#no you don't

[cannibalhellhound]

And now I present

Tommy holding Otter Evan. Ottvan if you will.

Any questions as to WHY is Evan an otter will be forwarded to my Muse and cause of this @kinardsboy 👍🏼

Psssss btw it's on INPRNT

[pokedemo]

The Rejection of Volo

bonus:

[moonlight-prose]

something something old man logan's knees ache when he goes down on you, which is disappointing to him to say the least. the adamantium skeleton is a slow poisoning drip like an i.v. he never asked for. he's eager, needy unlike his younger self, and figures the solution to his issue is simple. sit you on the kitchen table like a proper fucking meal so he can eat until he's full.

[fleckjayky]

[thelostsmiles]

ERIC (2024) ep04 a freshly showered angry Vincent

[bonefall]

It's so funny that your idea is that DOVE should be the one mad because of course they make Ivy throw a hissy fit about their circumstances being different. Girl, your daughter chose to make a valiant sacrifice. Her kid's death was entirely preventable

To be clear; I'm unsure if they're going to give Ivypool another hissy fit. I only read that there is apparently going to be a scene where Dovewing and Ivypool (and also Icewing) bond over having dead kids.

And, I don't really like the idea of that, on its face. Even if this scene is written to be a very straightforward, positive moment of understanding between all of them, I feel like Dovewing's situation is so different from the two of them that I'd find it interesting if she was kind of offended by the comparison.

ESPECIALLY if it was Ivypool making an attempt to connect with Dovewing over this, y'know? Assuming she's totally being good intentioned here, legitimately trying to connect with her estranged sister over what she thinks is a similarity.

Bottom line is, Bristlefrost laid down her life to end tyranny. Beetlewhisker was an adult who chose to take the offer of demon training, and died standing up to Brokenstar. Rowankit was a baby, sick and in pain for days at his mother's belly while his father and older sister raced for a cure, as a parcel of lifesaving medicine sat untouched in the next territory over.

If anything, I'd prefer an Ivypool hissy fit, because I'd like to see her be framed as unreasonable, OR show how bereavement is causing her to lapse into old, bad behaviors. I strongly hope the narrative will examine the differences here (ESPECIALLY if this SE's theme is grief) instead of having the three of them "connect" in an uncomplicated way.

[who-the-fuck-are-you-bruh]

I'm usually not a BingJiu enjoyer but i had a vision

So, everything gone to shit and Shen Qingqiu barely escaped imprisonment and torture by the skin of his teeth. Both cultivation and demonic worlds are after him and he's once again making it on his own.

And while Shen Jiu is successful in dodging the danger so far, Luo Binghe keeps hunting his dreams. "Isn't it unbecoming of an immortal master? Isn't it tiring? Just tell me where you are Shizun and I'll be merciful and quick" (Lies, lies, lies)

One day SQQ's luck runs dry. He's captured and there's no way to run anymore. And since there's no difference in death, he taunts LB one last time, how this disgusting beast gets nothing of his grand revenge, basically saying "Come and get me if you can" not really expecting anything.

Too bad Binghe is severally OP and absolutely demolishes everything and everyone on his way to SQQ with unholy speed.

So they're standing face to face. Old cruel master, tired of a run. The heavenly demon beast with cold eyes and a boyish smile.

"You came"

"You called"

And isn't that ironic, how hate ends up being more reliable that love, Qi-ge?

[stickynotelovers-art]

TW and CW: Depictions of anxiety/panic, eyestraining colors (If ever someone thinks I should warn for something else, please let me know)

Donnie's going through it too, man. I didn't really emphasize in Chapter 1 what exactly Donnie is dealing with, but felt I should show it in some way. I think he'd deal with a lot of sensory issues, especially if he has just a sudden muscle spasm or pain flare up in his back. His back muscles would be especially sensitive to overactivity and that's why he's sitting through almost the entire comic.

