#love hon

[wasntthataparty]

Ough thrift store bunny save me thrift store bunny...

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

zany to me how these um actually nihilists like to pretend that "um actually love/friendship/cooperation/kindness isn't real bc we evolved that way to benefit ourselves as a species..." um YES? that's also where tool use comes from? that's where cooking comes from? am i supposed to think social bonds & tool use & cooking aren't "real" because they evolved over time instead of appearing fully formed from the ether?

sorry u can't enjoy things. im a superior being twirling a fork in my bowl of delicious noodles whilst staring in adoration at the world

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Instead of coming back as a crime lord, Jason pretends to be a vengeful revenant, haunting Gotham criminals and the batfamily.

This has… consequences.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Sooo I wrote a…weird little thing, a certain comic by @mayhemchicken-artblog got my creative juices percolating and under the press of staying up far too late for several days this came to fruition, enjoy!

The Eye of the Beholder

Link to the Comic

[adelheidvonschicksal]

I beg of you, your the only person who wrote such a good zayne story 😍 it makes everything tingle, can we get a story of us sucking him off PLEASEEEEEE

⋆｡°✩ PWP Smut, Banter, Oral (M-receiving), no pronouns. Please let me know if I missed something, and I'll fix it.

Your nerves are on fire, each one a tiny beacon for arousal to run its rickety, lurching course through you. Overwhelmed, you bring your hands up and brace them against the headboard of the bed, clasping them into tight fists to calm the adrenaline rolling like waves through your veins.

It’s been too long since you felt this way, burdened with trembling limbs and stomach-knotting excitement, something that could only be accomplished when you have a certain surgeon between your gripping thighs. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Zayne, let alone have his hard, defined abs taut where you cradle his stomach.

He props his shoulders on dark blue satin pillows, his head in the perfect position for you to look at him. The unyielding gaze he holds does nothing to calm your heaving chest or aching nether regions as you take your time soaking and drinking him in.

Zayne has already changed so much since you last were with him. Your eyes are anchored to the widening of an already broad physique and the stretch and bulge of his biceps when he runs his hands down your back and over your ass to grip at the meat of your thighs. The golden glow of the nightstand lamp setting off against dark hazel eyes and battle-worn skin tempts you to squeeze his slowly fluctuating chest.

Before you can seal the deal on your spiraling dirty thoughts, Zayne catches your intentions, as if the position you were in didn’t already make it obvious. It’s a game that both amuses and frustrates you at the same time.

“It seems someone worked themselves up rather quickly.”

Lifting your sight from his chest, you meet a playfully mocking glint hidden behind a firm gaze. To keep your annoyance, or impatience rather, from showing, you set your attention on the intricate designs of the headboard.

“Just admiring the finish on the wood,” you excuse. “Lacquer?”

Zayne lifts a hand and pinches at your chin to force you to concentrate on him causing you to take your first shuttering breath that night. With piercing eyes, he searches for something in your face, so hauntingly that it makes you throb, and you silently hope he doesn’t feel your legs clamp harder at his waist or how much you're beginning to leak.

He doesn’t need it. As always, Zayne finds what he wants. His voice is inquisitive but the look in his eyes is teasing when he finally asks, “Are you sure that’s what it is? Your pupils are dilated, and I don’t think you’re one to really care about woodwork to that degree.”

You huff at his observation, always the smart-mouthed one. Could he blame you for being hot and bothered when you have an undeniably attractive man under you, especially when you haven't been able to touch him in weeks? It’s so hard with your schedules. Even now, it’s thanks to an unexpected sick day that your schedules managed to align. So, yeah, maybe you were more worked up than usual, but Zayne was a lot of things, stern, serious, reservedly kind, and very much aware of his commanding good looks and the effect it has on you.

Luckily, you’re not the only one who is having trouble maintaining a calm visage. His face holds a barely recognizable flush, his chest strains with too-deep breaths, and his large, scarred hands squeeze the back of your legs to an almost painful point before he swipes your tender skin with manicured thumbs.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the tepid atmosphere is growing too tense for both of you. Who admits to it first is anyone’s guess, but it’s not likely to be Zayne without some encouragement.

