#thank you for prompting me!

[adozentothedawn]

29 / "if one of us sinned it must be God" from that prompt list could be fun!!

Prompts here (also @starlightcleric sent me the same one, I think you people might know my shtick xD)

If one of us sinned it must be god

The air is cold outside and the sky reddening, the sun slowly moving to set on the horizon. Rocks are digging into his bare knees, leaving red marks in the dirt and on his skin. Father made him roll up the fabric to not damage his clothes. Those have to be pristine for morning service.

He jerks forward when father's belt cuts another welt into his back. The taste of iron fills his mouth as he bites down on his tongue. Crying out will only make it worse. After all, he has no one to blame but himself, so father says. Always. It's him who keeps embarrassing his family, who's not pious enough, who brings Eothas' punishment on them.

Waidwen digs his fingers into the dry dirt, feeling every rock and pebble cutting into his skin, and hopes his silent hatred sets the grass on fire. All this damned place can burn, until only dry ash is left. The entire Wheel can collapse for all he cares, and may it bury Eothas under the rubble.

Instead he can feel the blood run down his back and water the ground under him as he is beaten day after day, in the name of a god who has never deigned to lift a finger for them, by a man who lifts his hands too much. No Waidwen is not repentant, not in the least, not even when father kills him with that belt. And if Berath or Eothas or whoever make him a worm in his next life, or grind his soul to dust or do whatever it is gods do as punishment, he will still have no remorse. One day father will answer for his own actions, in this life or the next one. And one day Eothas will answer to someone too. Not to Waidwen certainly, but someone and whoever it is, wherever or whatever Waidwen will be then, he will be sure to cheer them on.

But until then he kneels on hard ground, bloodying the legacy of a god.

[jaggededges123]

for the kiss prompt: 24. kiss to distract!

24. kiss to distract!

It was morning, and Colum Asht really didn’t want to be awake. His body ached as though he’d been crushed by a compactor, but really it was that his soul had been conspicuously absent for too long the day before. He always felt… addled, and weary, and a hundred other nasty things when Silas used him so thoroughly as he had the day before, like each of his component parts had been separated, put into a box, shaken vigorously, and then put together again by a blindfolded toddler.

But just because Colum felt like shit, that didn’t mean that Silas did.

And Silas Octakiseron was, annoyingly, a morning person. Early morning prayers were his favorite time of day—peaceful and meditative, unless of course you felt like a jigsaw with a dozen missing pieces.

“Brother Asht,” Silas’s voice intoned from somewhere very close to Colum’s cot, probably kneeling beside it, “it is time for morning prayer.”

Colum sighed, disgruntled, and rolled away, toward the foot of Silas’s bed. It made about half a dozen joints creak. “A cavalier is meant to care for her body first, to fulfill her primary purpose to her necromancer,” he quoted scripture from the deepest parts of his mind, the part that didn’t get all mixed up no matter how many times Silas sucked his soul out.

“That doesn’t mean you can neglect your soul,” Silas shot back. A small, smooth hand pressed against the bare skin of Colum’s shoulder, soft but relentless. “Rise, Brother Asht.”

Colum didn’t know what wires had gotten crossed the day before, but there was a terrible idea that sparked in him, and the rest of him was so discombobulated that he couldn’t stop himself in time from acting upon it. He sat halfway up in his cot, his blanket falling to his waist, and he pressed his face forward until his chapped, dry lips met Silas’s.

They were perfect, excessively so, as Colum’s uncle was designed to be in all things.

It really was just a peck, to distract Silas from his line of thought and hopefully to gain Colum a little extra much-needed rest so that he would feel more like a person when he woke up again later. He hardly felt it, though he did feel Silas’s full-bodied gasp.

“There—your holiness rubbed off on me. My soul will be fine. Now, let me sleep,” Colum huffed before dropping back to the bed like a sack of a hundred potatoes.

He didn’t hear Silas’s response, whatever it was. He was already sucked deep into the sweet relief of the abyss, that gentle cradle of nothingness.

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[lotus-pear]

horrendously late entry for @luneariann’s dtiys!! congrats on one million ely i’m so proud of you <3

[aterfish]

Good thing it was a short spin

[anbaisai]

"Prefect, what did you... just..."

Based on this ask from my friend Sheep! A true love's kiss to free him from plushie-ness indeed...

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[guardian-angle22]

This or That: Tarlos Edition -> Babe or Baby

[hypewinter]

Danny is reading peacefully in his new room at Wayne Manor when there's suddenly a commotion outside his door. Next thing he knows Bruce comes storming through the door.

"Danny did you lie to me about your past!?" he asked calmly.