I was originally going to have Morse code written out on the panels where Donnie and Mikey are tapping on Mikey's shell to each other, but decided to forgo it for a simpler communication. If Mikey shells himself, the others know to give him some taps and tell him what they are going to do. If Mikey doesn't verbally or somehow give a response they will wait/leave him alone for some time and then try again.

I think the 4 of them all have a specific person they go to for comfort for the really bad moments. Mikey will go to any of them depending on how upset he is because he definitely gets the most relief from physical comfort. However, on those especially bad days, when Mikey has hid away in his shell, Leo is the one that everyone knows to alert or directly give Mikey to for comfort.

Masterpost\Previous\Next

[deadboyfriendd]

Ochre

Summary: You have never been more content with nothingness, your life finally settled like silt back down into the spongy earth. You have been left with plenty of downtime to indulge in your hobbies. Halsin chooses to indulge with you.

Warnings: Halsin x fem!reader, I haven't played bg3 I'm just horny for this man, inappropriate use of paint, sub!Halsin if you squint, fingering, p in v smut

My work is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: Hi if you're one of my mutuals, you don't see me. Again, I would like to reiterate, I did not play bg3 I just like this man. I'm doing this for fun and I haven't written smut in a second. I wrote this in a blind fury doing writing warm-ups for a personal project.

You had never been more content with nothingness. 

The only noises surrounding you now were the hum of the cicadas in the waning coolness of spring. They were deafening now, but a welcome comfort to the silence you were still getting to know. You could hear your thoughts a little less, memories repressing themselves for longer and less frequently. They seemed more distant. 

You hadn’t been particularly fond of the way the grass brushed against your ankles, leaving a deep, residual itch that you felt in your bones. This time, you had remembered to tote a blanket with you, dragging it alongside your paint pots and cold-pressed paper. 

“A gift to nature,” he had called them, “you capture her beautifully.” 

You didn’t think they were anything special, of course, you didn’t. But he, in all of his kindness, thought they had been a gift– though you had been a gift. Little smatterings of paint, green amongst brown these days. Today you watched the ducks, circling against the rifts of the current, capsizing like little boats to only overturn themselves righted again. 

Halsin was much quieter than he appeared, a rustling of dry thatches of grass masked as a boundless breeze. He was all silent breaths and light footfall. You hardly had time to register his looming presence behind you this time– not before broad hands settled against your back and smoothed themselves over the skin of your waist in a fluid movement. Had it not been so delicate, it might have startled you more. He dropped his heavy frame next to yours, encasing your body in his radial heat. 

“What are we painting today, my heart?” He had asked, his large head coming down to rest on your shoulder to match your eye level. You could feel the way his pointed ear came to rest against your rounded one. 

He can feel the smile pull at your cheek against his lips as he awaits your response, “Just what I see.” You whisper to him, nodding outwards towards the direction of the clearing. 

He is amazed by you nonetheless. Where you see mismatched colors and blurred edges– things that are inherently too stylistic or devoid of too much detail, he sees the place he loves, enraptured by the hands of the one he holds closest. 

“Beautiful.” He whispers, though, by the heavy kisses he plants across your jaw and neck, you cannot tell if he is talking about the painting, or of you. 

Your tunic rides upwards as his hands travel further. He makes quick work of your trousers as well. You grow needy for him, pawing at the firm, taught skin of his stomach beneath his shirt. He releases a breathy chuckle, it wades across your skin and draws a shudder from you. 

“So needy, darling,” He chides, nipping softly at silken skin, “I will give you what you need.” He leans back from your body, and you whine at the loss of contact. He cannot help the grin that crawls across his face at your sudden need for him. 

Halsin is not clumsy by nature, though, he grows sloppy in his movements when otherwise preoccupied. He uses the momentum of his weight to settle you into the linen beneath you. His hands are frantic and hungry as they reach towards you waist once more, his body settling between your legs. As he reaches, thick fingers tip a pot of paint, splattering cobalt across the the linen. It’s temperature as well as the suddenness of the action draws a shocked breath from you. 