So, you prance your fingertips across his angular jaw before drawing a seductive line from the point of his chin through the center of his pectorals, a line you plan to use to start your reacquaintance with his body very soon. The sticky heat radiates from him and seeps into you, knotting the aching twists in your lower stomach even tighter.

“You’re one to talk,” you remark, displaying your own mischievous thoughts. Your hand finds a place to roost over his left side and sprawls open over his heartbeat, reading the steadily rising pace. “I can hear you breathing from here, and your skin is so hot and sweaty.”

For someone whom others wrongfully describe as cold, something about him is smoldering when he rakes his eyes over your body. It’s hungry, and you’re so ready to devour and be devoured, as he forces himself to meet your face again.

“It’s the fever.”

Holding in your laughter, you smack your lips at him. “Didn’t you say you were feeling better today? You didn’t lie to me, did you, Zayne?”

The man doesn’t respond, usually a sign that he was thinking but the only thing on his mind was your hand running orbits around his nipple, outlining the smooth round expanse circling it. You grope lightly at his chest, marveling how full it makes your hand, before cascading that touch lower and lower.

The girth of his cock twitches against your ass, and you think you almost got him as he begins to ripple under your exploration; alas, he manages to keep in his sighs until you start to comb through the delicate valley of shallow black hair that curls from his lower stomach and disappears under his sweatpants.

“I knew you would blow it out of proportion otherwise,” he plays off, releasing another low groan. “It didn’t seem to stop you from marching right over, however.”

“Oh?”

Pitifully pouting, you roll onto your side next to him, press your chest into his arm, and lean in to kiss under his ear.

“You don’t like me taking care of you?” you whine with a pathetic infliction and a whimper, all the while adding pressure as you begin to massage his groin over his briefs, close enough he can feel the sensitive flesh right above the base of his cock imprinting with your touch but not quite where he wants it or how he wants it. “That’s so mean.”

Playfully, you blow against his ear, and there’s the smallest shudder that makes your heart pound hard. There’s nothing like seeing him slowly give in, trying to act in control when his cock readily jumps and stiffens as if to reach your hand. The reaction encourages you to shuffle your hand under his briefs in a few ticklish swipes only to be met with disappointment when his voice catches, hiding a guttural sound you could only curse him for not letting you hear when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

It frustrates you how he won’t even give you an inch of nonresistance, but his cock pulses at your touch, and you smile to yourself at how he couldn’t hide the eager hard-on that you were quickly encouraging with only a few twists and pets.

“When you forced me to let you take care of me,” he begins, pausing only to hiss softly when your fist tightens, which causes the warm slick of precum to seep into his pants and a brief fluttering of his eyes before he recollects himself. “I assumed that meant you’d make a wreck of my kitchen like last time.”

Slowly, you slide your calf over the top of his knee.

“My soup made you better though.”

Zayne groans as you pull him free from his clothing, holding onto his cock as it springs from too-tight confines. Your thumb follows the thick pulsing vein running up the side of his cock before tracing his dripping slit. His head slides back against the pillow, tilting back as he quietly gulps, and his thick throat stretches with the swallow.

“At the cost of my best pot.”

“A win's a win,” you mumble against the crux of his neck, which turns into a sigh when his arm makes space to slide under you, wrap around your upper hip, and squeeze at your ass.

“Now, I see you only had one thing in mind when you came over, after all.”

“That’s not it,” you mewl, squirming when he pinches your cheek harder.

“Are you saying you didn’t come over to take advantage when you have me like this?” he asks.

“You make it sound so calculated!” You shake your head. “I just know this will fix you up in no time. Besides, I missed you.”

There’s a short and irritatingly self-satisfied chuckle from him that makes your chest vibrate with the makings of a moan as his deepening voice rumbles in your ears. “I’m in your capable hands then,” he finally relents, not that you expected any other outcome, and you make your move to flip on top of him again.

There’s a snap somewhere finally releasing any inhibitions when your lips meet. It’s passionate, filled with every desire that’s been burning in him since he’s seen you. Zayne can be gentle, but he can also be bruising. Sometimes he’s a mix of both like when his tongue glides on top of yours and his teeth graze against your bottom lip during the short moments you break for air before capturing each other’s taste again.

