#old old old drafts

[theashenphoenix]

PORTAL with RTX (2022)

[casyawn]

my mom just had a 7cm brain tumor removed and since she's woken up she's been talking nonstop about this dream she had about going to an art gallery full of colourful paintings by a 'homosexual artist' named klimsdorf who was ethereal and wise, both young and old... at first she was convinced he was a real person but after failing to find him online she's accepted he was a figment of her subconscious mind and is now determined to bring him to life via painting his portrait herself. she's 67 and has never drawn in her life. and now this. blorbo from her tumor

[moechies]

“shit, this pussy’s damn tight, girl.” toji chuckles, leaned against the wooden headboard of his mattress, with your pretty cunt impaled on his dick. you’re sat upon the man’s lap, back slumped into his bigger body as he lifts your legs to your chest with a singular arm.

“hnn—! thank y-you, thank you, thank you !” you slur, holding onto the man’s bigger arm for leverage as he pumps his cock against your cunt, your round butt slapping against his pelvis.

“tch,” he smirks, “thank you? haven’t heard that one b’fore.” his thrusts come to a slow, leaving you breathless and dazed. you lay back against the man’s chest as he continues lazy but brutal pumps to your poor cunt, pushing against him in an attempt to get him to slow.

“hnn.. ‘m sorry..” you cry out, embarrassed, face growing flushed as your nose scrunches at the memory of a few seconds prior.

toji can’t help but fall into a short fit of laughing at your adorable innocence, soft lips curled into a mean smirk, “‘s alright, sweet thing. yer so polite, hm?” he taunts, pressing a weighted kiss against your lips. you slip your tongue against his before you lose the chance, pressing your face closer to the man’s touch.

“y’take cock like a naughty brat, though.” he whispers in between a breath.

his sloppy tongue overrules yours, slowly but surely swallowing you whole. he peeks through a sliver of his eye, watching you pant into his mouth with your eyes squeezed tight, drool leaking down your chin, so entirety focused on kissing him back. “toji—“ you mewl.

“ya started it,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, giving your cunt a soft slap. you jerk and cry against his hold, pushing the said assaulting hand away, making him giggle. “what a dumb little thing.”

“please ! ‘m gonna c-cum! toji, please, please—“ you cry as his thrusts get harder, pace becomes sloppier, before it all comes to an abrupt stop.

your pants slow, gentle mewls that leave your lips as you begin to fall into a fit of sobs. “no..” toji breaks a grin, petting against your hair whispering sweet praises, “‘m sorry doll, daddy’s tired. let me have a break, yeah?” he adores how you look up to him with bleary eyes, chest full of pained hiccups as you attempt to bounce yourself atop his cock in your position. “..w-wanna cum!”

“don’t be so selfish, sweet thing. ‘m old, ‘s what ya get for hangin’ around me.” he lies through his teeth. pace slowly resuming. his creamy, slicked up cock causes his thrusts to grow in noise, face flushing at the evidence of the use of your poor cunt.

“daddy —!”

“shhh, settle down and let daddy focus, yeah?” he mumbles breathlessly against the shell of your ear, “or else daddy might get too tired.. and won’t be able to finish ya off.” he sighs.

[zephyrchama]

Going to a restaurant with the cast of Obey Me! and the waiter asks, "is anyone in your party under 500? Beings who are five centuries and under eat for free."

The waiter glances at Luke as they say this but everyone immediately turns to you.

Mammon cracks up when the waiter brings over a high chair and you have to turn them down. Leviathan encourages you to at least take the booster seat so you can feel taller. Thirteen wheezes when they bring out the crayons and coloring mat, which you insist on sharing. You tell Diavolo not to get any funny ideas when the waiter bends down to speak with you at eye level. It's just standard protocol for this diner.

Mephistopheles doesn't understand the big deal. You're not even a century old yet, isn't this normal? Solomon, however, is trying not let his mini midlife crisis show. To Barbatos' delight, he's not getting the same treatment as you (despite also being human) and fears he might be starting to look his age.

Lucifer is visibly enjoying himself way too much and hasn't stopped sneering since you were handed a children's menu, which Beelzebub is excitedly cross-referencing with the adult menu that everyone else got. Raphael likes the little flag they stuck in your food. Luke is acting so smug and haughty that Simeon has to remind him to be humble.

Satan makes the unnecessary offer to cut your food into smaller bites because they only gave you a small plastic spork, while Asmodeus is busy snapping pictures of the chef's ketchup smiley face atop your dish. Belphegor warns you not to hurt yourself and asks if he should blow on your food, causing you to threaten him with the spork.