You whine again when you feel it against you, “My paint.” 

“Do not worry, my heart,” He whispers against your skin, his trail never faltering in  its journey to your collarbone, “I will find you more,” He nips at the skin there, soothing the dull sting with his tongue. His path continues downwards, over the supple hills of your breasts where he lavishes in the softness there. He presses a kiss to the valley between them before taking a pert nipple into his mouth,  “I will grind the pigment myself if I must.”, he whispers against the bud there. 

His hand is covered in paint, and he recklessly grips your waist once more. It sits tacky on your skin and leaves a smear of blue in its wake. He looks down at the way your hands grip at the paint-laden cloth beneath you, and he grabs your wrist– using it as his own vessel for art as he guides it to his chest and smears it downwards. The relishes in the feeling of it. He sits back on his haunches, head tilted back as a sigh escapes his lips. Your fingers trail blue across his chest and down to the sensitive skin below. 

You are on your knees again, facing him. Instead of moving towards him, you reach towards your paint pots. Dipping your fingers deep into the slick, ruby paint, you meet his eyes– watching intently towards your fingers before flitting back up towards yours. He does not need to ask.

Instead, you reach towards him intently, smearing a slick glob of paint thick in the center of his chest. It coats the hair there and drips downwards. He whines at the feeling, and, suddenly, it is blazing. You are near ravenous as you lunge towards him, your own chest pressing stickily into the paint on him. It smears between your bodies as you slide against each other, arms wrapped tight over his shoulders and around his neck, his own hands scrambling to remove what little clothes are left between you. 

Quickly, his hands slides down your front, finding fast purchase on that delicious bundle of nerves at the apex of you. You shudder as his thick fingers brush it, whine as they find their rhythm. 

“My love,” He groans as he lays you back down, “I do not believe you are aware of the affect you have on me.” He is near-frantic now, a thick middle finger sliding through your center before delving in slowly. You are aware of this affect, a prominent hardness dragging along your thigh as he prepares you for him. As he slides a ring finger in, pumping slowly, before setting a rhythm, you feel a delicious fullness and a creeping warmth as he stretches you on his fingers. His pace is perfect, and the curl of his fingers hits that perfect place that sends you in a crescendo over the edge. 

“There it is, my love,” He says, through the haze of your orgasm, massaging your sides softly, “You did so good.” 

He is the picture of beauty like this, blue and red smeared into a lilac across his chest and stomach, kind eyes and upturned lips that stretch across golden skin. He was a sight to behold, your beautiful creature. You needed to bask in him, to watch him fall apart beneath your hands. 

“On your back, please,” you whisper to him. He does not question this, only leans into the plush of the grass beneath him. You follow him in a swell motion, straddling over him. You grip him in your hands, relieving him with slow, languid strokes that draw choked, beautiful moans from his mouth. You watch the skin of his neck strain, the way his brow furrows. He will  undoubtedly be beautiful as you take him this way. You guide him to your core before sinking down on him. No matter how many times you take him, there will always be a decadent stretch, followed by a fullness unlike any other you’ve felt. 

 As you adjust to the size of him, you take the pot of yellow in your hands. Tipping it to the side, you watch the stream of it, vibrant like the flowers that surround this meadow, drip on to him, It pools in the dips and crevices of his stomach, and he shudders and whines as it cascades over him. His back arches off of the spongy floor, and you soothe his writhing with steady hands– a promise for movement. Your hands find purchase in these pools as you begin to rock. 

The paint seeps from beneath your fingers as he gasps, his sudden jerking sending your hands sliding forward to his chest. It leaves broad yellow strokes in its wake. He rucks his hips upwards sporadically to meet yours, searching for fiction. 