You moan into his mouth when he cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer, deepening the kiss to the point you're becoming dizzy. It takes some strength to break free from the passion of it all, but you want more of him, and you’re not willing to wait anymore. So, you pull away and allow your mouth to collide against his collar before he has time to capture you again. Zayne’s eyes glower, half-lidded as he watches every pucker of your lips and every kiss and bite on his body.

Zayne slides a palm up the small of your back, the other going to rub the crux of your thigh, dipping inward to stroke at the yielding flesh right at your center. You moan against him, doing your best not to start dry humping him like you’re in heat whenever his cock pulse against your lower belly, but the scent wafting from him was becoming too much. So, you quickly begin to make your way to the promised land, trailing kisses along the way.

“I missed you,” you puff out softly before wading your tongue across his nipple then under his chest and to his stomach. Releasing his cock, you slide your hands down his sides, making sure to keep them aligned with the movement of your kisses. “You don’t know how much.”

Zayne brushes his fingers along your hand, following down your arm before gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb gliding over your cheek in a tender return of your sentiment as his once proud demeanor in his eyes softens with the smallest of glances from you.

“Is it more than I’ve missed you?” he whispers, and when you nod, he smiles. “I don’t think that’s possible.” Seeing you like this, so beautiful, all his, is a luxury. “I never tire of seeing you.”

Feeling a rush of shyness overtake you, you muffle the small sigh of his name against his stomach. Butterflies filling your stomach, you slide further down and kneel, your knees digging into the end of the bed as you sit back on them, your ass in the air as you hover your face over his lap. He’s so big that you’re never entirely sure where to start. You could go for where he’s most sensitive or—

“You can always use your hands instead if you don't think you can fit it all in your mouth,” he instructs half-jokingly, causing you to grow flustered at your overthinking.

“This isn’t the first time, I know how—” You clamp your mouth shut when you remember the first time you tried, something you’re sure he wouldn’t let you forget. “Don’t,” you order before sliding your tongue over his tip to clean away the pre-cum.

Your tongue laps along his glans as you slowly take his head into your mouth. It’s only when you finally get to work, sliding your mouth halfway down then back up that he finally stops his teasing and lets you have your way with him.

There’s an audible sound of relaxation when you squeeze his base with your palm and purse your lips around him. There’s a certain pride that comes with knowing you’re the only one who can see him like this, with his shoulders lax, eyes closing in bliss, and jaw slightly slacked as he groans. It’s not an easy sight to imagine on someone as stern as Zayne but the look of arousal was also something that seemed like it was made for him, which only causes your legs to squirm with need when it evolves into a low grumble from his chest.

You push it a little further to turn it into a growl by relaxing your throat and allowing it to press against the back, pulling back up and slurping the sheen of saliva clean from him before lapping your tongue over the tip. When you repeat the process, his hips twitch and buck, causing you to whimper when you feel more liquid scalding down your throat.

With a quick reposition to sit up more and force you closer, he presses both hands to cup at your cheeks, lifting your head partway up as he lightly strokes your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Briefly, you look at him, heart fluttering a bit at the flush dusting the bridge of his nose and the wetness of his parted lips.

“You’re so good,” he breathes out, a chilly flow emanating from him, “so good for me.”

Blinking away the water in your eyes, you moan around him, the vibrations rolling down his heated flesh as you suck your cheeks around him as he holds your face. One hand goes to the back of your head, and you bob once again with the encouragement of his hand pressing down on your head.

“Fuck,” he hisses out when you pop him out your mouth and brush your lips down the side of his shaft. You pepper it in kitten kisses before nipping lightly. You squeeze around his tip, making it your mission to keep your thumb grinding his slit and blushing head while you cup and suck his balls.

When you feel them strain and tense, not once but twice in your mouth you have enough warning to know he’s about to cum. It’s with one last stroke of his shaft and one last quick suck around his head that he paints your mouth white, the excess seeping from your mouth and flooding over his length.

You take your time cleaning your mess, like you promised. It’s with slow, deliberate movements as you allow him to ride out his much too quickly fading high, the last throbbing spilling the last drops of his finish on your lips. You release him with a pop and a sigh.