[vbrosclips]

s2e10 I Know Why The Caged Bird Kills

[adozentothedawn]

"abandoned in the wilderness and out of action for centuries" off the Elytis prompt list?

prompts here

Abandoned in the wilderness and out of action for centuries

It remembers when It first became what It is now, though it doesn't quite remember what It was before. That is alright. Whatever It was, It knows It still is. Back then there was always buzzing around, little fragments skidding from one place to another, busy busy busy. It is never busy. Even then, when It became new again, it was old and slow. The buzzing amused It as It felt itself grow and take shape. Now the world feels empty, the buzzing quiet and muted. Not vanished entirely, there is still some flitting, some wiggling, some gnawing, but much less then there was before. Where Its senses were full of movement and presence before, there is now only slow flow, the kind the buzzing whirring humming drowned out before. It is quiet. Calm. That feels familiar, from Before It supposes. Familiar, yes, but pleasent. But that is alright. It will wait, It will endure the silence of where the buzzing left It. It knows the buzzing will return. It knows that the special Thrum will return. It doesn't remember the special Thrum like it remembers becoming new, but it knows regardless, the special Thrum always returns. It leaves and returns and leaves and returns, for as long as back It cannot remember. The special Thrum will return, and with it the buzzing It will not be empty anymore, with only the gnawing and flow to keep It company.

And so Caed Nua stands next to the river caressing Its foundation and waits.

[hydrachea]

Thinking about Robin and Sunday's halos.

About how Robin's halo isn't a closed circle, but more like a branch forming a circular shape, where the start and stem don't touch. It's also uneven in shape and splits into three flowers, like it's allowed to grow freely, unobstructed. Something about Robin having left Penacony and having escaped the confines of her cage, being able to flourish. About her being able to let people in, and connect to them.

Meanwhile Sunday stayed behind to be the head of the Oak family and conform to the strict role that's expected of him, and his halo is a perfectly symmetrical shape that's practically fully closed off. It's sharp, almost more like a crown of thorns than a halo. And it almost doesn't have any openings to let anything, or anyone, in easily. It actively discourages getting close to it.

And then if you want to get sappy about, which I will - Sunday doesn't let anyone in, with that almost completely sealed, thorny halo of his... But there's an opening in Robin's halo, and so it can fit around Sunday's. Something about him always being able to find solace in her, because there's room for him in her (halo) heart always, by design.

Anyway I'm not normal about them.

[webdollzz]

a/n: a big thank you to @starfxkrinc for letting me use tp!jj for kinktober! kicking off with a bang amirite. i hope i did him justice <33 happy halloween month!! 🎃

warnings: trailerpark!jj x fem!reader. bdsm? large age gap (legal doooeee), pnv, punishment, dacryphilla, dubcon??? tp!jj being his mean self as allwayysss. don’t like don’t read! you’ve been warned!

as you usually did, you thought you could get away with being a brat unscathed. being bitchy and rude towards jj all day, then teasing him at work — all in all, you were begging for it to happen. it being jj pounding into your pussy and ruining it.

he ignored your cries — tried to anyway, — his eyes never straying from where you’re connected, watching the way your tight cunt has to stretch to accommodate him. your nails drag down his chest as you bitch and whine at him, making him huff through his nose with frustration.

“shut the fuck up sweetpea, ‘kay? you were askin’ for this.” he growled, making you screw your face up at him.

“n-nuh uh! you’re a fuckin’ liar.” you half complained, half moaned.

he glared at you, his fingers leaving a bruising grip onto your hips as he fucked your cunt like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

one hand left your hip, wrapping firmly around your throat and squeezing hard enough that your moans are now limited to little strained squeaks.

he put almost all his weight into that arm, the other forcing your hips still to the bed so that he could use your cunt until he was done.

your hands pushed and clawed at his wrists, lip wobbling as you tried to gasp for air — tears streaming down your face and mascara staining your cheeks.

“quit fuckin’ scratching me!” he tightened his hand around your neck, making your eyes roll back and a hardly there sob fall from you.

his eyes flickered back down to your pussy swallowing him whole, dripping down onto the old, used sheets. he looked back up to your hands pushing at his chest and clawing at him, letting out an frustrated grunt as he slowed his thrusts.

he released you, and just for a moment, you thought he was going to stop — until you fluttered your eyes open and saw him leaning over to grab something from one of his dingy shelves above his bed. duct tape.

you made a pitiful attempt of pulling away, shaking your head with a whine but he shoved you back down, using one large hand on your chest to keep you down.

taking the edge between his teeth, the hiss of the tape accompanied your whimpers and little “no”’s and “i’m sorry”’s.

he grabbed your wrists, his hand fitting both, and wrapped the tape around them so you couldn’t push him away. you continued to whine and complain, making him rip off another piece with his teeth and putting it over your mouth, slapping it gently to make sure it was stuck nicely. you cried, looking up at him through your wet lashes as he stared down at you.

he doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of making you cry.

he tucked a hair behind your ear, thrusts picking up very slowly, merely a grind.

“you’re makin’ me do this, sweetpea, y’understand that?” he asked, voice surprisingly quiet and soft for what he is. you gave a pathetic nod, sniffling as you whined muffedly. he leaned down, kissing your lips through the tape as he began ruining your perfect pussy once more.

“such a good little girl.”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bunny pile!

[Commission for @newfriendly]

[factual-fantasy]

Seafoam cookie and Octo cookie but their hair styles are swapped

So Seafoam has octopus tentacle hair and Octo has flowy seafoam hair

They don't like it XDD

[pokeberry5]

i dont know why i was suprised lol

tim who succeeds both the brucie persona (with bonus weaponized transmisogyny) and an oracle role (after a series of compounding, debilitating injuries)

tim's wearing the necklace from this comic btw