You whine as he pistons up into you, relentlessly, though, always careful– always thoughtful. He chokes on his moans as his eyes cinch shut, tears squeezing from the corners and down his pretty face in a beautiful jubilance. You bounce with him in synchrony, blanketing his body with yours as he takes over. Your bodies are slick with paint, colors mixing into a muddy mess between your bodies. The sounds are pureply pornnographic, the soft squelzhing of paint, the sticking and unsticking of tacky skin, his beautiful cries into the now-stagnant air. 

His thumb rubbing fast-paced circles over your clit is the catalyst that sends you over the edge with a cry. With a few more thrusts, he falls over the edge with a groan of his own– near animalistic in nature. His eyes glow gold as he peers down at you, your slack body rising and falling with the movement of his breaths. 

“Beatiful, darling,” He whispers against your temple, letting you settle your body in the crevice of his side– your head leaning against his bicep. The paint has begun to dry in its thinnest concentrations, flaking and drifting off of him in a few places. 

“You are my favorite artist.” 

[graciehart]

Hart of Dixie Rewatch ⤷ 1x22 — “The Big Day”

This is just weather. It's just... life. We all make mistakes. You deserve the same happiness we all do.

[finemealcreates]

S'mores

July 14: Family camping trip | candle

Clark double checks that they have everything packed up. He has all the suitcases, the tents, sleeping bags, flashlights, coolers, food, chairs—

“You’ve already double checked everything twice Dad,” Jon complains from inside the car. 

“I just want to be thorough,” Clark replies, placing a third checkmark next to every item on his list. 

“There’s being thorough and then there’s being a little obsessive,” Conner mutters from the middle seats, likely knowing Clark would hear it. 

“Hey, this is Danny’s first time camping with us. I wanna make sure everything goes well for him,” Clark replies quietly, knowing Danny is in the car and not wanting to embarrass him. 

Both his son and brother sigh in the car, but Clark can also practically hear them relenting. They want Danny to have a good time, too. 

Only after Clark is satisfied does he enter the car, smiling over at his cousin who has his switch out and is already playing some sort of game. 

“Ready Danny?” Clark asks, putting the key in the ignition. 

“Been ready to go for the past half hour, Clark,” Danny teases, pausing his game and turning to face Clark more head-on, a grin stretching along his face. 

“I just wanted to—”

“Be thorough, yeah yeah,” Danny replies sarcastically, good naturedly rolling his eyes. “You know there is such a thing as over packing and being too thorough, right?” 

Clark huffs and rolls his eyes back, grinning. 

Then, he begins the drive, turning on the radio to (quietly) play some music for the drive. 

“Batman’s rubbed off on him,” Conner whispers to Jon, causing the other boy to laugh. 

“Now that’s uncalled for,” Clark huffs under his breath, a smile still on his lips. 

“How long until we get to the campsite?” Danny asks, oblivious to the conversation the supers are having near him. 

“About an hour or two,” Clark answers happily. 

Danny hums while the other two groan. 

Usually, when they go camping, they just fly out to the campsite. It’s a secluded enough area that they can get away with not having a car. But since Danny’s coming with them this time, they can’t do that. 

Clark is used to long car rides, but the other two never had to deal with them much. They always complain about long car rides, but Clark refuses to budge. He always insists it builds character, but he knows that’s not why he makes them. Sometimes he makes them for appearances, like today. Other times he does it because he misses long car rides, and they’re always more fun with other people in the car with you. 

“So how’s your job going?” Clark prompts, hitting his turn signal as he merges onto the street, heading for the highway. 

Danny’s entire demeanor lights up as he sits up more in his seat.

“It’s amazing! The Goddard Space Flight Center is such a surreal place to work at. Did you know it’s the largest organization of engineers, scientists, and other technologists who build spacecraft, new technology, and instruments for NASA?” Danny questions, stars practically in his eyes. 

Clark smiles. He did know that, but he’s not gonna mention that. 

“Really?” Clark prompts. “Can you tell me anything you’re working on right now?” 

Danny smiles good naturedly. 

“Nothing that you can’t read about in our news articles,” Danny sing-songs. 

Clark puffs out his cheeks good-naturedly. 