“How messy,” he quietly remarks, causing you to tense as his thumb ghosts over your lips. “You missed a spot,” he explains and slides the finger into your mouth for you to readily close around. He wipes it clean against your tongue before sealing your mouth with a kiss. He slides his finger free from your kiss, and you can feel the lingering wetness of your saliva against your face when he holds you in place to kiss you more passionately.

His strength starts to become too much when he grips your shoulders, pushes you towards the bed, and pins you on your back.

Breaking the kiss and pushing against his arms, you puff out, “Wait, I’m supposed to be in charge today.”

“Sorry to change your plans, but I don’t think I can hold back anymore,” he explains with a growing smile that makes shivers climb up your spine from the sheer hunger in it. “Allow me to show you how much I missed you as well.”

[honeyspotpie]

Hey thinking about how in both timelines all Nick ever wanted was to make his father proud. Adapting and modeling his personality after his father, be it Glenn or Jodie. Because the only thing he ever wanted was his father's love. Thinking about how we can assume that Glenn did the same thing to appease Bill. Thinking about the fact that Taylor also wanted his father's love but never changed or remodeled his own personality and interests to receive said love. Thinking about the fact that he realized that his own sense of self is far more important than receiving artificial feelings of pride from a man who didn't even bother to get to know him. He finally broke the cycle. Yeah

[nellandvoid]

trying to do more silly doodles to practice sketching on my tablet again :)

[seance]

I'M GONNA SEE MY MAN, 'TIL I GET SATISFIED / for @izzy-hands

[i-ran-into-a-lampost]

Going through this atm

[muffinlance]

The point where you, uh. You definitely put a note with the wrong story. Because what does this mean

Which was the point Zuko realized trees didn’t really understand people. At all. That was okay, Zuko didn’t, either.

[gojosattoru]

★ KUCHIKI BYAKUYA WALLPAPERS ★ -> requested by anon Heya sweetie I hope you like them ^^ Thank you for your request!

COMMISSIONS/KO-FI AND REQUESTS OPEN!!!

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #139

NWH AU where Tony's been in a coma this whole time. He still is. But the world thinks he's dead.

One day, Rhodey is in some science place (maybe SI, maybe a community college where he was giving a speech?) and he sees this kid tinkering who looks exactly like Tony Stark. The teen Tony Stark from when he first met him at MIT. Even down to the mannerisms. He goes up and has a brief conversation with this stranger, just curious. Then he leaves.

Unbeknownst to the kid, Peter, Rhodey managed to grab something for a DNA test. The kid just looked too much like his best friend. Like seeing a ghost

When they analyze the DNA, they learn that this kid is in fact Tony's biological son

Rhodey goes back to find the kid, this time bringing Happy. Peter gets to have the super fun conversation where two people who should know him but don't tell him that the person he saw as a father was his actual father, only it's too late

They convince Peter to come with them eventually. And Peter gets the shock of his entire life

Over the next little while, at Tony's bedside, Peter gets to know Morgan (who he would've seen as a sister anyway but this is insane). He also gets reacquainted with Rhodey, Happy, and Pepper, who all admittedly find him a bit sus with how much he seems to know.

But...this is Tony's kid. His son. So they let him be there, let him talk to Tony and hold his hand. 

Finally, finally, Tony wakes up.

And it turns out, being in a coma and thought dead by the entire world, including wizards, makes one exempt from certain magic

Bonus:

As he sits by Tony's bedside, Peter has to grapple with a lot of emotions. One of them is the realization that he was never actually related to Uncle Ben, which makes him feel like his uncle and aunt died for nothing

Pepper helps him through it. Even not knowing him the way she once did, she knows plenty about guilt complexes and chosen family. She assures Peter that he's still a Parker, no matter what, and that his aunt and uncle wouldn't have given him up for the world

Another thing Peter deals with is the fear of Tony waking up and not knowing him. It breaks his heart just thinking about it.

Cue THE most relieving hurt/comfort reunion ever imagined

[acecroft]

If you're me... Then tell me something only I would know.

[horsefigureoftheday]

So I have just seen the honse and hrse and couldn't get them out of my head now that I have seen them so I decided to draw them but I did take some creative liberties . I did not vibe with the small head on honse and believed it also needed to huge.

