whoever passes by him (or attempt to. for him it's an instict to shoot bones anyways.) he will drink 4 bottles of alcohol just because he thinks its just a lucid dream. have incredibly loud conversations with phantom paps because he's asleep so nobody will hear him talk. or just have loud ass breakdowns because again he thinks he's asleep!!! nobody's gonna know what he gets up to in his dreams. and until someone (probably phantom paps) tells him that he's not asleep and this is reality he won't realize until he's done something really reckless

horror is seconds away from exploding dust's skull open with his magic while dust is trying to strangle him and FINALLY phantom paps tells him he's awake and dust snaps out of it. killer is walking around the house with bones sticking out of him like pins on a sewing pattern (casually too. another day in the life for him) and he just asks dust what that was about. dust just gets off of horror and shrugs his shoulders with an idk. and then walks away. this is the 6th time its happened this month

[usedtobecooler]

Out of Eddie and Steve who do you truly think would be more likely to fuck a fat girl?

truthfully, it’s eddie. i don’t think he’d be superficial and look for somebody based on their appearance and body type, and he’d date and fall for a fat girl because he loved her body, not despite it.

he’d find the most comforting and gentle ways to make a big girl feel relaxed during sex too — you don’t wanna take your shirt off? cool, we won’t do that. you want the lights off? whatever you want, sweetheart. he’d never expect you to do anything you weren’t completely sure about, he’d follow your lead and guide you if you asked for it.

he’d caress and kiss and stare in complete awe with those big doe eyes at your body, drinking in every square inch. memorising stretch marks and scars, the pudge of your belly, the dip of your hips, the ripples in your thighs. so turned on it fucking hurt.

he’d be dumb struck by how your body opened up for him — relaxed and pliant under wandering hands and lips, so wet and ready once he was done that he’d slide in and make home buried deep in your fluttering cunt, gripped so tight by your walls he knew he wasn’t gonna last.

and the praise, god. the constant reminders spilling from his lips as he fucked you so desperate, hands continuing to touch lightly, fingers gripping tight, teeth biting and marking in an act to show everyone you’re his — “so fuckin’ pretty moaning for me like that, sweetheart. letting the whole park know who you belong to, huh?”

raw and desperate comments would continue to flow until you were blushing and tears were pricking at your eyes, wetting your temples because it was just so good, he’d be talking about “so sexy, y’ve got no idea,” and “that perfect body, and your pussy, fuck. you were made for me. made for my cock.”

and once you both came and the blissful ecstasy in the electricity filled room fizzled out, the ringing in your ears fading slow — he’d kiss you languidly and whisper sweet nothings about how much he fucking loved you as you drifted off into a contented sleep.

[sugarcoated-lame]

KRICKET PLEASE GOD GOD GOD—

especially the, “are you going to come again for me?” and “you can take more.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

hhhhhhhh seb 💗 right tho I feel like it’s giving soft dom!Joel vibes 🫠🫠

and YEAH… Joel Miller + “good girl” makes me absolutely WEAK in the fucking knees 😵‍💫😵‍💫🫠🫠

You know he’d be the sweetest, softest dom, always checking in with you to make sure you’re okay and comfortable and feeling good.

smut under the cut* ❤️

You’re sat in Joel’s lap, instantly left feeling empty and whimpering at the loss of him as he gently lifts you off of his cock. Your thighs like jello from pushing yourself up and down his length while you rode him, practically melting against him after he’s just pulled your third orgasm out of you—your arms around his shoulders and face buried in his neck.

“Doin’ so good for me, darlin’,” he praises, and you can’t help but mewl against him as the tip of his still-hard cock bumps against your swollen, sensitive clit. “How’s my good girl?”

“Think ya got one more in you?” You nod against him, and one of Joel’s large hands moves to the crown of your hair to gently pull your head from the crook of his neck so that you can look him in the eye.

“Use your words, baby.” His stern tone eliciting another gush of wetness between your thighs. “You gonna come again for me?”

“Yes, daddy… want more”

And once he gets that confirmation, Joel’s right back to absolutely ruining you. Pulling your tired form in closer for a brief, but firm kiss before flipping the two of you over on the mattress so that he’s hovering over you. Lining the tip of his cock back up with your entrance and filling you with one swift thrust of his hips, harsh in comparison to the featherlight kisses he trails along your jaw before whispering into your skin,

“You can take more.”

Whewwww I need to lie down 🫠🫠🫠❤️❤️

[diazley]

So hear me out...imo Tommy is the perfect person for Buck...on paper. Like, we don't really know that much about him as in like does he want to get married? Does he want kids? etcetera etcetera but let's say he does want all that and Buck wants all that and Tommy is sweet and caring, is better to Buck than any of his exes were to him and he is a firefighter so he understands the work and the hours and how important the job is to Buck and he fits in with his found family and is friends with his best friend Eddie and gets his relationship with Chris, and is basically the whole damn deal okay? Let's say he's the person Buck has always dreamt of being with one day. But here's the thing...

This would've all just been the perfect premise for a happily ever after but, BUT!! Eddie.

Eddie Diaz exists. And he just doesn't exist, he exists as a huge part of Buck's whole damn world. They are best friends but they're also so much more than that. If they were normal about each other and if they haven't gone through a whole lot of shit together and haven't shared their best parts and worst parts with each other and if either of them loved each other any less, then Buck could've made Tommy his happy ever after, but alas! Eddie Diaz exists and that's why perfect on paper doesn't matter cuz Tommy Kinard will never be Eddie Diaz.

[gum-iie]

“to become stricken by mara is to be a long-life species, no?”

[dizzybizz]

youll never believe it but i have more magma stuff

[blackkatdraws2]

I'm sad they didn't put him in more feminine clothing, I was so happy whenever I saw him in girls clothes :(

[hecksupremechips]

Come back home when you have some sense

You can throw your life away just not at my expense

You’re not the son I raised

[beatrixshifts]

my marauders dr is a no voldemort au but that's not stopping me from scripting tom riddle is just an anti muggle-born racist campaigning at the ministry and the order of the phoenix is the opposing political party

[trashcreatyre]

toxic yuri mephinite 😳

Took me forever to get to this cause I couldn't think of a fem infinite design that I liked and wasn't just the exact same but with more clothes 💀

Anway that's what I did (plus different hair bc I've been thinking about changing the hair anyway so I might as well)

The sapphics :P

(Did the melted face meph design bc I keep joking that thats wheat my transfemme mephiles would look like even tho my regular mephiles is sapphic anyway)

[accursedvoid]

[leoleolovesdc]

If joker did have twitter he wouldnt spewing threats and talking abt all his crimes, hed kidnap harley and take selfies with her captioned “me and bae” and tweet “js shot someone lol” at least twice a day