“Dang, was hoping for an inside scoop for the planet,” Clark jokes. 

“I know, I know Mr. Reporter. Unfortunately all the NDA’s I signed say I can’t tell you much,” Danny teases. 

“Would’ve been nice to hear about all the new things NASA’s cooking from an Engineering Technician,” Clark sighs, winking at Danny. 

Danny rolls his eyes, but the grin stays on his face. 

“I can tell you that the Hubble has traced dark matter in the Dwarf Galaxy using stellar motions,” Danny offers, a smile wide on his face. 

“Oh yeah? How so?” Clark questions. 

“Well,” Danny starts, eyes getting sharp and focused, “some of our astronomers have been measuring the movement of stars in the Draco dwarf galaxy over the past 18 years. They’ve finally succeeded in making the currently most accurate three-dimensional understanding of the stars’ movement within that galaxy.”

Clark’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“That’s a long time,” Clark comments.

“Well, learning about space and getting accurate information is a marathon, not a sprint,” Danny replies. 

“That’s really cool, Danny,” Clark says with a smile. 

“Isn’t it?” Danny asks with amazement and wonder in his entire being. “I know that I don’t work with that directly, but man it’s so cool how we’re all working together to learn more about space and the world overall.” 

Clark smiles and hums in agreement. A part of Clark is saddened by the fact that Danny will never be able to go to the stars in the way he wanted to when they were younger. But after the lab incident that hospitalized Danny, his body was never the same. Not fully. 

“I think you’re doing great work, Danny. Even if you can’t tell me about it,” Clark states with a smile. “I can’t wait to read about the things you’ve worked on in the future.” 

Danny grins brighter under Clark’s gaze, tapping his feet lightly against the floor of the car and simultaneously tapping both knees. 

“I can’t wait for you guys to see what we’ve been working on! It’s revolutionary!” Danny admits. 

Clark’s grin grows. 

Bruce apparently knew what they were working on, which made sense since Wayne Enterprise had teamed up with NASA for this particular project. The man had been tight-lipped about what the project was, but had told the Justice League that if all went well, the Watchtower would be getting some major upgrades. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Clark replies. 

“But enough about me and space,” Danny dismisses. “Talk to me about what you’ve been working on, Clark? I always read your articles when I get the chance.” 

Clark smiles proudly, glad that his cousin is reading the articles he writes. Even if not all the articles are particularly exciting. 

“Well, I’m currently working on an article about different businesses in Delaware that have taken to using AI versus ones that haven’t, and its impact on those businesses.”

Danny raises a brow, interest coloring his features. 

“Oh?” Danny noises. “And can you tell me anything about what you’ve found?” 

Clark gives Danny a sly smile. 

“You can read all about it when the article comes out,” Clark teases. 

Danny groans good naturedly, rolling his eyes. 

“Hardy har har,” Danny responds sarcastically. 

“I can tell you that we’re publishing the entries from the contest we hosted,” Clark replies with a proud smile. 

“Really?” Danny asks, attention fully grabbed. “Which contest?” 

“Delaware Student Articles,” Clark answers. “It was a contest we held where students wrote articles and submitted them to be published. Could be anything from local to world news. We’re publishing the top 10 winners.” 

Danny’s eyes widen some more in interest. 

“How many submissions did you get?” Danny questions. 

“Over twenty-five thousand,” Clark responds. 

“That’s amazing!” Danny exclaims, bouncing slightly in his seat. 

“Isn’t it?” Clark replies with his own matching smile. 

“Really, Clark, I think it’s cool you get to do such an amazing job that you’re so passionate about,” Danny says, serious with joy coloring his tone. 

“I’m glad you get to do the same,” Clark returns, honest. “We both got incredibly lucky with our jobs.” 

“We did,” Danny agrees, humming slightly. “Enough about work, though. Tell me about Lois, how is my favorite cousin doing?” 

Clark rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but goes with the topic change. 