Oh and I also added a bonus unicorn

IT'S THEM, HOLY SHIT!!!!!!

[viserya-firstofhername]

Listen, I thought I would survive this season lurking on the sidelines, but I can’t. Jace broke my heart tonight after surpassing any and every character GRRM ever created in my brain and heart since reading Fire and Blood, and I need to talk about 2x07.

Strong words, yes, damn ugly, when Jace is calling people ‘mongrels’ (no we ain’t letting it slip, no, but the rest of men are sometimes getting away with whores, mothers-of-bastards, are we good with these now cause its common speech or smth). Imagine that tho, classist Jacaerys going through calling himself things in his head every day of his life while looking at his beautiful visibly not-silver curls getting in his eyes. Just imagine for a second. So distinct.

It’s bubbling in him for years. And his entire family - his mother, his father, his other father, his third father (the epitome of Targaryen legacy if there ever was one), his grandfathers, every person that his young heart wants to trust - refusing to talk to him about it. While every ‘family’ member deemed unsafe - read - Aegon, Aemond, Alicent (even fucking Cole) is out there ready to discuss the obvious with anyone at any given time, including Jace himself. Why does his mother play pretend for 16 years not once speaking to him about it? How often does he ask himself? Alicent has dark hair, why does Aegon look like a true Targaryen? How often does Jace lose sleep over this thought.

I have news for you babes. He got his first perception of what ‘mongrel’ is from the mirror. If you need him to spell it out, you haven’t been paying attention.

I’ve slowly shifted to preferring his show characterization to the one in the book (he is my favourite Targ in asoiaf books and shows verses, and I know I know book!Jace had the whole little pet project with the Dragonseeds and he had two dozen powerpoint presentations and a huge spreadsheet document about it, and a separate spreadsheet he made just to calculate and weigh in benefits and negatives of offering such power to bastards. Yet. YET). He sees what neither Viserys nor Rhaenyra allowed themselves to see, blinded by their entitlement, classism and feeling of supremacy. Jacaerys, mind you, everyone that is calling him a bastardphobe and whatnot, realizes that if anyone—anyone—I repeat—ANYONE—outside direct family is to claim a dragon, in 25 years he himself will be in the exact same situation as his mother. Vermithor or Silverwing alone are no lesser treats than Vhagar, and as his mother like to remind him, Vermax is young. If a man (pay attention) claims any of the two, Jace’s inheritance will be out the window, no matter how many silver-haired babies he has with his cousin-step-sister, Rhaenyra's intentions would die with her last breath.

So what is he to do? Is he to lay abed, eat cake and dangle his feet, waiting for the inevitable to come? No. He is to do exactly what he has been doing since he was 8 (younger even!) – learn High Valyrian, train with the sword, be impeccable in dragonriding, in diplomacy, in manners, while nourishing the relationships with all his younger siblings, preparing them to be his closest allies (half of which we have never seen Rhaenyra display, except the proficiency in the only two skills that are explicitly Targaryen, nigh a feeble attempt at diplomacy once when she tried to betroth Jace to Helaena, and after her ex now stepmom turned her down she fled to the nearby island). Not to mention he was doing fine managing amiable connection with Aegon and to some extent Aemond before the grown-ups and their big fucking heads laid the seeds (ha!) for the feud to continue in their generation.

Read the above paragraph again. He does it all, for years, as well as he can, while also taking care of and shielding his brothers. And so far, instead of acknowledging his accomplishments we’ve only seen Rhaenyra respond with slack filler statements like “No worries Jacey, precious, it’s far in the future, don’t push yourself too hard” (listen, I know we can’t be certain just because it wasn’t on-screen, and she definitely did good raising her kids, but I’m getting the vibe she isn’t one for words of affirmation, she ain’t really good at that iykwim, and it’s his language), and Jacaerys bows his head, says ‘Yes, Mother’ and then proceeds to pressure himself beyond his limits (and Luke as well – as we saw in 1x10 – because he realizes how delusional and naïve the ‘no pressure’ statement is.)

Gods oh gods, and imagine, this is just one layer, but he is also a young man, and a young man’s ego.. Well. I feel like I should also quote bby boi Jon Snow, and his reasoning on why he won’t lay with women (ironic how that turned out).