[povoti]

Some Cater

[rachmcadams]

Notorious (1946) dir. Alfred Hitchcock

[imjusthella-gay]

to be taking a bath with a girl and playing with her tits and kissing her neck. hearing how she falls apart from my touch. maybe my hand will slip under the water and play with her clit just so i can hear her moans echo off the bathroom walls, who knows.

[communistkenobi]

I believe it was the work of legal scholar Florence Ashley where I first encountered this term (it might have also been Serano), but I’m becoming more and more committed to saying “degender” as opposed to “misgender.” like I think the term ‘misgender’ fails to properly identify the mechanism behind the process it describes: misgendering is not an act of attributing the wrong gender characteristics to a trans person, it is an act of dehumanisation. I think the term ‘misgender’ especially gives people much easier rhetorical cover to argue that trans women are hurt by misandry by being ‘mislabeled as men,’ or that they are in fact ‘actually men’ and benefit from male privilege, because the (incorrect) assumption underlying this is that when trans women are ‘misgendered’ they are being treated like men - to follow this line of thinking to its natural conclusion, this denies the existence of transmisogyny altogether, because any ‘misgendering’ of trans women is done only with the intent, conscious or otherwise, to inscribe the social position (and the privileges this position affords) of men onto them, as opposed to stripping them of their womanhood (and thus, their humanity).

The term degendering, however, I think more accurately describes this dehumanising process. Pulling from the work of both Judith Butler and Maria Lugones, gender mediates access to personhood - Lugones says in the Coloniality of Gender that in the colonial imaginary, animals have no gender, they only have (a) sex, and so who gets ‘sexed’ and who gets ‘gendered’ is a matter of who counts as human. She describes this gendering process as fundamentally colonial and emerging as a colonial technology of power - who is gendered is who gets to be considered human, and so the construction of binary sex is a way of ‘speciating’ or rendering non-human the Indigenous and African people of colonized America, justifying and systematising the brutal use of their land and/or their labour until their death by equating them to animals. Sylvia Wynter likewise describes in 1492: A New World View that a popular term used by Spanish colonizers to describe the indigenous people was “heads of Indian men and women,” as in heads of cattle. By the same token, white men are granted the high status of human, worthy of governance, wealth, and knowledge production, and white women are afforded the subordinate though still very high responsibility of reproducing these men by raising and educating children. Appeals to a person’s sex as something more real, more obvious, or ‘poorly concealed’ by their gender is to deny them their gender outright, and therefore is a mechanism to render them non-human. Likewise, for Butler, gender produces the human subject - to be outside gender is to be considered “unthinkable” as a human being, a being in “unliveable” space.

Therefore the process of trans women going from women -> “male” is not “being gendered as a man,” it is being positioned as non-human. when people deny the gender of trans women, most especially trans women of colour, they invariably do this through reference to their genitals, to their ‘sex,’ as something inescapable, incapable of being concealed - again, this is not a process of rendering them as men, it is the exact opposite: it is a process of rendering them as non-human. there is not a misidentification process happening, they are not being “misgendered as men,” there is a de-identification of them as human beings. Hence, they are not misgendered, they are degendered, stripped of gender, stripped of their humanity

[auriidae]

ethubs adventure pt 2: midwestern escapades via amtrak :3

[kensatou]

bonus:

[girlboyburger]

had an identity crisis, prime time for a slight sona redesign!

it's cow! (again!)

+ a closeup because i'm really proud of the eyes

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

based on this cus i couldn't help myself. fluff n kissing and lowkey iida stray😭 3rd year suki :3

"m'gonna kill you."

normally, most people would be extremely confused, if not terrified at someone wrapping their arms around their waist from behind and those words being growled in their ear.

though not terrified, you are a little confused as to why your boyfriend would say this to you. while also nuzzling into your uniform.

"katsuki, what ?"

"m'gonna fuckin' kill you, if you don't wanna die get ready to tusle." he reiterates, the seriousness in his voice confuses you even more but you can't help but laugh a bit.

"why, what'd i do ?"you chortle. immediately you're spun around and pressed against the abnormally large door of your classroom. you'd been leaning on it waiting for him after you couldn't walk to class together like you usually do since mina had asked you to walk with her to the vending machine to get a snack before class. you figured it'd be okay since you texted him and he read your message but didn't respond, it's a classic petty katsuki move so you thought nothing of it.

but now it's looking like maaayybee you should've.

"ya fuckin' left without me this morning." ah, thought so.

"oh ?" you giggle. he doesn't look amused, glaring harder at you "yeah." he urged. "abandoned me so you could run off with racoon eyes."