The rest of the car ride is filled with conversations about their personal lives, how family is doing, and everything they’ve missed since they last saw each other a few months ago. 

Before he knows it, they’re at the campsite. It throws Clark off a little as he didn’t realize they’d been yapping for so long, but good conversation does make the time fly. 

“Alright, boys, we’re here!” Clark announces with a smile. 

“Finally,” Jon groans, unbuckling and jumping out of the car. 

The young boy runs around in a few circles, stretching his legs and getting used to being on two feet again. 

“So dramatic,” Conner huffs, unbuckling himself and exiting the car, stretching slightly. 

“Don’t you guys go camping semi-often?” Danny questions, unbuckling and opening the car door. “You’d think they hardly ever go on long car rides.” 

Clark chuckles, covering the slight nervousness he feels at Danny being so observant. 

“They still haven’t adjusted to it. They get too antsy and cramped,” Clark lies smoothly, exiting the car himself. 

“Makes sense,” Danny mutters, leaving his things in the car as he begins to help Clark unpack the car. 

Together, and with the other two’s help, they get the entire unpacked in record time. Well, in record time for doing it without a ton of use of their powers. Clark gave Jon a Look when he carried more than a normal twelve-year-old would typically be able to. 

“I haven’t camped in a while,” Danny admits as he and Clark work on getting the tent set up. 

Really, it’s Clark leading the assembly of it and giving Danny directions of where to stand and which pieces to slot together. 

“I can’t imagine not camping semi-regularly,” Clark says. “It’s so nice to get away from the hustle-and-bustle every once and a while.” 

Danny smiles teasingly at Clark, but Clark can also sense some … tension? Clark resists the urge to frown. 

“Can’t imagine why a small town boy like you likes to escape the city for a while,” Danny jokes. 

“You say that like you didn’t agree to join us,” Clark shoots back, smiling back at Danny. 

Danny shrugs, still smiling. 

Clark pretends not to notice the tension in Danny’s frame as they finish getting the tent set up. 

“When was the last time you went camping?” Clark inquires as they throw a tarp over the tent, just in case it rains. 

“Uh,” Danny starts, frowning as he thinks, “we went camping as a family back when I was a Freshman. It was Jazz’s idea, she thought I was too stressed out.” 

Clark’s eyebrows furrow. He wants to ask more questions, but he resists the urge as he takes note of how Danny is hunched in on himself. 

“Well, hopefully this is a fun experience for you,” Clark replies with a smile. 

Danny grins back. 

“If you packed stuff for s’mores, I’m sure it will be,” Danny assures. 

Clark laughs as he nods. 

“Wouldn’t be camping without ‘em.” 

⧍↟☾

After they cook and eat some hot dogs, they begin roasting s’mores. Jon keeps getting too overexcited and burns his marshmallows, but otherwise the marshmallows get turned into a light brown. 

“Thank you,” Danny says after everyone has made themselves s’mores. 

Clark smiles, looking at Danny confused. 

“For what?” 

Danny shrugs, offering a shy smile. 

“For bringing me with you guys. This is really … nice.” 

Clark’s smile softens as he gives his cousin a side hug. 

“Of course, Danny. Thank you for joining us,” Clark tells him honestly. 

“I’ll have to join you guys again,” Danny comments before taking a bite out of his s’more.

Clark’s smile widens with delight. 

“We’d love to have you join us again, any time,” Clark replies. 

Danny smiles widely. 

“That’d be great,” Danny responds.

Clark feels warmth fill him from the inside. He loves spending time with his family, and looks forward to spending more time with Danny.

[bluevelvetea]

A little preview bc I haven't posted in forever

[elore813]

Loved doing this commission for @ falloutdema (on twitter) and her amazing fic ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/44765917/chapters/118340860 ) go read it, it’s not an option

[au-not-alternate]

you don't get context for this

[bibliotheksbewohnerin]

these two deserve all the gold & vermilion

watercolour, fine liner and white coloured pencil on watercolour paper, A5