Now layer all the above with the following. He is born with black hair. Luke too. Joff too. Obviously Jace as the oldest will take care of them and shield them. But then, but then, the moment she gets the opportunity, Rhaenyra marries Daemon. And of course. Names her first silver-haired son Aegon. (her channelling her father here SO much i can't even). Do I need to start a counter of the fucking number of daggers in Jace’s heart by now?

One more Rhaenyra says. One more dagger should be fine, he is her bestest most perfect boy, nothing can hurt him. Nothing can hurt him, so she leaves him to deal with the Small Council on his own repeatedly. Nothing can hurt him so she conspires with a rando and refuses to keep him in the loop. Nothing can hurt him, so she flies out alone and comes back with her shiny new dragonrider and doesn’t even acknowledge Jace, he has to go reach out to her first. (good gods, imagine if Addam had silver hair).

He can take one more, the most perfect boy, Rhaenyra says. (I wrote this one before Emma D’arcy’s new interview where they directly confirm Rhaenyra felt justified to choose herself over Jacaerys).

Let me dive you for a second in Jace’s POV for this one (in the magical method of David Lightbringer): Imagine you are the first born child. You have studied and build yourself to be deserving of being your Mother’s son, but you never quite get proficient enough to change your physical features. Then. Your grandsire dies, your uncle steals everything from your Mother, and your first proposal on any counteraction gets your little brother killed.

You blame yourself, you feel tremendous guilt - how did this happen - you were always the perfect son (you don’t even acknowledge the small victories you win for your Mother, you were always good at these skills you honed pedantically for years, it is not an achievement). You do not let yourself grieve, instead you have to make it up for the loss you caused.

But your Mother continuously keeps you in a cage allegedly for your own wellbeing, which brings its own amount of frustration at the age of 16. But you sneak out and win another small victory – the only price you need to pay is your late father’s rightful inheritance. You get recognition for a second, but then Mother complains that her ails for being caged are greater than your ails for being caged, and you as a good son try to figure a way out for both of you.

So, after keeping you in this cage for safety, which you are not asking for - on the opposite - your idea gets transmuted by some rando into a plan that will take away the last pillar of legitimacy you see in yourself. Imagine now, not only have you been stripped of it, but Mother scolds you for complaining.

And you finally break – no mother, if you do this I am exactly the mongrel I was told I was all my life, I called myself – but it comes out jagged and aggressive and immature, and you become a little entitled primadonna. But either way you ask, beg, plead for one thing, just this one thing – truly for yourself – you must deserve that much, one need for your very being to remain whole and for yourself to be able to keep your feet on the ground and mind whole. That one thing, that one time, you ask her to pick you over herself. And Mother choses herself.

In Jacaerys’ mind this last decision of hers invalidates all her arguments of keeping him safe, because ultimately, he realizes she is keeping him safe to satisfy her own needs, without realizing 1) what damage she is doing to him as a human being, and most importantly 2) she is preserving himself only while she lives – she ultimately does not care what will happen to him once she is no longer alive.

It is very rude way to put it, but it is a very human and very real thing real parents do sometimes, especially when their (eldest) kids are severely parentified. And Rhaenyra, bless her, not putting the blame on her entirely, is in an impossible situation too, but is also immature more often than not. It’s in the genes. And has been lonely and abandoned often, and believes if there is one man that will never abandon her, it’s her bestest boi Jace. And no one told her a firstborn son is not supposed to fill the role of a partner. I am however very saddened to see she did not learn a single lesson from her interactions with Viserys – especially that she seems incapable of realizing she’s shutting out Jacaerys brutally, just as her father did with her. For 20 damn years, she has been subjected to abandonment and being left all alone (by all the men in her life), and she can’t realize she’s doing the same to Jace, while also keeping him on a leash, caged with her, unable to seek refuge anywhere.

Truly heartbreaking.

I think that ought to be enough layers to cover the strong classist word for y’all. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

(I feel a quick exclaimer is needed. As a viewer I find that development extremely juicy, it fed me well and I am relishing and relating to both, not criticizing. But Jace is also my best boi, so there you go.)

[yangbojian]

Yuri (2000s)