"and that's why you're gonna kill me ? cus i didn't give you your morning kiss ?" you tease, voice quivering as you hold in your laughter.

"yup. hope you said your prayers." you roll your eyes, looking around the empty hallways before you decide to make your move. it seemed your teacher was going to be arriving a little late and since everyone had already headed to class the coast was clear.

wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you give him your sweetest eyes. you squeeze at him when he keeps glaring, he grunts.

"we don't have to take it that far.." you muse, pulling him closer to you, his lip twitches as he looks down at you. you get up a little closer to his face, smirking. "shoulda thought about that, sweets." he grumbles, sarcastically spitting the petname. keeping his arms on the door behind you. he's tough, but you're not done yet.

slowly you trail your arms up all the way around his neck, tugging him closer to you innocently. his ears redden the slightest bit, his mouth turns downwards harder and he's basically squinting at you. oh, you got him.

" oooorr..i could just..give you a morning kiss now..? wouldn't that be better ? if you kill me, who will give you your morning kisses then, hm ?" the sudden thought of your boyfriend finding somebody else as childish as it is makes a little salty, so you scrunch your nose up at the air " don't answer that."

at that, he cracks a smile, obviously proud to see the effect his insufferable self has on you. leaning in until your noses are a breath away from eachothers he smirks, usually he'd comfort you about your worries, but he knows better than to answer lest you get cranky and he doesn't get his kiss at all "fine." he grunts finally, his arms suddenly wrap around you, pulling you completely to his chest. he smirks when you splutter in surprise.

he grins "better make this one good, otherwise you owe me five more."

he says though he doesn't let you go after you've pressed your lips to his once..or the second time, pulling you closer to him and grumble when you try to pull away for a third kiss "stop squirmin'" he complains, arms squeezing you closer as you giggle about someone seeing you. katsuki bites at your lip, causing you to gasp. he breathes heavily "i don't care. gimme my kiss." he insists.

and how could you deny him ? you really couldn't, even as you hear your class rep gasp about how indecent and inappropriate you're both being. katsuki pulls away just slightly to grumble against your lips. and he shoots you a look, making a face to make fun of the boy scolding you both, you snort loudly and cover your mouth hoping he hasn't heard you.

katsuki is as unbothered as ever, snickering to himself that he was able to make you laugh, and he doesn't need anything else. he shoots iida a look, tells him him to fuck off, then dives in for one more kiss. he grabs your hand to drag into the classroom. he ignores iida as he continues lecturing you both, sending him a middle finger.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

[fanaticalthings]

Masterlist of the Batfam Social Media AU posts

---

Updated Oct 31, 2024

Pt. 1: The duality of man feat. Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Pt. 2: Dick "The Firstborn" Grayson vs Jason "The Firstdead" Todd

Pt. 3: Gently used casket for sale :)

Pt. 4: Prince of Gotham "Bruh Wayne" aka "Father of 10+ mean children"

Pt. 5: Bruce Wayne is NOT Batman

Pt. 6: BREAKING NEWS: Lex Luthor BUYS Twitter??

Pt. 7: Just another night in Gotham

Pt. 8: God's strongest soldier (the oldest sibling)

Pt. 9: Bruce Wayne texts like a boomer

Pt. 10: Just Gothamtwt things

Pt. 11: Conspiracies in the family group chat

Bonus:

Jay + Roy texts

Jason "I swear I hate my dad" Todd

[hurkules]

One summer afternoon,

The two of you find yourselves in the living room with only your sweet hums and his slow, steady breaths filling the air. Your fingers run through Jason’s hair as he doses off in your lap. He intended to only rest his eyes for a minute but nearly an hour had passed.

“It’s your fault,” he grumbled when he finally came to. A slow smile creeps on his face as he sits up to kiss you.

“You needed the rest. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be here.” You caress his cheek and kiss him back

“Mmh,” he moans into the kiss. “You’re spoiling me.” He laces your fingers together and put his head to yours. “You’re too sweet.”

“Go back to sleep.” You nudge your head gently against his.

He chuckles as he goes for your neck. “And if I don’t want to?” A soft kiss. “Maybe I want to be awake with you.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.” You find your way into his hair and gently tug him away from you. “Sleep.”

“Careful,” he murmurs as he settles back down to follow your orders. Once he’s comfortable, you restart your humming and start your fingers to work.

“Too sweet,” he whispers as he drifts off. “I don’t deserve that.”

[cozylittleartblog]

New Family Speedrun 00:09.12 (World Record Not Clickbait???)